Dark God

by T C Southwell

  Mirra tiptoed towards him, a smile dimpling her cheeks and excitement making her heart hammer. It was probably a poor idea to give the Demon Lord a shock awakening, but she simply could not resist the temptation. With infinite care, she stole towards him, until she stood over him, then knelt. His lashes lay against tanned cheeks, his face relaxed, deeply asleep.

  For a moment her courage almost failed her, then she gave a soft cry and pounced on him, giggling. Bane's hands snapped up and gripped her shoulders, and she found herself supine, with him grinning down at her.

  "You were awake!" she accused.

  "You woke me up, stomping through the woods like a wild boar."

  "I was not!"

  "Were too." Bane chuckled and released her, and she sat up, brushing leaves from her robe.

  "You are a bully."

  Bane snorted and reeled in his line to inspect the empty hook, unable to impale a fresh worm while Mirra sat beside him. He cast her a reproachful look. "I will not catch any fish with you around, will I? I will wager you have already told them to avoid this end of the lake."

  She laughed. "No, they are just too clever for you."

  With a sigh, he put down the fishing rod and gazed at the sun that sank over the lake, burnishing it to gold. She touched his arm, and he looked at her. The soft light gilded his face and made his eyes glow.

  "I never thought I could be this happy," she said.

  Bane smiled. "I am glad. I want you to be happy."

  "Are you?"

  "Yes."

  Her eyes drifted away to the roam over the placid lake, with its swaying bulrushes and buzzing insects. The peaceful carolling of birds echoed through the forest, and the trees whispered in the breeze.

  "Mirra." His soft voice caressed her name. She shivered, and her heart pounded as she turned to gaze at him again. He took her hand and caressed it as he lowered his eyes, looking uncertain.

  "I can offer you so little, and have given you even less. I regret all the hurt I caused, but I regret most of all what I did to you, and I wish I could undo it." She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips and raised his eyes to meet hers. "Hush. I will say this, whether you want me to or not... I am sorry."

  She bit her lip, and he lowered his eyes again as he said, "I know I am strange, but I will do my utmost to make you happy." He placed her hand on his chest. "This you own." He paused, looking pensive. "I have not asked you this before, simply because I am unversed in the ways of humans. I owe you the greatest debt possible, and I have been remiss in not asking you for your wishes. Is there anything you would ask of me?" He tilted his head. "Is there anything you want?" His eyes flicked up to meet hers.

  She shook her head. "Only you."

  "I am yours, never doubt it." He hesitated. "Will you also... be mine?"

  Her heart gave a bound of joy. "Are you asking me to be your wife?"

  "I am."

  Her eyes overflowed. "Yes. I will."

  Bane raised her hand and pressed his lips to her palm in a strange gesture he had developed over the months, and one whose source she could not fathom, for it was not something she had ever done, or seen anyone else do. He looked up at her. "Your acceptance fills my heart with joy." He noticed her tears and looked puzzled. "I trust those are tears of happiness?"

  "They are."

  "How strange, that humans should weep from joy and sadness too." He shook his head. "No matter." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I will not place the same constraint upon you as I did on my father. Anything you wish, I will grant, if it is within my power."

  Mirra could restrain herself no longer. She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him with all her strength, unable to speak because of the lump that blocked her throat. His inability to show affection at times made her a little uncertain of him, but he always accepted hers without hesitation, and, knowing the reason for his reticence, she did not find it hurtful. Her upbringing, surrounded by the healers' love, made her naturally affectionate, and she hoped that in time he would learn to show his feelings better. Bane rested his cheek on her hair, and she longed to stay like that forever, but after a while he raised his head and released her. She straightened, unable to meet his gaze, and brushed the wetness from her cheeks.

  "That is not something someone from the Underworld would say, is it? That is why it did not occur to you before."

  "The giving of gifts is not popular there, no."

  She giggled, rubbing her eyes. "What made you think of it now?"

  "My father showed me some baubles he gave my mother for her birthday. Apparently they brought her great joy."

  "Tokens of affection always bring happiness, no matter how small they are."

  "Then you must tell me what tokens of affection you would like me to give you."

  "They are supposed to be a surprise."

  He sighed. "You do not wear baubles or pretty dresses like other girls."

  "Do you wish I did?"

  "No."

  Mirra's eyes sparkled, and she turned to gaze across the lake. "There is something..."

  "What?"

  She pointed. "You see that mountain over there?"

  "Where would you like it to be?"

  "On the other side of the lake. It will look better there, I think."

  "As you wish." He raised his hands, and she giggled, then the earth trembled, and she yelped and grabbed his hands.

  "No! Bane..." He laughed and fell backwards as she pummelled him in playful anger. "That was not funny!"

  "I thought it was. You really thought I would do it?"

  "You made the ground shake."

  He chuckled, and it shuddered again, making her pummel him some more. "Stop it!"

  "No. Ow!"

  "You are frightening the animals."

  "All right, I will stop." He rubbed his shoulder. "Mithran was right. You are a bully."

  "You are a fine one to talk."

  Bane spread his arms. "Do your worst then. I am at your mercy."

  "I would never..."

  He snorted and chuckled. "You are sometimes an exceedingly silly girl."

  Mirra shook her head and sighed, smiling down at him. Bane sat up and stared across the lake, then fished in his pocket and pulled out a gold medallion on fine chain. "I made this for you." He fingered the necklace. "I want you to wear it always. Never take it off, promise me."

  "Of course, Bane."

  "I am in earnest. Not even when you bathe, not for a second."

  Her smile faded. "Why? What is wrong?"

  "Nothing, and if you always wear this, nothing will be." He held up the medallion, and she examined it. A rune was deeply inscribed into the gold, the same as one of the ones on his chest. Tiny lines of delicate writing encircled it, too small for her to read, and the lettering was unfamiliar.

  "What is it?"

  "It is the rune Chargon, a symbol of great power." He undid his shirt and pointed to the seventh rune. "It is the same as this one. It will protect you. It wards off evil. No Underworld power can touch you as long as you wear this."

  "But the wards..."

  "My mother was taken while the wards were in place. The Black Lord can still snatch people from here. By now he has left the Land of the Dead, and will be longing for vengeance. As long as you wear this, you will be safe."

  Mirra nodded, and he clipped the chain around her neck, melding the clasp so it could not be undone again. As he did so, he whispered, "Trethack myrish."

  She fingered the medallion. "What about you?"

  "Me?" He chuckled. "He would never try to take me. That would be like... bringing a wolf into his hen house. Or inviting an adder into his bed. Besides, I have one carved on my chest, remember?" He leant back against a tree, laughing.

  "All right, I see your point."

  Bane continued to chuckle until she turned and hugged him, then he held her close and murmured, "No one will ever take you from me."

  "No one would dare, Demon Lord."

&nb
sp; Bane groaned. "Do not call me that."

  "What about Mithran and Grem?"

  "I shall give each of them one, and Ellese, too."

  "And Tallis."

  "If you wish."

  She held the medallion up to study it again. "How did you make this?"

  He shrugged. "I took a stone, and wished for it to be as it is, and it was so."

  "You turned a stone into gold?"

  "Yes."

  "So you can turn anything into gold?"

  "I can turn anything into anything, except into living flesh."

  She frowned at him. "So... you could turn a man to stone."

  "Yes... You find that abhorrent."

  "It is not a pleasant thought."

  "I wish I could change what I am, but that, it seems, is not within my power."

  "I do not want you to change at all."

  "Not even that?"

  "No. I do not want to change a single thing about you." She gazed at the tiny writing on the medallion. "What do these words say?"

  "I cannot tell you."

  "You promised to answer my questions."

  "If I could, I would. There are no words for them in this language. If you wish, I will speak those words. That is the best I can do."

  She nodded. "Speak them."

  Bane murmured, "Dar merane neal ere taron ere sherell. Merash paren rinelle, rosleth aren trendoral ere crassad pronar tyr emrast relen. Ere shyalle en delyn lo perryn sone ellin tabbor, prenet andron sen drethack nith cantour."

  The string of guttural words were in the strange tongue she had heard him speak before, when he had commanded the earth and summoned demons.

  "What language is that?"

  "I do not know. The words come to me when I require them, and vanish afterwards."

  "But you must know what they mean, else... how do you know what you are saying?"

  He sighed. "I do not, exactly. I only know what they do."

  "All right, what do these do?"

  "They ward against evil."

  "Then that must be what they mean."

  He chuckled. "No."

  She turned to face him, her curiosity aroused. "You must be able to translate them."

  "No."

  "Have you tried?"

  "No."

  "Please try."

  His eyes roamed over her face. "Why?"

  "If I am to wear this for the rest of my life, I want to know what it says."

  He gazed into space for several minutes, a slight frown puckering his brow, then shook his head. "I cannot. It is not within my power."

  She sighed. "So the medallion will protect me."

  "That is its purpose. Actually, it protects itself. It only protects you because you are wearing it."

  She ran her fingers over the scars on his chest. "What do these mean?"

  He looked down at them, and touched the seventh. "This is Chargon, for protection. It wards against evil and enhances power." He pointed to the sixth, next to it. "This is Arvanon, for control and courage. It also stands for loyalty, sincerity and fortitude. Merven increases speed, agility and vitality. It wards against fatigue and lassitude. Jespar increases strength, physical and spiritual. It wards against weakness of the mind. Vacillir is a token of knowledge. It enhances all the others, and Mirdaral is a rune of illusion, or deceit, if you will. And then there is Prevash, which betokens domination. It is the first, for they are counted across, from left to right. When I cut four, I used Arvanon, Merven, Jespar and Vacillir. When I cut five, I added Mirdaral, and Prevash became active on its own when I broke the seventh ward."

  "Why did you not use Chargon until you fought Arkonen?"

  "I did not require it, and Arkonen warned me not to use it. He claimed it would destroy me. Perhaps, before I was healed, it would have."

  "Probably." She let the medallion fall. "So, have you heard any good prayers lately?"

  He smiled. "I do not think I am supposed to tell mere mortals about them."

  "Just the good ones."

  "Well, there is a young lord in the far west who longs to conquer the father of his beloved, so he can wed her, but lacks an army strong enough. He begged me to help him."

  "How romantic."

  "Not really. His love is unrequited."

  She giggled. "How sad."

  "Indeed."

  Mirra's mirth died as he raised a hand and ran his fingers down her cheek in a feather-light caress that made her breath catch. She sensed an intensity invade the air, and a hush fell, as if the forest held its breath too. A slight smile tugged at his mouth, as though he too sensed the tension around them, and knew the reason for it. His fingers came to rest under the curve of her jaw, and he hesitated, then leant forward. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers.

  The world fell away in a dizzying rush, and it seemed as if her heart stopped and a firestorm consumed the domain. All the strength drained out of her. She had no idea what kept her upright, except perhaps the paralysis his touch engendered. His lips were warm and firm, just as she had always imagined, and he tasted of spring water with a hint of mint. This close, she was able to discern his faint scent, which was akin to sun-baked stone, as if he was a product of the ethers whose mortal form remained aloof from the defilement of the realm in which he was forced to dwell.

  So it was, to be kissed by a god, whose touch turned her flesh to fire and her mind to mush. She could sense his presence as if he radiated energy in glorious waves of an aura so profound it made her tremble. Just to be so close to him was almost unbearable, akin to worship. An intense celestial ecstasy. She sensed something within her change, the essence of her being reforming. Waves of tingles swept through her, like sparkles in her flesh. Not only was she unable to move, other than to respond to his caress, but also a profound silence engulfed her, as if something kept the world at bay. Yet all that mattered was his kiss, which imparted a wealth of gentle passion and leashed power with an undertone of surprising uncertainty.

  Mirra marvelled at the seductive beauty of it, and knew why he had not kissed her before. With him, it went far beyond the mundane caress of a human courting couple. It raised her up to the realm of a deity, making her, in essence, his equal for that moment. She had captured the heart of a god. That finally hit home as he opened himself to her, and everything became clear. She had strayed within his aura every time they touched, but now he enfolded her in it, suffusing her with a power that owed nothing to the darkness, but was his alone.

  Mirra opened her eyes as he drew back, bereft at the loss of his touch and a little dazed. She wondered how much of his allure was bequeathed by his former use of the darkness, and how much stemmed purely from his godhood. It seemed as if hours had passed, but the birds still sang the same songs as they had been before, so only moments had gone by. A shy smile quirked his lips as he met her eyes.

  She let out her pent breath. "You knew that would happen."

  "Unfortunately, yes. You will get used to it, I hope."

  If his kiss was so overwhelming, she reflected, what would their wedding night be like? The thought made her shiver. Perhaps by then she would be accustomed it, as he said.

  "It was beautiful," she whispered.

  His fingers caressed her cheek, making her skin tingle. "It is my aura. Had I done that while I carried the dark power, you would have been instantly corrupted by it."

  "I think I was, anyway."

  He chuckled. "But not in a bad way. I cannot prevent it, I am afraid."

  "I do not want you to. It was magical."

  He averted his eyes. "Actually, it was celestial. One of the penalties of being... what I am, even if only a mortal one. I possess an aura many times more powerful than yours, and when I allow you within it, it can be overwhelming, I suppose."

  "In a good way," she assured him.

  "I am glad you found it so."

  "Who would not?" She paused, leaning against him. "But I kissed you while you carried the darkness, and it did not corrupt me."

&
nbsp; "Yes. You kissed me. Big difference."

  "I noticed. Why is that?"

  He looked down at her. "You took me by surprise, and I did not respond, so my aura did not touch you. It is an extension of my will, and controls my powers. When I was filled with the shadows my aura was dark, and had it touched you then, and had you surrendered to it, the darkness would have possessed you."

  "So if you ever take up the darkness again, you will not be able to kiss me?"

  "No. It would corrupt you." He frowned. "But I have no intention of doing that. I never wish to feel like that again."

  "How did it make you feel?"

  "Evil."

  She glanced up at him, startled by his terse reply. "Did you think of yourself as evil, then?"

  "Yes. I was proud of it. Evil was power and pleasure. Good was weakness and toil."

  "And now?"

  He looked away. "Evil is depraved."

  "And goodness?"

  "Evil is still stronger than good. I just do not want to be that way anymore."

  "Yet the white fire defeated the shadows in the final battle, did it not?"

  He smiled wryly. "Because I wielded it, yes. The Goddess is incapable of using it as I did, and it would have incinerated an ordinary mortal long before Arkonen was destroyed. The light itself is stronger than the darkness. Ironically, it is its wielders who are weak."

  "Gentle."

  "Gentleness is weakness, when it makes them incapable of defending themselves."

  She nodded. "Then it is only weakness when faced with evil."

  "What other measure of strength is there, other than when it is required to defeat an adversary?"

  "Yet it was the gentleness in you that turned you to the light."

  "And my ruthlessness that allowed me to use it as a weapon."

  "So that makes you the best of both worlds. With you, the power to destroy evil finally belongs to the light."