Healed by Hope

by Jim Melvin

  Normally these smaller cousins of black mountain wolves would have posed little threat to Torg and Laylah, other than to occupy their time. But these wolves were different. Their glowing eyes betrayed their disguise. They were demons incarnate.

  “My babies still love me . . . and are eager to do my bidding,” Vedana said.

  “I care naught,” Torg said. “You murdered my father . . . and for that offense I will see that you are punished.”

  “And you murdered Takoda, as well,” Laylah said.

  Vedana pressed her right hand against her breast. “Oh, boo hoo! You’re making me feel so . . . guilty. I suppose I should cast myself upon your sword and be done with it.” Then she cackled again, raised her bony arms, and shouted, “Paharati! (Attack!)”

  The wolves snarled and reared up, scissor-kicking their front legs frenetically.

  Torg prepared for a full-on charge. Instead, a sudden wind swept around the magical beasts, and they burst into frozen dust and vanished.

  Torg remained wary, knees bent, weight slightly forward, upper body balanced smoothly atop his hips. Every sense was hyperalert, yet his vision was purposefully blurred, allowing for a wider line of sight. Laylah slid around so that they were back to back, the top of her buttocks nestling against the bottom of his. Even in such a tense situation, Torg experienced a surge of lust.

  There was another unexpected gust of wind. Particles of ice and snow swirled in front of Torg’s face and blew into his eyes, as if to blind him. Suddenly the granules coalesced, and a white wolf stood before him not two paces away, jaws opened wide. The beast lashed forward, attempting to bite his face. But Torg was too fast, delivering a downward stroke that hacked through the snout and then deep into the chest.

  Not even demons were immune to destruction. When their physical incarnations were dealt a severe-enough blow, their essence was so thoroughly damaged it ceased to exist in both realms. As a result of Torg’s stroke, there was a terrible wailing sound—and then the wolf exploded, casting fur, flesh, and bone.

  Now it was Laylah who was wailing. Torg pivoted and was horrified to see that three wolves had her at once. One had clamped down on her shoulder, and the other two were gnawing at her calves. Torg growled and sprang to her defense, but before he could reach her, at least a dozen wolves leapt upon him, their combined weight forcing him face-forward onto the ice. Instinctively, Torg entered frenzy. Blue-green energy erupted from every pore, incinerating his clothing and casting the wolves away. He scrambled to his feet, expecting to see Laylah being ripped apart, but was relieved that she was standing her ground against the attackers with a score of wolves already slaughtered at her feet. The sorceress wielded Obhasa like a stave, and from its rounded head spewed blue-white flame as hot as dragon fire. The demon wolves were no match for such fury. In the end, the few who survived scattered and then vanished again, only this time they did not reappear.

  Torg rushed to Laylah, expecting to see her scarred and bloodied, but instead found her unmarred, other than her shredded clothing. At least she still was partially dressed. He once again was annoyingly naked.

  Torg looked at Laylah with a sheepish grin but then grew serious when he saw her gasp at something behind him. He turned quickly, not sure what to expect next, and then he gasped too. Standing less than a stone’s throw away was a tall, heavily muscled man with deep-blue eyes and shoulder-length hair as black as a raven’s.

  This stunned Torg. Tears leaked from his eyes and froze on his cheeks.

  “Father . . .”

  “I am lost . . . in the darkness,” Jhana said. “My son, why did you abandon me?”

  Torg felt dizzy. He ignored the sudden grip on his arm. “I searched for you. All of the Tugars did. Thousands of us!”

  Jhana stepped nearer. In his hand he held an albino snake, which writhed and hissed. The grip on Torg’s arm tightened, but he seemed unable to focus on anything but his father.

  “I didn’t raise my son to be a liar,” the voice said, in a tone that was both disappointed and accusing. “I would have been easy to find, if you had looked hard enough.”

  “I don’t understand . . .”

  “Torg . . . it’s not him!” came a voice, fuzzy and distant.

  “You don’t understand?” Jhana said. “Did I raise a simpleton as well as a liar?”

  “Beloved! It’s not him!”

  “Even the Vasi masters gave up the search,” Torg explained. “Even the Asēkhas!”

  Now his father was near enough to reach out and touch. The snake reared up and snapped at his face.

  “Asēkhas . . . Vasi masters . . . fools, all of them!” Jhana said. “But you, I thought, would have had the wits to know where to find me. She took me, Torg. And you permitted this to happen.”

  With a sudden snarl, Jhana stepped forward and shoved the snake at his son’s face, but now the serpent was solid as bone and sharp as a dagger. Another flash of white crashed in from the side, knocking the weapon away, and then Jhana was saying, “You wicked little bitch!”

  In that instant, a veil was lifted from Torg’s eyes, and he saw through Vedana’s psychic guise. As fast as any living being had ever moved, Torg punched the point of the Silver Sword into the demon’s chest. The vision of Jhana vanished, and now the gray-haired lady stood before him. Vedana howled and grasped the two-edged blade with both hands. In doing so, several of her fingers were sliced away, and they spun in the air, still wriggling. From each finger spurted a miniature fountain of blood.

  Slowly Torg removed the blade from Vedana’s chest.

  When the point came clear there was another flash of white.

  Obhasa crashed down onto Vedana’s skull.

  White, blue, and red splashed outward, and the force of the conflagration knocked Torg onto his rump. From this vantage point, he watched Laylah lash out again with the ivory staff, cracking first against the demon’s jaw and then against the side of her neck. Vedana fell onto her back, and Laylah leapt upon her, snarling viciously. The sorceress placed Obhasa between Vedana’s sagging breasts and unleashed a torrent of white-blue magic. The demon arched her back and shrieked, kicking so violently that Laylah was cast aside.

  By then Torg was upon his enemy, and he stomped his bare foot onto Vedana’s sternum and then positioned the point of the Silver Sword just above the demon’s heart.

  Vedana spit up blood but still managed to cackle. “You can’t . . . kill me,” she rasped through a ruined jaw.

  “Have you forgotten already?” Torg said. “You’re alive. And anything . . . everything . . . that ever lives will die. It is our curse. And our blessing.”

  Vedana’s eyes sprang open in realization. As if finally comprehending her doom, the demon reached for the most hurtful thing possible. “Your father was a lousy fuck.”

  “Where?” Torg said.

  “Where?”

  “Where did it happen? Where is his body?”

  “If you don’t know by now, you really are a simpleton.”

  Now Laylah stood beside the two of them. “Finish it,” she said to Torg. “Finish it now . . . or I’ll finish it.”

  But there was no need. Vedana was fading, and this time there would be no escape from death. Yet the demon remained defiant until the end, even as warm blood bubbled from her cackling lips. “Let’s just say . . . that a place made pure . . . might still harbor a few filthy secrets . . .”

  Torg knelt and positioned his face just a finger-length from the demon’s crooked nose. Then he smiled ruefully. “You believe yourself clever, demon. But you said too much.”

  Vedana spat sizzling sputum at his eyes, but Torg had already protected his face with a film of blue-green energy. Torg wrapped his right hand around the demon’s gnarled throat and squeezed with enough force to pulverize stone.

  In her short tim
e as a living being, Vedana breathed her last.

  The mother of all demons was no longer.

  Torg grabbed her gnarled hair, lifted her body as he stood, and then took off her head with the Silver Sword. Crimson fire burst from the base of her neck, but it contained little potency. The demon’s true power had come from her realm.

  Her dream had become her doom.

  Torg stabbed the sword into the ice, raised his arms, and howled. The sound exploded from his mouth so powerfully that Laylah was forced to hold her ears. When he was finished, he cast Vedana’s head far away. Then he looked down at Laylah and smiled. “The Tugars have been informed.”

  “Of what?”

  “That their king and queen still live. They will come for us, but we must walk alone for a while yet before they find us.”

  “It will be a pleasure,” Laylah said. “I could think of nothing in the world I would rather do.”

  Torg took her in his arms and whispered in her ear. “Laylah, we are finally free. After all that’s happened . . . do you still love me?”

  Laylah swept her arms around his thick torso and squeezed. “Torgon, do not be concerned. I am myself again. And I love you so much I could scream.”

  65

  LAYLAH AND TORG walked hand in hand, their feet crunching on the ancient ice of Nirodha. Their enemies destroyed, they now proceeded without concern—for there was nothing left on Triken that could stand against them. Not even an army could have thwarted them, so powerful were they as a tandem.

  Torg was no longer naked. Using hide from the mammoth, he had fashioned ankle-length coats and thick slippers for both of them. Laylah wore hers over her clothing and boots. The hides smelled as sweetly as if they had been tanned, Torg having baked out the stink with magic.

  Though both of them were hungry, they had chosen not to eat the remains of the mammoth. They weren’t sure what poisons its flesh might have absorbed when Vedana possessed it, and though it probably would have done them little harm, Laylah couldn’t stomach it. She was relieved when Torg agreed.

  The morning after their brief battle with Vedana, the sun rose bright and surprisingly warm, and the surface of the ice became slippery. One time Torg lost his footing and fell. His expression caused Laylah to laugh so hard that she tripped over one of his outstretched legs, which made Torg laugh even louder than she. But their mirth soon gave way to something else. All of a sudden they were tearing off their clothes and casting them aside, along with Obhasa and the Silver Sword. Then they made love on the frozen ground, rolling, growling, and scratching like a pair of wild animals. Despite having given birth just three days before, Laylah felt no pain upon the wizard’s entrance. Torg’s healing powers had miraculously eliminated any injuries or soreness. His booming climax created a small crater in the ice.

  Eventually, they dressed and continued in a southwesterly direction. Now they were hungrier than ever, and the wastelands seemed utterly barren, especially this far from the Ice Ocean. They had seen no living creature since leaving Vedana’s corpse behind.

  Curiosity finally got the best of her.

  “How do the mammoths survive here?” she said. “Creatures that size have to eat something.”

  “Not all of Nirodha is barren, especially near the northern borders of Mahaggata,” Torg said. “The mammoths gorge themselves and then walk long distances in search of more food.”

  “I know the wolves that attacked us weren’t real, but creatures other than mammoths live out here. What do they eat?”

  Torg shrugged. “I know more about Nirodha than some, but the desert is my home.” Then he chuckled. “Ask me something about Tējo, and I’ll be able to answer it. Nirodha? In most ways I’m only guessing. All I know is I’m hungry.”

  “Stand back and let me try something,” Laylah said.

  Torg backed away without protest, his expression curious. Not wanting to disappoint him, Laylah concentrated and then pounded Obhasa against the frozen ground. Blue-white energy burst from the tail of the staff and blistered downward, burrowing through the ice with amazing rapidity and creating a hole that extended vertically for hundreds of cubits. Then she stepped back and waited. Not long after, seawater blew through the hole like a geyser. When it subsided, a dozen large fish were flopping on the ice.

  It mattered naught that they had no firewood. They filleted the fish with the Silver Sword, cooked the flesh with their magic, and then stuffed their bellies. Wolves . . . ordinary wolves . . . came and took away what Torg and Laylah could not finish. In Nirodha, nothing was wasted.

  That evening, they lay together in the snow and gazed at the stars. Around midnight, a spectacular object plummeted from the sky and cast a brilliant explosion on the eastern horizon.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d guess that another dragon has met its ruin,” Torg said.

  This left Laylah speechless.

  66

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the Mahaggata Mountains became visible on the eastern horizon, though it amazed Laylah when Torg said that the fringe of the range still was thirty leagues away. At the relaxed rate they were walking, it would take three more days just to reach the foothills and more than two weeks to pass over the treacherous tangle of mountains.

  “We’re not snow giants,” Torg said matter-of-factly. “But at least we’re finally not being chased by something.”

  “Where are we going?” Laylah said. “Before Anna, I mean.”

  “Kamupadana is our destination,” Torg said. “But there’s a place I want to go before we reach the Whore City that I think you’ll find interesting.”

  “A surprise?”

  “Let’s just say that I once made a promise to myself that I’d now like to fulfill.”

  They walked steadily throughout the day, telling each other things about their lives that they had never had the time to discuss before. It surprised both of them how little they really knew about each other, but neither was disappointed.

  At dusk, Laylah and Torg noticed that the Silver Sword had begun to glow intensely. “This has only happened a few times since I’ve had it,” Torg said. “And even then, it was never this bright. Feel the blade: It’s hot.”

  A while later they noticed that a portion of the eastern horizon was aglow, as if a fire burned in the distance. But this was impossible, considering there was no greenery of any significance until the border of Mahaggata. Torg increased his pace. Laylah had to jog to keep up.

  The lambency intensified, but now Laylah could see that it came from a specific location that was not as widespread as it had appeared from farther away. There also seemed to be smoke or mist in the air near the source of the illumination. Torg broke into a trot, and Laylah followed as best she could, though after a while he began to build a lead. Eventually, he grew small in her sight, which made Laylah angry. She yelled at him to stop. He must have heard, because she then was able to catch up with him.

  “You trying to get me back?” Laylah said, her breath coming in gasps.

  Torg looked sheepish. “Sorry . . . a strange feeling came over me, and for a time I forgot where I was. It appears the Silver Sword has more magic in it than I realized. It is speaking to me.”

  “Speaking to you . . . or to what lies ahead?” Laylah said.

  “Hmmm . . . you make an excellent point. Let’s find out . . .” Then he added with emphasis: “. . . together.”

  Though it was less than a bell before dawn when they finally came upon the source of the glow, curiosity overrode their exhaustion. The air grew warm, then hot—and both began to sweat profusely. Torg took off his mammoth-skin coat and draped it over his left arm, causing Laylah to sweat even more. Soon she did the same, and they walked naked together.

  Eventually they came upon a crater in the ice perhaps half a league in diameter, and at its base lay a small fiery ball. Torg gaspe
d and dropped the Silver Sword, which immediately began to sink into the ice. In a near panic Torg knelt and snatched up the blade, protecting his hand with a sheath of his own magic.

  “It’s hot,” he repeated.

  “Yet Obhasa is cold and seems not to care,” Laylah said. Then she looked down at the glowing ball. “What is that?”

  “Whatever it is, it fell from the sky. That much is obvious,” Torg said. “I’m surprised it didn’t sink even deeper. We must be close enough to Mahaggata to where there’s solid ground beneath the ice.”

  “It’s so small. And what do you think it’s made of?”

  “Yes, from here it looks about the size of my head,” Torg said. “As for what it’s made of, my guess is metal . . . maybe even the same kinds of metal that were used to fashion the Silver Sword. We’ll need to send Tugars back here to retrieve this thing once it has cooled. Imagine if we could make a uttara out of it.”

  Afterward they stood in silence and stared at the mysterious object. It surprised Laylah to find that Torg was weeping.

  “What is it, beloved?”

  Torg attempted to smile but failed. “I’m not sure why it’s happening to me now, but it suddenly hit me how much we’ve been through and how much we’ve lost—so many who were dear to us are no longer . . . so many have perished.” Then he began to name each person, as if he were chanting: “Rathburt, oh, Rathburt . . . and Kusala, Sōbhana, Jord, Ugga, Bard, Tathagata, Tāseti, Henepola, Madiraa, Rajinii, Utu, Deva, Burly . . . so many, so many.”

  Laylah also wept. “Gunther, Stēorra, Takoda, Izumo, Bhacca . . . dear Bhacca.”

  “Thousands upon thousands, but all have moved on to their next lives and are no longer concerned with us,” Torg said, still weeping. “Except for Tathagata. She alone is free of the cycle. Still, even her death hurts.”

  “I wonder what’s happened to Lucius, Bonny, and the Daasa? Are they thinking about us too?”