A Place Among the Fallen [Book One of The Omaran Saga]

by Adrian Cole

  Ratillic made to rush forward, but an abrupt movement from Korbillian froze him into immobility. He had stripped off the sheathing gloves, revealing white light that threatened to burn away the sight of all who looked upon it. Ratillic averted his eyes and he felt the deadening of his nerves as the paralysis took hold of him. Korbillian spoke to the black Opening and far away there was an answering boom of thunder, like the roar of a forgotten god waking from the sleep of eternities.

  24

  THE IMMOLATION

  Korbillian drew from within himself the powers that had been put there, powers that seemed eager now to be released; he wondered if they would remain under his control and allow him to do what he knew must be done or if they would struggle to shape their own futures. Before him the darkness between the pillars misted, shifting like vapours over a pool. He held his blazing hands outstretched towards it and white light stretched forward like twin streaks of lightning, absorbed by the darkness in silence. But there was movement in the dark. Gradually colours formed, writhing into a shape, a great face with an open mouth, but there was no sound. The face seemed to expand, rushing forward until it seemed that it would swallow everything before it, but instead it dispersed around the Opening, leaving yet another well of darkness beyond as though Korbillian and the place about him were sinking into the body of a god. Darkness became light, with featureless shapes humping up, almost like dunes in a desert of storms. Instead of sand, there were other substances, and Korbillian could not tell whether he looked upon some primeval swamp, some mud flat or pre-dawn soup of life. He seemed to be looking into different worlds, remote, dreary places where the earliest forms of life were stirring in their first beds. The Aspects of Omara, his instincts told him, as they had been in the beginning. Part of his mind drew upon the powers he had been given and from them came insights, glimpses of truths. What he was seeing through this window on time and space was the genesis of Omara, Ternannoc and all the other Aspects. Deep in the primordial mire he saw the great shapes, obscure, huge, moving restlessly like predators in a heaving sea. The old powers, forces that had been there before time had truly begun. And they were not of Omara, but were from outside it, like great parasites feeding on the blood of a host. The vision sharpened and Korbillian found himself dropping down to share the worlds of these old powers.

  Like thought given form, the great shapes toiled, spreading waves around them that turned into life, creating landscapes, moulding their worlds, pouring power into them. Down into the undulating creations Korbillian sank, and as he did so, he felt the shock of the power there, the extremity of evil, for the Aspects of Omara had their own creative energies, which resisted the workings of the intruders. At first the activities of the great beings were random, life spewing from their movements like the capricious thoughts of children, but slowly an orderliness came to the workings. Even so, it was chaotic. There seemed to be no purpose, no goal, except for the amusement of the old powers. They created and controlled at whim, like men asleep, and there was no room in their scheme of things for reason or compassion.

  Time had no meaning here, but Korbillian knew that if he had to study this turmoil for long, his own mind would topple into it and be absorbed by it. He used his powers to wrench away, to find a way out of the trap. He saw then that so much had been spawned by the great shapes, that some of it learned to protect itself from them and develop itself, drawing on the life forces of Omara for sustenance and survival. This was how the Aspects had raised themselves out of the storm. The old powers slept on, while in Ternannoc the powers shaped themselves, metamorphosing into the Hierarchs. And in Omara the Sorcerer-Kings grew in strength. Through the Opening, Korbillian watched the procession of time, ordered now, and he saw the Hierarchs become the great force they had been on Ternannoc, and he saw the rise of the mighty Xennidhum. They were separated then by their own worlds, each unaware that the other existed, and the old powers were forgotten, like something buried far, far down in the psyche of the inhabitants of the various Aspects. In the end, the old powers were forgotten as though they no longer existed, and in both Omara and Ternannoc the masters of power no longer knew of them. It was thus for many centuries.

  New powers were being tested. The Sorcerer-Kings were the first to discover the Openings to the Aspects. Korbillian saw now the disputes that raged among the Sorcerer-Kings, for many feared to unlock the gates, not knowing if it would be the undoing of their world, but curiosity and hunger for greater powers and knowledge urged them on and a few of them made the transition. By chance, one of them entered Ternannoc. In secret he met certain of the Hierarchs, but they did not trust him and were jealous of him; they killed him because he would not reveal to them the secrets that he carried. The Hierarchs never learned the truth about the Aspects, though they knew now that there were gates to other places, if they could find them. They set about urging their fellows to pursue the matter, thus paving the way for the great disasters that were to follow.

  In Omara the Sorcerer-Kings had undertaken the workings that revealed the Openings, but so advanced were their powers that they stumbled across the deep truths, discovering that the old powers existed, slumbering like gods somewhere in the very fabric of every Aspect. They had never been truly awake, but such power existed outside of them now that they could be woken, the Sorcerer-Kings deduced. If they woke, the consequences would be beyond imagining. The Sorcerer-Kings withdrew at once and sealed the Aspects, working the great Chaining that would ensure that the old powers slept on, gradually decaying, passing out of existence altogether. Time would secure the safety of all the Aspects.

  It had been a mistake for the Hierarchs to kill the Sorcerer-King who found them, just as it had been a mistake for him not to confide in them. Korbillian saw, for the first time in detail, the raging disputes among the Hierarchs that led eventually to the decision to search out the other world where the Sorcerer-King had come from. They did not know that Ternannoc was an Aspect of Omara. Korbillian watched the horror unfold as the great working of the Hierarchs exploded in their faces. The reverberations of that explosion cracked the shell of many Aspects, and worse, it cracked the links of the Chaining. Here in Omara, the old powers seeped out into Xennidhum and beyond it, a slow tide that would in time engulf the entire world.

  Korbillian saw now what was buried at the heart, not only of Omara, but of his own world. Yet in Ternannoc the old powers slept on. Ternannoc had been ravaged by the effects of the working that had gone wrong, the powers that clashed blasting the world, but the ancient evils there did not seep out, threatening to engulf the world. Korbillian sought to unveil more of this mystery, but he found now that it was closing to him, as though he was being deliberately shut out from it. At once he fought this darkness. The void before him rippled and then convulsed, and Korbillian found himself locked in conflict with the very powers that had been given to him. They seemed to have decided that he had seen enough, but he knew there was more. The time of deceiving was over. He set his mind to prizing out the last of the revelations.

  It was an inner struggle that brought him to his knees, the sweat standing out on his brow. Ratillic, dazed by the light, half watched from beyond, thinking that Korbillian must be in agony, but Ratillic could not move to help him, held rigid by the awful powers that yet blazed from the unsheathed hands.

  Korbillian asserted himself over the great powers that had been poured into him, drawing on every fibre of memory that went back to the dawn of his own forebears. The Hierarchs had allowed him the discretion to use his power, to wield it, and so they had let him command it. Slowly he forced their will to bend and he began dragging from them the knowledge that he sought. Again the Opening writhed, flinging up visions like storms. The truth! Korbillian's mind howled along with the silent fury beyond him. And it came. He saw now the last refuge of the Hierarchs on their crumbling world, identifying the chamber where they had gathered to make what plans they could to save their world, the same grim place where they had finally taken h
im and poured their power into him against their will. He saw their lined faces, their anger, their sorrow, their collapsing unity. And he heard them.

  Too late they had discovered the truth about the Aspects. Too late they had discovered that Omara was facing a desperate fate, even worse than that of Ternannoc. ‘It is true,’ said Kurdetto, one of their leaders. ‘I have been there, to the place of the Sorcerer-Kings. What sleeps under Ternannoc is yet chained, for all the havoc we released here. But in Omara, the Chaining is damaged. Black power seeps out and will destroy the world. One day it may seep through the very Openings. It has to be stopped. The sealing has to be made good. Once this is achieved, the Aspects will again be safe.’

  'Will the Sorcerer-Kings help us?’ another of them asked.

  'Only one has survived the disaster. Naar-Iarnoc, and already the terrible forces at work have changed him, almost killing him. But he will help us. He has been trapped by the powers that seep from Xennidhum, but if we can release him, he will open a way to the city. Beyond that he can do nothing. He fears that if there is life in Xennidhum it will be warped to the darkness.’

  Again Korbillian felt a surge of power within him as the strength of the Hierarchs sought to withdraw from him these visions of the past. There were yet truths that they did not want him to learn. He beat back the onslaught and held firm the visions beyond the Opening. Kurdetto's face loomed large once more and he forced its lips to speak.

  'It will be a long time before we dare to set our powers against what seeps from Xennidhum, for now they are stronger. The balance will change, and only when it moves to us can we act. Naar-Iarnoc is chained beneath the sands of the Silences, just as the old powers are chained, but we will have him woken. That which stirs in Xennidhum will expect Korbillian, wielder of our powers, to do this, but there is a way to preserve our powers intact within Korbillian and also deceive Xennidhum. We will use the common people of Omara, those who will be the descendants of our own refugees. They are not without power, and some of them may have power enough for the waking of Naar-Iarnoc.’ Korbillian saw then how the threads had been woven, how the people of Omara had been manipulated, how he himself had been used. The Hierarchs had placed the gift of summoning in an unsuspecting girl, and she had gone into Omara with other refugees. And through her line the gift had passed, disguised until Korbillian had arrived, unsuspecting also.

  He felt his anger rise. The gift of telling! No more than a veil for the gift of summoning, passed down to Sisipher, who had woken Naar-Iarnoc without Korbillian's power. If she had known what it was that she carried, she would never have used the power, so the Hierarchs had argued. And the girl's mother, as with all the mothers before her, had died, once she had passed the power on to her child. An in-built death that the power carried. Korbillian thought of the girl above him on the Mound. Had that death been built into her also? Before he could drag an answer from the stored power, other truths came spurting from the wounds he had made in their defences.

  'Korbillian will find the girl,’ said Kurdetto. ‘It will be part of the conditioning we give him, though he will not know it. And she will follow him dutifully, not knowing why.’

  It had been done, just as Korbillian had been forced to accept the power of the Hierarchs, believing when he did that he would be the instrument of doom to the old powers, the terrors that threatened not only Omara, but all the other worlds. But he had not known the true nature of the old powers. He had seen them as random, mindless. Now he began to see further down into the purpose of the Hierarchs. The time had come to act, to destroy what was here in Omara. The Chaining had to be repaired. Power had to be poured back into that damaged working. Korbillian readied for the task, for no matter how he had been used, he understood that this had to be done, or everything would be lost.

  He let fresh waves of power rise in him, seeking ways in which to channel them. The fabric of the Opening suddenly burst as if a huge stone had plunged into a pool, sending up great gobbets of foam. He saw again the restless dreaming of the old powers, but now there was a difference. One of the great shapes was spread there, a heaving mass with a thousand poisonous thoughts, and like an assembly of nightmares they rushed up at him as if they would engulf him where he stood. The old powers were defending themselves. They had sensed the threat to their existence, had felt through their sleep the instrument of power about to make its incision.

  As the wave of power rose up for him, visions flashed on Korbillian's inner eye. Instructions—the means by which he must seal the Chaining. It must be by sacrifice. The Hierarchs had finally seen that they had to sacrifice all their powers, but it needed more than that to repair the damage in Omara that would spare Ternannoc. It would take the sacrifice of still more power, the power inherent in the people of Omara, people that only one such as Korbillian could have mustered and persuaded to come forward against the evil in Xennidhum. Above him now there were hundreds of them, fighting to keep back the countless hordes of the servants of the Mound. They had been brought here to die! Korbillian's mind shouted. He heard Kurdetto's voice far away in the darkness. ‘Power from outside the old powers, power from Omara itself. Power from its life force, the power of blood. Blood from the earth that would seal the Chaining, just as it had done for the Sorcerer-Kings.’

  No! Korbillian's mind screamed at the combined powers within him. I will not betray them. He saw the frightful powers of the sleeping one come rushing up through the Opening, knowing that they would tear through it and claim him. If they did, Omara was doomed, and all her people, and after that, none of the Aspects would be safe.

  There is another way. Time split down into the merest particle of a second, cramming thoughts and alternatives into his mind before that wave of madness could claim him. I can open the gate to Ternannoc. He had been tricked into believing Ternannoc had been utterly destroyed. It had not been. There was no power there, but it was not the black cinder that he had been led to believe it was. He could open the portal and let this wave of darkness break there, let out all the diseased power in Omara, let it crash and thunder like a sea on poor Ternannoc. And then seal it in and make good the Chaining. His mind reeled at the thought, in so doing prying still deeper truths from the Hierarch power. He learned now that it was impossible for two of the old powers to occupy the same Aspect. They cancelled each other out, but in such a way that the Aspect would be annihilated. It was the final answer that he needed.

  He did not hear the screams of the Children of the Mound as they tried to rush forward from their hiding places. This was what they had feared most, that Korbillian would uncover this last truth. In vain they had tried to trick him into releasing the old powers from their chains, freeing them to reach dark perfection in their own Aspect. But the Children of the Mound could not cross the great plaza to Korbillian. As the light struck them, they blazed like torches, and Ratillic averted his eyes as they were incinerated.

  Korbillian yet saw the power of the great shape beyond, coming for him, almost suspended in time. He stretched out his hands and let forth the powers. They fought him as if every Hierarch had returned from his grave to defy his act of ultimate blasphemy to their cause, but he was beyond their control, he was all-powerful, and he was a match for the old powers. Shattering bolts of light now tore outwards into the Opening and there came a crescendo that smashed apart the two huge pillars at its side.

  Korbillian watched as another huge orifice appeared beyond the Opening, like a mirror of it, but as it rushed forward, consuming the first and its rising horrors, he saw through its window to the world he had known. Ternannoc. It dominated everything, and his breath rushed out of him as if he had been punched by a giant. This must be Ternannoc as it had once been, his reason told him, but the powers that writhed about him told him otherwise. This was Ternannoc as it was now. All he had to do to step into it was cross the threshold of the Opening. He would be home. In the present.

  Ratillic saw his world, too, through tears of pain. He cried out, but was not heard
, for the land was fresh, the trees and plains flourishing. There was no debris, no cracked land, no fallen mountains. The grim destruction of the Hierarch working was long over and the world was repairing itself. A few birds wheeled in its sky and Ratillic could feel the presence of animals in the undergrowth, watching him as if they knew their destiny stared back at them.

  Time came down upon Korbillian like a hammer. He had to act quickly. What had been a simple choice had now become an agonising decision. He could do precisely as the Hierarchs had wanted from the outset, save Ternannoc, even though it had been at their expense, and damn Omara's faithful above, or save the world he had promised to deliver from the darkness that beset it. He thought then of all the misery that the Hierarchs had unleashed, and of all the other Aspects he had visited and had not been able to save from chaos.

  He felt himself a traitor now, and this was a far greater burden than anything he had yet had to bear. But he went on with his working, opening wider the gate to his world. Up from the deeps of Omara came the livid anger of the old power, smashing through the Chaining, but it did not fall upon Korbillian, nor did it surge out into Omara. Instead it gushed like poison into Ternannoc. The chamber shook as if battered by the fists of the gods, and dust poured down from above as though the ceiling up there beyond vision must surely fall.

  Ratillic's eyes wept in the brilliant light as he strained to watch Korbillian holding to his task, knowing what was happening. He was leeching the old power, directing the flow of its energy into Ternannoc, where it would destroy utterly a world that had not died, but which was ripe for rebirth, pure, free of darkness. Shrieking, Ratillic burst free of the spell that held him, and tore across to where Korbillian stood. Like a madman he clawed at him. But as soon as his hands touched him, he was tossed back like a straw doll across the chamber. He fell among the ashes of the Children of the Mound, who had not survived to see the passing of their god into a cyclone of destruction.