Blackhand

by Matt Hiebert

  The blade struck the creature in the left eye, burying itself into the socket. The monster jerked from the unexpected wound, shrieking in pain, flinging a rain of misfired acid in all directions. Blackhand grabbed the whipping rope which was nearing its end. The creature’s momentum jerked him into the sky and he began to climb.

  He scurried up the hemp cable like a spider. The monster twisted and flailed, trying to shake the splinter from its eye, shrieking in pain.

  Blackhand’s grip held fast. In a few moments he had scaled the rope and clung onto the creature’s face. He tore at the soft pulp of the yellow eye and the monster shrieked again. Ripping an opening wide enough, he crawled inside the gooey socket. The space could have held twenty wagons.

  Moving through the pulp to the back of eye, he found the Agara blade sunk to the hilt in bone. He twisted the weapon from its purchase. A thousand swings in a second cleared the rest of the ooze from the eye socket and gave him room to work. The creature cried out with a sound that resembled speech.

  Even if he could have, he did not intend to kill the monster outright. Another plan had taken shape within his mind, one that would conquer all of his problems in a single stroke.

  The beast possessed thought, it desired life. Wounded, it would return to its maker for help.

  A quick assessment of the creature’s internal anatomy told him what he needed to know. At the base of the throat, a system of ducts and bladders formed the organs that projected the acid. Behind that was the huge power stone that gave it life.

  Careful to avoid the active brain, he punctured the bone at the back of the eye socket and sawed an opening large enough to enter. More screams came from the beast. Inside its dark sinus, he sawed another hole to get to its throat. Droplets of acid burned his arms.

  Blackhand entered the thorax and the flesh of his feet began to melt. Moving quickly, his clothing burning from his body, bits of his flesh falling off in globs, he passed the organs that produced the corrosive substance and found the stone.

  The object was so large he could not see the top. It was a spherical mountain. How had Ru crafted such a thing? Intricate patterns of nerves webbed its black surface and traveled away in a thousand different directions, sending energy to diverse regions of the mammoth body.

  Examining the network, Blackhand saw where to make the necessary cut. Surgically, he nicked a portion of the nerve fiber with his sword.

  A great howl roared through the cavernous bowels of the giant. It climbed and dived in the air, feeling the wound and sensing its severity. Blackhand felt the creature realize it was dying.

  The monster turned and began its journey back home. Back to Ru’s castle.

  Chapter 43

  The Lanya queen had wounded him. Never before had she attacked Ru directly. The witch had always stayed in the background, manipulating the players from afar. She must have been very protective of the little Abanshi.

  No. Ru couldn’t call him that any more. He was no longer the anonymous little Abanshi. Now he was Blackhand. And what that meant, the god didn’t know.

  Sirian Ru walked out upon the enormous landing shelf he had constructed for his new creation. Made from solid marble, the open platform stretched more than a mile in all directions, crowning his castle with a flat, gleaming, white slab. A strong wind whipped across the polished surface of the shelf, but Ru did not notice.

  Blackhand had learned to hide, a skill passed on by his protective ally. In the process of completing this feat, he had blended with the broken chunk of god and both man and god had died. Or rather, both had joined to become something else. Blackhand was nothing less than a new category of life. Ru had gotten to know the new being quite well. They had conversed for thirty years. Although the ideas they shared were simple, their telling took time through so many dimensions.

  Ru had been busy during the conversation. He had never stopped working. The Last Soulstone had taken twenty years for him to produce. It was agony pulling the ethereal material through his body continuously for decades, but he had done it.

  The result was a masterpiece, a triumph over his previous work. A great culmination of all he had learned. Ru had constructed a body with features making it invincible to Blackhand. The god had just been waiting for the right time to set it free.

  At last, the waiting had ended. Ru had released his triumph. His final gambit against his new enemy had been put into play. Did Blackhand still mourn death as he had before? Ru hoped so. His new creation would serve the being a feast of sorrow. Then it would kill him.

  Ru knew the acid would eventually find its mark. He had thought long on that feature. He wanted a weapon that would be impossible to deflect, something difficult to avoid when launched. At some point, Blackhand would fail to dodge quickly enough, or underestimate the creature’s ability to adapt. He would err and become emotionally involved in the world again. Or he would foolishly sacrifice himself to save others. Somehow, at some moment, Blackhand would make a mistake and the acid would take him.

  Ru had to kill the new being, but the act was a tragedy. Blackhand was elegant. The universe’s final creation. A long awaited union of flesh and spirit.

  He was also the being who wanted to bring the world to an end. And Ru would not have that. The god would let go of the world when he was ready. No one would end it before then. He knew this to be true. This was his world. He would do anything to keep it.

  Sirian Ru called his new creation Rain. The body took five years to manufacture after the Last Soulstone was created. It was a combination of everything useful he had learned. His laboratory had been a thousand variations of Thogs. He had studied each of them, taking what was good and joining that with the quality of the Agara’s body. Adding what he learned from the wall, Ru created Rain.

  Developing the acid glands was new, but creating the decision organ was the most difficult task. Rain could vomit storms of corrosive, but its deadliest weapon was its mind. Rain could think. It could adapt, analyze Blackhand’s movements, remember his mistakes, strive to survive. And it was attuned to the Agara stone which Blackhand used as a sword. He might be invisible, but as long as Blackhand carried the Agara, Rain could find him.

  Ru suspected it would take no more than three encounters before Rain learned how to destroy Blackhand.

  Unless his masterpiece killed the being upon their first.

  ***

  Yuul had wandered into the wilderness twenty years ago. It lived in a cave on the outside lip of the world. No one could find it there. Ru could not see it.

  Ten years it stood among the Thogs and waited. Its chance to kill Sirian Ru came and went many times. Yuul saw Sirian Ru with eyes for the first time a year after being trapped behind the wall. The elder god had descended from his spire to work on a new project in the factory. One look at his rival and Yuul knew it could not kill such a thing.

  Despite the fact that Ru was twelve feet tall and would have no difficulty slaying Yuul in a face to face confrontation, there was another problem.

  Ru’s physical form was magnificent. He was perhaps the most beautiful example of life the young god had ever seen. A perfect blend of all species, constructed with harmony and grace. Ru’s body did not use a stone for a soul. Instead, Ru had pulled his entire form from the spiritual realm. In a way, the god was completely made of spiritual material. Yuul figured that was how Ru made the stones. The god must pull them from his own body, using it as a conduit to the spiritual world. It was a brilliant construction. Yuul could not bring itself to damage such a specimen.

  The young god had been very careful to stay out Sirian Ru’s line of sight, observing its rival from a distance, admiring the elder god with stolen glances.

  After Quintel killed himself, and the part of Yuul within him, the young god had mourned. It had felt the fiery death of its missing piece on the other side of the wall. When Quintel’s humanity -- his memories, emotions, thoughts and desires -- merged with the fragment, the experience was agonizing to Yuul, even from
afar.

  While trying to enter Quintel at God’s Finger, the deity had gotten a breath of human life and nearly died. Having such a thing injected into its very soul, the center of its essence, was beyond comprehension. It pitied the fate of its broken fragment.

  But Yuul’s departure into hiding had nothing to do with such sentimental emotions. What finally made the god leave the foot of Ru’s castle was an accident, a momentary loss of control. Yuul’s boredom and frustration had driven it mad. Living with the mindless Thogs day after day, week after week, year after year, had worn on the deity.

  One night, a human Thogmaster entered the Thog camp drunk. He wanted to torture some of the beasts. The practice was meant to instill fear into the more intelligent models. Yuul’s manner of walking and gesturing attracted the attention of the Thogmaster, who began beating Yuul on a regular basis. The beatings were more irritating than painful, since there was little chance a human could harm a Thog, but Yuul had become bored with the ritual.

  As Yuul sat before a fire, trying to enjoy a moment of peace, the Thogmaster struck him with an iron rod. Yuul knew the man would continue to do so until he was exhausted.

  On the ninth or tenth blow, Yuul snatched the rod from the man’s hand, grabbed him by the throat and accidentally snapped his neck. Yuul had simply forgotten its own strength. Yet when it saw the thoughts and dreams that defined the man depart, the tragedy destroyed the god. Even for so wretched a soul, guilt racked the god’s every thought, blame took away its breath. It fled into the wilderness, away from the Thogs and away from Ru. That was when Yuul knew the Lanya’s plan had failed.

  Digging a hole in the side of the earth, just over the rim of world, Yuul hid itself from all life. It was done with the experiment.

  There, the god sat for twenty years, occasionally coming out for water and food, but otherwise reclining on stone slabs in the darkness.

  What if Quintel had been right? What if it were trapped this way forever? Suicide was not even an option. The stones were indestructible and Yuul was locked inside one. It could live forever in this hideous state. For a decade, the god mulled such grim thoughts.

  One night as Yuul sat upon its favorite slab, the spirit of the Lanya queen floated into the dirt room. Yuul stood up frightened that Ru might have found it, yet not quite caring.

  “Go to the top of the Living God’s castle,” the queen commanded. “Avoid the labyrinth within. Climb the exterior. Hurry, you must begin your ascent now.”

  She disappeared without giving Yuul the chance to ask any questions. The god stood there stunned for a moment. Then it crawled out of its hole and ran as fast as it could to Ru’s towering castle.

  Chapter 44

  Within the belly of the creature, Blackhand sat in darkness and waited. He had wounded the beast fatally, but in a way that would take it time to die. It had just enough life to return to Ru. The solution solved all of his puzzles. There was no wall to scale. No maze of castle corridors to delay him.

  As Blackhand watched the energy drain slowly from the animal, he felt nothing towards its death. Before, when Quintel and the god were two, the intelligent creature’s demise would have crippled him. Now it was merely a necessary step to the end.

  The giant’s stomach was black and wet. Safely behind the acid glands, Blackhand had healed his burns and was whole. He stayed near the giant power stone so its glare would blind Ru from the Agara sword’s light. Strand by strand, he gathered his might for the approaching end.

  The Agara spoke from its place in his hand.

  “If you are victor when this is over, I ask for a favor,” the Demonthane said. “Set me free.”

  Blackhand considered the notion. He was grateful for the Agara’s tactical assistance in Jura. He owed it for that. But he knew there was only one way to remove the spirit from the stone. End everything.

  “Do not fear, Grom. I am here to free everyone.”

  Blackhand sensed they were nearing the Living Wall. Looking beyond the flesh of the creature he was within, he saw the city of his pilgrims had been liquefied. A scorched black stain was the only evidence of its prior existence.

  They soared over the wall, its many eyes blind to him, but still searching. Ahead, Ru’s castle shimmered in magic. The structure was so sprawled and twisted, only the god’s will held it together. Soon it would be rubble.

  The creature’s wings beat slower as it struggled to reach safety — to reach Ru — so it could live. Blackhand felt its mind clinging to hope as life drained from its body. It fought to stay alive and mourned its own end. It wanted to serve the one who had created it. A few more beats and they would be there.

  Ahead, Blackhand saw Ru waiting on a wide marble shelf jutting from the highest pinnacle of his castle, exactly where the creature was headed. The god was very upset.

  Blackhand gripped the blade and moved forward to prepare.

  The beast came in fast upon the shelf. It cracked the flat marble surface with its impact and toppled a stone wall beneath its wing. Ru ran to it.

  “Rain!” the god sobbed and stroked the creature’s face with all his hands. “How did the wound come? How did he do it?”

  Blackhand sprang from the creature’s wounded eye, his flesh smoking from the acid, his sword moving faster than sight. Ru screamed and jumped backwards taking flight to avoiding the feral being’s strikes.

  Bouncing off the castle wall, Blackhand shot upwards in pursuit of his quarry, his sword a roaring storm. Ru flew higher, beyond reach of the storm.

  “Come!” Hovering, Ru thrust one of his arms forward and the Agara sword shot from Blackhand’s grip into his own. The god tested his new blade with a few slices in the air.

  “I am impressed with your workmanship, Blackhand,” the god said. “But your materials are flawed. I am master of this sword.”

  Ru gestured and a suit of golden armor covered his flesh, close fitting, ornate and engraved with many runes of origin long forgotten. Blackhand saw the armor was impenetrable. He expected no less.

  The god dived. The Agara sword whirred before him.

  Ricocheting like a hornet, leaping from tier to tier of the castle, Blackhand dodged the god’s countless blows. The opponents moved so fast they would have been invisible to the human eye.

  “You are a grand being, Blackhand,” Ru said over the roar of his sword. “But you are unwelcome. This is my world.”

  Blackhand avoided the blade by lengths no wider than a hair. He jumped, sinking his fingers into a solid marble wall and clinging there.

  “No, Ru. It is not.”

  Ru was powerful, but his strength lay on the spiritual plane. The god had no fighting skill. Blackhand saw how to exploit the weakness.

  Frustrated, Ru unleashed his hidden attack, lashing out at Blackhand with weapons from the ethereal realm. A score of lightning strikes shot toward Blackhand from all directions. They came like lances from the empty air, but bounced off his form harmlessly as if he were shielded by invisible armor.

  Ru froze. He had not expected such power. That had been his greatest attack.

  “How can you be so powerful?” Ru said.

  “Flesh and spirit are one to me,” Blackhand said.

  Ru realized he should not have confessed his surprise. The god did not believe he could defeat Blackhand on the physical plane and had gambled everything upon the magical strike. The surprise attack was all he had. The god knew he was in trouble.

  “Think what you are doing, Blackhand,” Ru said, flying out of reach above the spires. “You act on the motivations of a child. Your Abanshi heritage is meaningless now. Yuul’s desire to overthrow me is nothing but a selfish pursuit. Are you not beyond those simple desires?”

  Blackhand had not given either of those issues a thought. They were the ambitions of his dead halves. He realized Sirian Ru did not understand what was happening. The god deserved an explanation.

  “Those motives do not compel me, Ru,” he said as a moment of calm arose between them. “I was beg
otten to bring an end to all of it. I am here to finish things.”

  Ru moved agilely through the sky, ready to dodge if Blackhand struck. He weighed the meaning of the being’s words and understood.

  “Then I have nothing to lose.” Ru tucked his wings and attacked. He raised the black blade and brought it down with all his strength.

  Blackhand evaded the strike and waited for the sliver of a second when Ru’s reach was overextended. Coming in behind the god’s blow, he gripped Ru’s sword arm and held on. His blackened hand crushed into Ru’s golden armor.

  Ru screamed and tried to shake him off, smashing through his throne room wall. He clawed at his attacker with his free limbs. He pummeled the being against the soaring marble pillars and polished floors, sending chunks of stone exploding throughout the room. But to no avail. Blackhand held onto his prize.

  Blackhand set his feet against Ru’s golden torso and tugged hard. Ru screamed. The god’s armor pulled away from his shoulder, stretching and tearing like flesh. The new being summoned more strength and Ru’s arm tore loose at the shoulder. Blackhand fell to the floor, the limb tight in his grip.

  The Agara sword slid across the room, but Blackhand did not pursue it. The weapon was useless to him. The god’s golden armor vaporized and he was left naked.

  Ru had never felt physical pain before. The sensation blazed through his body, sending him into shock. The stump at his shoulder sprayed a fountain of clear liquid. He felt the fluid drain from him, but could do nothing within the inferno of pain.

  The god fell to his knees.

  “No,” Ru said.

  Blackhand discarded the arm and walked over to the kneeling god.

  “Yes, Ru,” he said. “It is time.”

  “No.”

  “You have played with the universe long enough. It is time to let it rest.”