'And whom, may I ask, my King, is this?' Treibhreas pointed his staff towards Haumea. His last word was loaded with enough venom that Nikka could taste it.
'This,' said Durach,' is Haumea. She had been appointed temporary Second Glaine by Oinoir, my new prime Glaine.'
This caused consternation amongst the council. They should have been informed... No they should have been consulted. Who had usurped the council's authority? Haumea answered them with another ear-splitting retort from the base of her staff.
'The question that you have all failed to ask is what happened to brave Ionracas?' asked the King. 'And to my shame, it is a question that I myself never asked.'
'The Intoli have swept him away. And with him, most of our southern army too.' This news caused consternation in the Giants. Whilst they digested it, the King seized the chance and spoke again.
'I have the right to appoint who I wish as my Glaines. And now I shall do just that. Haumea, I strip you of the title of second Glaine. I bestow up you the new rank of Prime Glaine.'
If ire was the response to the news of Oinoir's unapproved accession, this announcement unleashed bedlam in the room.
'This cannot be! We may only have two prime Glaines. Ionracas was one and I the other,' said Treibhreas.
'And now we have three!' bellowed the King. Fire guttered at his fingertips, but as he looked at them, the flames died. 'Now we have three,' he repeated. 'Unless you wish to resign your post?'
'Never,' said Treibhreas. 'The title has been my families for generations and shall remain so.'
'Very well,' said Durach. 'Gather your guard. Gather your workers. Gather your family. Haumea shall lead them to aid our brothers in the fight with the Intoli. She shall lead them to defend the Dearg Fola and defeat this evil.'
'So now we approach the heart of the matter,' said Treibhreas, the gnarled Giant, 'your obsession with something that you cannot possess.'
'No,' said Durach. But after a moment, he corrected himself. 'Yes and no. The stone is the reason that I have remained here inactive, fearing what I had become. But the madness has passed. Now, I see what I must do.'
'And what of the Ghria Duh?' Treibhreas asked his King.
The King sighed. 'I do not know. Perhaps we shall find the answer to that in Dilsich also?' The King gathered himself together and then stood and addressed the assembled Giants. 'You have heard my commands. Carry them out.'
'You seek to seize control from the council and send us all to our deaths!' shouted the grizzled Treibhreas.
'Where one goes, so must all,' said the King with a grimace. 'And so must I.' The council gaped at his words as the King left them to ready himself for war.
20 - A Fine Day to Exit
A cold white floor; tiled and pristine. One mirror, one sink, one toilet, one bath. All white. The bath is full of water. Gentle, still water. Harsh pinpricks of iridescence lie on the surface, like the reflection of the moon on a frozen lake.
But he had never noticed them. Or he had never noticed the reflection. How many times had he lain in that water staring at the spots of light above them? Had she lain with him in these waters, the love of his life?
She had left him, like all the others and so now, here he was again; alone. He stared down the tiled floor. He couldn't see himself in it, but that didn't trouble him either. Nothing did.
Not until the blood hit the floor. The room vibrated with the impact. He stared at it, that island of black-red violence. He stared at it until he began to shake.
Then he was in the water; lying motionless in it. The room had not changed, but he had. He was dying. His veins were open. He himself had done it., with an excruciating cut on his left wrist. He hadn't found the resolve to complete the one on his right.
So he lay there, as his life drifted into the water, but the tranquillity of this haven was gone. He started to shake once more and this time the polluted water shook with him. He tried to rise out of the water, but his strength failed him and he slid further in, causing the water to surge to the far end.
Then the wave hit the end of the bath and began its return. It gathered momentum as it approached and its colour deepened. By the time it was upon him, it arched far over his head, turning deep crimson.
And then it engulfed him. It flowed over him and into him. It filled his mouth and nose. He tried to breath, but he couldn't.
And his heart began to slow.
He felt his world tilt and then he could breathe. He coughed and regurgitated gouts of blood. But before he could wipe his eyes, the world rolled and he drowned once more.
The red wave that had overcome him was now so dense it was black, but it tasted of blood. It smelled of blood. It had the cloying viscosity of soiled blood. No air remained for him. He tried to breath, but he only drew more of the tepid fluid down into his lungs.
And his heart slowed down.
He felt himself tilt and slide, but there was no relief this time. He tried to cough, tried to gasp. His heart stuttered, fighting against him, fighting to live. But it, like him, had failed.
And his heart stopped.
Wist hit the floor hard and his heart fluttered. He lay on the stone floor, too weak to move. Blood dripped from his mouth, from his nose, out of his ears and around his eyes. But his lungs were too full of blood.
Her face came to him then. She laughed at him. And so did Tilden
Then a fist struck him in the chest and his world exploded in fire without flame. The fist struck him again; another hammer blow, and this time his heart responded. He felt himself being rolled onto his side and he vomited blood. Someone thumped his back. With each strike, his lungs gave up more of the putrid fluid. Then he hauled a massive gasp of air into his lungs and the coughing began anew. As he pushed the air in and out of his battered body, strength returned to him. He pulled at the clots and lumps of congealed blood covering his eyes.
Wist managed to blink and he saw Tyla. The Lyrat shoved a hand under him and lifted him to his feet. 'We must be away,' he said.
Wist gasped again, tasting burnt rock and blood. There were Giants here. Of course there were. Oinoir and Brathoir were on the rock outcropping, above the lava lake, along with a handful of others.
Then he saw the ruined body of the dragon. It was cut in two. A trail glistened from the remains of the dragon to where Wist had awoken. His heart pounded when he thought of what he had seen.
'As the Desert man has stated, we must move,' said Oinoir.
'The dragons,' Wist began.
'Gone or dead,' the Giant replied. 'When the mother died, the two that were left fled. Through the tunnels in the roof.'
'The others Giants?' Wist asked.
'Likewise, those that the dragon-kinder did not slay have retreated. They cannot reach us now.'
'No, damn it,' spat Wist. 'This is Tilden. Fuck sake Tyla, it is him.'
Tyla shrugged, but when the cavern shuddered, he grabbed Wist and pulled him along the shelf. The lava lake below them was in a state of turmoil. Its orange underbelly had broken through the black crust and it spat chunks of magma and gas, trying to claim a final few victims before it was abandoned once more.
They moved on as fast as they could. The gap that had promised escape turned out to be little more than a high cave, so they went on in hope that an exit lay there. The rock shelf broadened beyond a bend in the wall and it allowed Tyla to support Wist. As the Lyrat drew level with him, Wist stumbled. His near drowning in dragon blood had weakened him and his knee buckled when he caught his toe. He broke his fall with his hands and they stung with the impact. Wist cursed his weakness as he rose, but then the chamber shook with another tremor. Tyla was there again with a hand to keep him upright. When the rumbling passed, he shook Tyla's hand from him. He had had enough of helping hands.
He looked down at his own hands and checked them for cuts. They were clean and unmarked. The rag that had covered his wrist was gone. He stared at the exposed cut. He no longer bled and the dried blood around it was not his
.
This allowed him to accept his suicide in that other world; his real home. That had been his home. He had lived there and, he forced himself to admit, he had died there.
Rocks continued to fall into the molten lava lake below them as they progressed along the path, but at least the air cleared as they moved. The half dozen Giants that accompanied them were quiet for the most part. They grieved for their lost brethren in the silence of their hearts. Only Brathoir was not quiet. He hummed a lament to himself for a time and then he began to sing.
Born of stone,
And wood and sea.
Too far from hearth and home.
Where time stands still
And death lies down
To rest among the thorns.
So cast no tears
To ground unshorn
For all shall now return
Know sorrow, grief
And shed them here
Unburden heart and soul
But who can grasp
Future unwrit.
And chances yet to come
So shed your woe
And shed your fear
Shed all that weigh you down
And honour me
And honour all
Rebuild your homes anew
By the time Brathoir reached the final lines, all of the Giants had joined in, either singing or humming. Wist found no comfort in the words. How could he rebuild his life or home? They were gone.
They shuffled on in single file again as the path became narrower and the ground more strewn with debris. The path stayed close to laval lake. It hugged its edge, and remained the same height above it, but at least now they could see where it ended. The lake slopped over the edge of a precipice. This bizarre mockery of a waterfall promised them some respite from the heat.
Wist should have been sweating. The heat from below stung his face, but it was the fire inside him that burned. Tyla looked immune to this heat, but the Giants suffered, and Brathoir most of all, though he did his best not to let it show.
Inch by inch, they made their way towards the edge where the lava vanished into the abyss. For a while, Wist did not believe that they would ever reach that point. But as he began to give up hope, they were there, staring out and down at the lava as it fell away from them.
They could not stay there for long due to the rising fumes. Thankfully, the path veered away to the left and then entered a cavern. There they took the opportunity to rest and drink and some of the Giants even slept, but Tyla went on to find where they could go next. The heat had lessened, but the air remained arid.
Wist looked at his arms as the Giants rested. They were streaked with dried blood, as were all his clothes. He wished he could wash all of this blood off him, but they needed their water for drinking.
As Wist rubbed at the crimson stains on his skin, Tyla came back and went straight to Oinoir. 'The way out is unclear. We have many options, but no one is better than another.' Oinoir sighed.
'We've got to go!' shouted Wist. 'We are wasting time. Let's go, now. For fuck sake get up and move.' He kicked a loose stone that ran along the ground and stopped at a Giant's feet. The Giant picked it up and rolled it around in his massive hands.
'This man has a point,' said Brathoir. 'We can die here slowly, or walk about lost in these tunnels and die much quicker.' Tyla raised an eyebrow at him and the Giant raised his hands and then smiled. 'You are right though. What do we gain by remaining here? No, I say we do as the red man says, and get going.'
Red man? Wist looked at his arms and clothes again. Brathoir meant him. Every inch of his skin was stained with dragon's blood. Bloody red man indeed.
Oinoir agreed so they assessed their equipment and readied themselves to move. They had a few torches to light their way, and some food, but water was their main problem.
They passed out the rear of the cavern into a tunnel. Immediately, the tunnel split in two. Tyla indicted the left-hand path saying that the right one led nowhere. The path led on winding upward, but then it split again. Tyla again indicated a direction, but when it split into three Tyla stopped and shrugged then looked at Oinoir.
Oinoir returned the look and then glanced at Brathoir. Brathoir shrugged and the completed the circle.
Wist cursed and strode up to the entrances to the tunnels. He looked at all three. The one straight ahead felt warm. It wasn't a direct heat, but an implied one; implied, but violent like the inferno they had left behind.
The path to the right... He felt nothing. It was lifeless and still.
Wist stared at the left-hand path. At first, he thought it felt like the right; devoid of life. But then a slight breeze touched his skin and his hairs tried to rise through the matted blood. He pointed to Tyla, and then walked into the left-hand opening, but darkness forced him to wait for the rest to follow.
The tunnel became higher and narrower as they walked on, though it remained wide enough for the Giants to walk in pairs. The stone had lightened in colour, becoming bleached white in places.
The path lead them upwards for a while, only to slope back down again. This pattern repeated again and again. Then they stopped to sleep for a while in a wider section of the path. A few branches left their path, but without a reason to believe that they would hasten their exit, they stuck to the main path.
On and on they went on. The combination of the half-light of the torches, the monotony of the stone walls and the rhythmic drumming of the Giant's footsteps had a soporific effect. It was impossible to measure time without a reference. Wist would even have welcomed the terrible Ghria Duh to break the succession of tunnels.
With no way to tell direction, the group were left to rely on Wist's intuition. The responsibility pleased him, so he took command.
He knew that he headed towards Tilden. Since he had emerged from the belly of the dragon, he could feel his presence. At first, he hadn't been able to determine the source of his unease, but now he was sure. Like a spike in his mind or a pin piercing his consciousness, it pulled at him. Whatever way he went or whatever he turned his thoughts to, the point of pain was there inside of him. So he used it as a beacon. Like a fire lit on the side of cliff to warn of disaster, he used it to help him pick his way through the underground labyrinth, but instead of steering away from it, he drove straight for it.
And he marched them on at a furious pace. Ignoring his own body’s complaints, he forced them on, taking as little rest as the group would accept. Wist blocked out everything to focus on his goal.
A hand pulled him back, but he slapped it aside. The hand returned and this time it refused to be dislodged from his shoulder. He spun and shouted, 'What?'
Tyla raised an eyebrow and removed his hand from Wist's shoulder so that he could point to a figure behind him on the ground.
Brathoir. He had collapsed. Wist went to him.
'I am... I am sorry…' Wist said. Brathoir shook his head as he was helped up by Oinoir and Wist. Tyla gave the Giant a water skin that looked minuscule in his hand. The Giant drained the leather pouch and handed it back to the Lyrat.
'That was the last of our water,' said Tyla.
Wist castigated himself. Taking care of basic provisions should have been his first concern, ensuring that his men had the right supplies for the mission.
Mission? What mission? This was no mission. He was not in command and these were not even humans, never mind his men. Wist slapped his own face, trying to regain his focus. He caught sight of his scarred wrist and tried to ignore it.
'We must find water,' said Tyla. 'I may go for many days without, but these Giants... They have no control over their bodies. They cannot survive for much longer. Without water, it will be only you and I that shall leave this place.
'No,' said Wist. 'Too many have died for me.' Eliscius, Faric - all those men on the ships he had sunk - and who knew whom else.
'But what else can we do but go on?' asked Wist. 'We have no idea if there is any water down here.'
'There is
always water underground,' said Tyla. 'We know not where, so we must go on.'
Oinoir went to Brathoir and took his weight. The injured Giant could not muster the strength to protest. So they set off once more without complaints from the Giants, but Tyla was right. This ordeal had taken more out of the Giants than it had from himself or Tyla. Oinoir fared best of all of the Giants, but even he looked spent.
They must find their way to the surface. There they would find a stream or it might even be raining right now. They couldn't be far now. It must be days since they left the dragons behind. These tunnels couldn't last forever, could they?
As if the world sought to dash his slender hopes, the path dipped down again. But this time the temperature began to drop as well.
Wist slipped as the path faded to the left. He caught himself before he fell. In his haste, he failed to notice that the path had become muddy. If there was mud, then there must water somewhere.
He rushed ahead of the Giants and Tyla went with him. The ground stayed damp underfoot, but there was no sign of the source. They pushed further ahead until the Giants could no longer be heard behind them. This single path they followed had become their only hope
And on it led them; the floor became clogged with mud and the air grew frigid. Wist's breathing became harder, more desperate, but he kept going. Forcing his legs to keep going, his heart laboured under the demands of his body.
Tyla passed him when the walls of the corridor allowed. He glided through the mud. Wist spat and cursed at each footstep. Then Tyla stopped and lifted up his head. Wist drew up beside the Lyrat, but the Lyrat silenced him with a movement of his eyebrow. Wist calmed his breathing and then he could make out a feint hiss. At first, he thought of vipers and hidden enemies, but the ends of Tyla's lips turned up and he walked forward, motioning Wist to follow. As they walked, the noise became louder, more defined. It became a cascading rumble. And then it was a roar.
They turned a corner through an opening at the end of their corridor into a huge roofless chamber. The moon shone bright and clear down onto them from a long, long way up, but it was still bright enough to make a mockery of Tyla's torch. But it wasn't the moon that took Wist's breath away.
The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection Page 53