She wiped at the tears, rose uncertainly to her knees only to be blown over by the screaming winds. She got up again, crawled on all fours toward Onokratos. Particles of dust and bone and mortar stung her eyes; a chunk of wind-driven rubble ripped a bloody gash along her right shoulder. Lightning and thunder shivered the night as she made her way over and around jagged rents and cracks.
Onokratos saw her. He reached out, imploring. The pitiful look on his face spurred her on. The wizard begged for help, for release. She struggled to her feet, leaning against the rising maelstrom. She took a cautious step; another. Onokratos moved his mouth in an eerie, soundless plea.
A familiar sound rose over the wind's howling. Ashur trumpeted in fearful confusion. Someone called her name, she thought. But who lived? She dared not look behind her but focused all her will on reaching Onokratos before the power he had summoned consumed them all.
A blinding radiance surrounded him, grew brighter with each beat of her heart. He had tapped into the island's magic and could not break the link. She had to do that for him.
She was nearly there. The energy that poured through him sieved through her, now. She tingled all over; her muscles twitched and spasmed. She could not hesitate, she knew. In moments she would be as convulsive as he.
She sought forgiveness in the old man's eyes, and found there a blessing. Calling up the last of her strength, she smashed her fist into his jaw.
Chapter Eighteen
All manifestations ceased. The earth stilled its rumbling. A final blast of thunder rolled away, and the sky turned clear and solemn. On the crater's rim, Orchos's ring of fire flickered and died, leaving only pale stars to light the arena.
Frost blinked in the sudden darkness. The crumpled form of Onokratos lay at her feet. He moaned as she ran a hand over his face, and his eyelids peeled slowly back. He looked up at her, too weak to do more than nod.
She heard her name again and turned, searching the gloom. “Where?” she answered, recognizing the voice.
“I'm pinned,” Tras Sur'tian called back.
She made her way carefully. With the ring of fire extinguished she could no longer see the fissures that latticed the arena floor. “I can't see you in the dark!” she shouted. “Keep talking."
A string of Korkyran curses guided her.
She had thought him buried in the rubble, but smoke and dust had deceived her. The arm she saw had been real enough; it was trapped at a peculiar angle beneath a pile of bone and mortar. His legs were also buried.
“I think it's broken,” he told her as she set to work to free his arm. “I can't feel my fingers.” She didn't answer but strained to move a particularly large, wedge-shaped segment that rested against his elbow. He groaned and cursed as she shifted it. “Sorry,” she said sincerely. He shook his head, biting his lip against the pain.
“Let me help."
She whirled, seizing up a chunk of mortar to throw.
“Thee are victorious."
She knew that voice. A cold hand closed over her heart. “Gel?” He emerged from the darkness. She stepped away from him, and he bent to lift the piece of wall she had been unable to move. “I thought you were dead,” she told him. Then, running a hand over her stomach, feeling the life that grew within, life he had planted there, she added hatefully, “I prayed you were dead."
Nearby, Ashur paced back and forth. At first, only his eye-flames were visible in the night. But as Gel moved closer to his mistress, the unicorn came closer. He stamped and kicked up dust. He shook his horn threateningly. Frost called to him. He came toward her, then stopped, backed off a little, ran, and jumped a wide fissure. He trotted to her side and nuzzled her shoulder.
She stroked his mane, feeling safer with him near. “We have to free Tras,” she whispered in the unicorn's ear as she rumpled his forelock.
With Gel's help it didn't take long. A knee was badly twisted, swollen and painful. But Tras was lucky. Bone and mortar weighed far less than stone and mortar, or even brick, might have. He could stand with help.
“We should get him over to the gate,” she said to Gel. “Will you carry him?"
Tras Sur'tian shunned the once-demon. “I don't need your help. I saw the blow that knocked you down. It wasn't so great. You feigned unconsciousness, hoping Dogon would ignore you. You let me fight him alone.” He looked to Frost, then at Ashur. “Don't think I can walk,” he said. “Would you let me ride?"
She pursed her lips. To her knowledge, no one else had ever ridden the unicorn. She didn't know how Ashur would react if Tras tried to mount him, and the old warrior was in no shape for any rough action. “Maybe, you'd better ask him,” she advised doubtfully.
But to her surprise, the unicorn went to Tras Sur'tian without another word exchanged. Tras looked questioningly at Frost. She could only shrug. “I've never figured him out,” she said truthfully. She turned to Gel. “At least help me get him up."
“No.” Tras Sur'tian was adamant. “I don't want his help for anything. He has shown me his mettle.” Before she could argue, the stubborn Korkyran tensed his good leg and jumped, clapping his good left arm around Ashur's neck. Frost moved quickly and boosted him with a hand on his rump.
“Should have been my foot,” she grumbled.
Tras lay across the unicorn's back in dead-man fashion. “No, this will do,” he said, grimacing when she tried to swing his leg across. “Please, let's go."
Onokratos was sitting up by the gate. When he saw them coming, he scrambled to his feet and helped Tras Sur'tian dismount. Together, he and Frost eased the Korkyran down and propped him against a solid portion of the wall. Frost found the ruptured water-skins where her old friend had discarded them earlier. She squeezed out a few precious drops to wet his dry lips. Then she rolled them into a bundle to cushion his head.
“You seem to have recovered quickly,” she said to Onokratos when Tras was comfortable.
“I feel fantastic!” the wizard answered, clipping his words. “Perhaps some residual effect of the energies that channeled through my body."
“It won't last,” she warned him.
Gel thrust a finger at the sky. “Look."
The stars no longer held their fixed places but tumbled randomly around the heavens. Familiar constellations broke up and re-formed in other parts of the sky. Here and there, a star winked momentarily brighter, icy blue or smoldering red, before it vanished. New stars formed.
“What's happening?” Tras Sur'tian whispered.
Onokratos answered, awed. “Chaos."
“And death,” Gel added, unmoved.
Frost could only nod. “Orchos is keeping his pact. He challenges Gath for the souls of our children."
They watched the silent spectacle overhead. Frost thought that she should hear explosions, thunder, crashes, and crackles, but there was only a supernatural quiet. Even their breathing seemed muted.
“What can we do?” Onokratos said when he could stand the silence no longer.
“Wait,” Gel told him dispassionately.
“We should get to Aki and Kalynda,” Frost said, slapping her forehead. “Make sure they're still all right."
“They're fine,” Tras Sur'tian reassured her. “The earth did not rise, nor fissure open where they lay. As if a barrier prevented any harm from reaching them."
“What about Kimon?” said Onokratos.
She stopped short, bit her lip, and looked out over the dark field toward the place where she had left him. “I don't think we can help him,” she answered, and blinked back tears. She had shed too many already; there would be no more. “I held him, but his flesh was so cold."
“Bring him anyway,” Tras Sur'tian said. “Bring everyone here, together. We are...” He hesitated, shook his head, seeming at a loss for words. “I don't know. More than a family, now.” He turned a scornful gaze on Gel. “Most of us, anyway. We have to care for our dead."
Frost bent down beside him. She could read the pain in his expression, in the thickness of his speech. S
he ran a hand along his face. His skin was very warm. “You're not well,” she said.
He caught her hand, squeezed it. “Hang on, woman,” he urged, returning her concern. “It's almost over."
She glanced up at the tumultuous sky and the insanely swirling stars. “Yes,” she agreed. “One way or the other."
“Bring them,” he whispered, patting the ground at his side. “Bring them all."
She promised him.
There was no way to measure the time that passed, but it crept by with agonizing slowness.
The stars stopped moving.
A while after that, Orchos appeared to them, man-sized. There was a different look to him. His shoulders slumped. The light in his eyes seemed weaker, almost bearable. Deep lines creased his brow. Worn, she decided. The god looked tired. She did not bother to rise from where she sat between the still forms of Aki and Kimon. She, too, was tired.
“I cannot win.” The lord of hell spoke with a human voice, not trading thoughts.
“And you cannot lose,” she responded with a shrug. She knew that for truth. There had been time to think about it while the gods battled. “Death and chaos are too closely matched."
“Thee has failed!” Gel smugly accused.
Orchos raised a cautioning finger. The gleam returned once more to those dreadful eyes. “I will deal with thee soon, cursed rebel. Thee are to blame for much that has happened. For now, hold your tongue while honorable beings counsel."
Gel pressed into the deep shadows of the wall and said no more.
“Are you giving up?” Frost asked, too weary to pursue a passionate interrogation. She gazed on the gentle, composed features of the child-queen she had fought so hard to save. A lock of hair had strayed over Aki's face; she brushed it back in place.
She had come so far, struggled so hard. Now, none of it was in her hands.
“Daughter, I am bound by pact with thee,” the death god said, “to fight to a conclusion, even though there can be none.” He indicated the stars. They twinkled now in calm serenity, as if nothing had transpired. But they were not the old stars she knew. “Our conflict is not without consequences, however. We ravage the very fabric of destiny with our contest. Gods and mortals alike will suffer for this."
She cut him off. “Are you asking me to release you from your freely given vow?"
The god looked askance. “Daughter, thee has fought bravely with good friends when other mortals would have shriveled in fear. Thee has dared hell, defeated demons, and bargained with gods—"
“The point,” she insisted dryly, “get to the point."
He fixed her with his gaze. For an unsettling moment, she feared she might have pushed him too far. But he let out a long sigh, an oddly human thing for one such as he. “Very well. In the short of it, thee has impressed even the lord of spiders with thy deeds."
That brought her to her feet. “What?"
“He offers a solution.” His gaze shifted to include Onokratos, who sat with Kalynda's head cradled in his lap, her fine hair spilling over his knees into the dust. Orchos pointed to the child. “The soul of that one belongs to Gath; he will not surrender what is rightfully his. She died of the spider's venom, and he will not be deprived."
He pointed to Aki. “That one, however, did not die. Her soul was unnaturally stripped from her body. Gath has no legitimate claim to it."
Now the god looked at each of them, one by one, long and lingering looks that chilled her to the marrow. “The chaos lord offers generous terms. He will give up her soul if another soul willingly takes her place."
The silence thundered in her ears. Then, she looked down on Kimon's sweet face. There was no warmth left in him. He was lost to her forever. She could think that, now, without a little knife turning in her heart. How easy it was to accept death when she had lived with it so long.
And Aki. She bent and touched the smooth ivory of her cheeks. That day seemed so distant when the little queen had named her champion and made her royal guardian. Over the days and nights they had shared, the formality between them had faded, replaced by casual hours of storytelling and secret sharing.
She had been changed by the child. Transformed by a special kind of magic. Aki had taught her to love and let herself be loved. Why hadn't she realized that before?
She owed Aki for that. She owed her the chance to grow up and find her own Kimon.
“I'll go,” she said, meeting the death god's gaze. She had not been able to do that until now.
“No, you won't.” Tras Sur'tian's eyes batted open. She had thought him asleep. “I'm old. These bones will never heal properly enough to let me bear steel again. I'll be no good to Aki or anyone else as a cripple. Let me go."
Onokratos looked slowly up. When he spoke, Frost saw the sheen of tears on his lashes. “Neither of you may go,” he said. “I'm to blame for this sorry affair.” He smoothed Kalynda's hair, lifted her head, and let it softly down to the ground. He folded her hands in the traditional manner. “She was the only child of an old man's body. When she was born, I thought it a miracle. Her mother died shortly after she was born, and I raised her alone.” He turned to Frost, pleading for understanding. “She was the only thing in this world I had to love!” he cried. “I have to be the one to go. She'll be so alone without me.” He hung his head; his tears fell on Kalynda's bosom. His next words were a barely audible whisper. “And I would be so alone without her."
Frost knelt beside him, took his head in her hands, touched her forehead to his in sympathy. “It won't be any of the known nine hells,” she said. “You don't know what it will be like."
His eyes, suddenly lucid, penetrated to her very heart. “Whatever horrible thing awaits, could I let my daughter face it alone?” He clasped her wrists and pressed her palms together. “Could you let Aki face it alone?"
She hung her head.
“It is right and fitting thee should come,” Orchos approved. “Thee fought surprisingly well and nearly to self-destruction. I admit I never thought thee skilled enough in the sorcerous arts to shape the power of this sacred place."
Frost answered with unexpected pride, mocking the death god's speech. “Thee knows well enough: magic is never just a matter of skill, but of courage and desire."
Orchos took no offense. “Well said, daughter. Onokratos desired to save his Kalynda-child. And he had courage to act on what he thought must be done to achieve that. Such qualities are human-rare."
“You speak in eulogies already!” Tras Sur'tian shouted angrily. “You so-called gods! You disgust me!"
The merest trace of amusement lifted the corners of Orchos's mouth. “To be honest, thee humans are often equally mysterious to the gods. We made thee, but we do not understand thee. Thee are not like us. This love for instance. Where did thee get it? It comes not from us. Yet it pervades you creatures, dictating much of what you do, determining much of who you are.” He spread his arms, a gesture meant to include them all. “Everything you have done here, you have done for love.” He indicated Onokratos. “He began this for love of his daughter.” He pointed to Frost. “She hunted the wizard for love of the Aki-child; and she came to love a man who meant to kill her for money.” He pointed to Kimon, then to Tras Sur'tian. “She allied herself to one she loves as a father, one who loves the Aki-child as much as she does.” Lastly, he returned to Onokratos. “And now, she even begins to feel love for the man who began it all."
The god rolled his eyes. “All of you are bound to each other by expressions of love.” He looked back at Tras Sur'tian. “You find us disgusting?” He shook his head. “We find you unfathomable."
“You've slipped into human speech patterns,” Frost pointed out.
Orchos shrugged again. “Such as thee may corrupt even the gods."
He turned to Gel in the shadows. “Come out, rebel. There is no love here for thee.” There was no movement by the wall, and Orchos called out again, darkly. “Face me, miserable creature. Show at least as much courage as these humans who sta
nd in my presence!"
Gel drew himself stiffly erect and strode up to his former lord. A damp sweat-shine gleamed on his dark skin, though his outward manner betrayed nothing but arrogance. “Thee cannot order me about, worm-eater. I am no longer yours, nor shall I serve that human miscreant. My powers are gone and all pacts made meaningless."
The death god spat in the once-demon's face. “Thee are less than the vilest beast. Had thee any honor, thee would recall that thy pact with the Onokratos-human was binding until his daughter's soul was returned to her body.
“But thee has no honor! Thee are a rebel, rebellious to the human and to me. Thee wished to be free of the nine hells.” Orchos's eyes burned with a strange glow. Suddenly, slender bolts of white fire leaped from his black pupils to lick at Gel's face. The once-demon screamed and stumbled back, clutching his cheeks. “Then, by my name, thee shall be free. But by those cruel brands shall all know thee and shun thy treachery."
Gel shot back a look of purest hatred and anger. He lowered his hands as if to deny the pain, but they clenched into fists at his sides. On his right cheek, Frost saw the charred, smoking glyph, the sign that meant rebel, that Orchos had seared into his flesh. She knew there was a similar brand on his other cheek.
“Free, then,” Gel bellowed triumphantly. “I'm free!” He turned his back on Orchos to show his contempt. A hideous grin split his face. “These little marks,” he said, “such a small price for freedom! Now, your kingdoms will be mine.” He clapped his hands together for joy. “Rebel is not a bad name. I shall gather men, the corrupt, the greedy, men you would call evil, and many others. They will flock to me, all seeking the one thing I still possess.” He turned back to his former master. “Tell them, you great butcher! Tell them!"
Frost waited for the death god's answer. Gel was too self-assured in his boasts. What was it she still did not know? She ran a hand over her belly, feeling for the life within. Did he mean that?
Orchos met her gaze evenly. “He cannot die by normal means,” he told her. “Though he is powerless, he is still born of magic. Only magic can harm him."
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