Oblivion's Grasp

by Eric T Knight

  All of which meant there was no way he wasn’t going out to look at the dune close up, no matter what Opus said.

  He opened the door carefully. He already knew it didn’t squeak. He knew exactly which doors in the palace squeaked and which ones didn’t. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and he could easily see the soldier that had been posted at the corner of the garden to keep people away from the dune. The man was sitting on the stone bench there, leaning on his spear, snoring softly.

  This was going to be too easy. Maybe he should swipe the guard’s helmet, just to make it challenging.

  On cat feet Jimith crept through the garden on the paved path, passing within a couple steps of the sleeping guard as he did so, and made his way toward the tower. The moon was only a sliver but there was easily enough light to see the dune.

  He crept closer. It looked bigger than it had looked from above and for the first time he felt a shiver of fear. Maybe he should have stayed in the palace. What if the thing was dangerous?

  But that was silly. It was only sand. And he wasn’t going to touch it anyway. He just wanted to get a closer look at it.

  He stopped a few paces away from it and stared at it. Where had all that sand come from? The palace servants were rife with rumors about it, but no one had any real idea. Just as no one had any real idea what had happened that morning, with the strange window to another world opening up and some kind of creature trying to get through, only being stopped at the last second by Quyloc and the FirstMother.

  There was a rustling sound from the dune and goosebumps suddenly rose on Jimith’s skin. He almost ran off right then, his mind full of images of clawed things crawling out of the sand and reaching for him.

  But he was braver than that. He stood his ground and told himself it was just leaves blowing across the sand, never mind that there was no wind that he could feel.

  The sound came again, from the other side of the dune, he was sure of it. He took a look over his shoulder, making sure the guard hadn’t stirred, half hoping he had. But the guard still snored.

  He made his way around the dune, careful to stay well back from it, and came to an abrupt stop as he rounded the end.

  There was something on the dune, something dark and sprawling and multi-legged.

  His heart started pounding wildly and he almost, almost bolted. But he saw that it wasn’t moving and he fought down the fear. He peered closer. Those weren’t legs at all. It looked like some kind of plant, some kind of vine with broad leaves that reflected silver in the moonlight. The leaves were bigger around than his head, growing up on stalks that were waist-high on him. The vine covered about half of the dune and as he watched, one of its tendrils grew visibly, rustling over the sand as it did so.

  This was bad. He had to tell somebody.

  He started to back away, then paused. There were flowers growing on the vine, great big things, the most beautiful flowers he’d ever seen.

  He had to see them closer.

  He inched closer, wishing it wasn’t so dark, sure that the colors were gorgeous and vibrant, colors that would put the most expensive lady’s gown to shame. He took another step forward and the flower moved. He was looking right down into it now, almost within arm’s reach.

  There was a sudden breath of air on his face and a cloud of pollen puffed out from the flower.

  It settled on his skin and he began to scream.

  “At least it seems to have stopped spreading for now,” Rome said. It was the next morning and he and Tairus were standing in front of the tower, looking up at it. The vine that was growing out of the dune had almost completely engulfed the tower. The leaves of the vine were bright green outlined with crimson and about an arm’s length across. Here and there were huge, bright orange flowers.

  “It’s not bad enough that we have to fight an enemy you can’t kill,” Tairus said glumly. “Now we have to worry about some monster plant eating us in our sleep too.”

  “Now, don’t get all worked up,” Rome replied. “We don’t know that it eats people.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Tairus said sarcastically. “It probably doesn’t eat people. It probably just kills people for no reason. Hooray. Finally, some good news. I won’t be able to stop smiling the rest of the day.”

  “You’re grumpy today,” Rome observed.

  “Good of you to notice.”

  “You need to stay positive.”

  “Oh, I am. I’m positive things are going to get a lot worse and look,” he said, waving at the giant plant, “I’m right!”

  Quyloc, who had been standing off to the side staring at the vine, spear in hand, eyes unfocused, came walking up then.

  “What did you find out?” Rome asked him.

  “It’s definitely from the Pente Akka,” Quyloc replied. “I think I remember seeing those same flowers in the jungle along the river.”

  “How do we kill it?”

  “I don’t know,” Quyloc admitted. “If I could get to the main stalk I could probably cut through it with this.” He held up the rendspear. “But that’s a big if. And it might be it would still live even then.”

  “Why don’t we just dump a bunch of lamp oil on it and burn it?” Tairus asked.

  Quyloc shrugged. “It’s worth a try, but somehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Tairus groused. “Why should it be easy? Nothing else is.”

  “He’s in a bad mood today,” Rome said to Quyloc. “What do you think we should do?”

  Quyloc gave Rome a surprised look, then said, “I think we should leave it alone. We have bigger problems right now.”

  “I agree,” Ricarn said from right behind them, causing Tairus to jump. He spun on her, spluttering with anger, then saw who it was and clamped his mouth shut on whatever he’d been about to say.

  “The Children will be here before the end of the day,” Ricarn continued. “That is the more pressing danger.”

  “Melekath’s wound didn’t slow them down at all?” Rome asked.

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. I know we hurt him. I think we hurt him bad.” Rome looked to Quyloc for confirmation, but Quyloc’s expression remained neutral. A thought occurred to him then. “You don’t think they just left him behind, do you?”

  Ten

  “This should be interesting,” Reyna said. The tall, red-haired woman was standing on the road, watching as a number of the Children slowly closed in around Melekath.

  Heram—huge, blocky and muscular—was standing nearby, flanked by two of his followers. “He is badly injured,” Heram said. He sounded surprised.

  “Do you think he will die?” asked Dubron, one of his followers.

  “Father can’t die,” the other follower said, a man named Leckl. “He’s Nipashanti.” Leckl had been badly injured in a fire while in the prison. He had used Song stolen in Thrikyl to mend much of his injury—his arm, which had been burned down to the bone, was once again whole—but he’d had no luck with his face, which was still mostly covered by angry red scar tissue.

  “You know what I mean, Leckl,” Dubron growled. “Will he stop, never move again?”

  “Shut up, the both of you,” Heram said and they both went quiet. They knew how fast Heram’s temper went volcanic.

  Melekath was on the road, struggling to sit upright. There were numerous stab wounds in his chest, from where Quyloc had struck him with the spear. He also had several gashes from Rome’s axe, including one that cut down through his shoulder to his ribcage. There was no blood, only a curious sparking blackness revealed in the wounds. Melekath started to topple over and only just managed to catch himself with one hand.

  Around him were probably a dozen of the Children. Other Children were arriving in ones and twos as word of what had happened spread through their numbers. They were still cautious, none of them with the courage to make the first move yet, but anticipation and hunger marked their faces and they were steadily
inching closer, drawn by the power that leaked from Melekath. They had fed on that power for three thousand years while trapped in the prison. It didn’t have the sweetness of LifeSong, but they were ravenous and beyond caring.

  “If they have more of those weapons we will have to move carefully,” Heram said. The big, bearded man in the black armor had cut Heram’s leg nearly off with the black axe he carried. Heram had enough stolen Song in reserve to reattach the leg, but it was still weak and he had broken off a tree limb which he was using as a crutch.

  “If they had more, they would have used them,” replied Reyna, her gaze fixed on the Children. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. “It was a desperate gambit and it failed. In fact, they helped us. With Father out of the way there will be no one to hinder us. We’ll hit Qarath tomorrow and there will finally be enough Song for everyone.” She glanced at Heram and saw him looking at her latest prize hungrily. “You just never seem to plan ahead, do you?” she said mockingly. “That’s why you’re always so hungry.”

  Heram glared at her with his red eyes, but said nothing. Instead he motioned to his two followers and they moved off a short distance to talk. No doubt they spoke of plots against her, but Reyna wasn’t worried. The two men who had attacked Melekath had done her more than one favor: weakened by the axe blow, Heram was no real threat to her now, even with his two followers to help him. It occurred to her that she could take him out now while he was weak and be rid of him once and for all. But doing so would weaken her more than she cared. There were others who might see that weakness as an opportunity to band together and try to bring her down. Best to wait.

  Reyna’s attention fell to her prize. The woman was on her knees. Attached to her ribcage was what looked like a gauzy, gray-white tether. The other end of the tether was attached to the middle of Reyna’s palm. A small, but steady, flow of Song trickled down the tether and into Reyna.

  The woman’s eyes were fixed on Reyna. To Reyna’s surprise, she did not see despair in those brown eyes, but rather a smoldering rage and a hunger to strike. “You’re not like the rest of the shatren, are you?” Reyna said. “I think I’m going to be glad I kept you alive, and not just for food, either. I think I want to know more about you. Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”

  The woman didn’t answer.

  “Oh good,” Reyna said, smiling, “you’re going to make this interesting. I like that. It will give me something to occupy myself on the walk to Qarath. I think training you will be very entertaining. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even keep you as a pet for some time. Would you like that?”

  No answer. Only a steady glare.

  “The first thing you need to learn,” Reyna said, “is that when I ask you a question, I expect an answer, and I expect one right away. Patience, as you will also learn, is not a trait I have ever bothered to cultivate, being one of those traits that I believe only the weak and powerless require.”

  Suddenly, without warning, she gave the tether a savage jerk. The young woman allowed a small scream to escape her before she could bite it off. Her face went very pale.

  “What do you think?” Reyna asked her. “Is patience a trait that I should acquire?” She gave the tether a small twitch as she finished the sentence and was gratified to see the young woman shake her head.

  “That’s a start,” Reyna conceded. “But I expect you to speak when you are spoken to and I expect you to address me as Mistress. Is that clear?”

  When the young woman didn’t respond right away she gave the tether another jerk, eliciting another cry of pain.

  “Well?”

  “Yes,” the young woman gasped. Another tug on the tether and another sound of pain. “Mistress,” she added.

  “There. See? You’re learning already. Now, let’s try your name again. What is it?”

  “Netra,” the young woman said, a second later adding, “Mistress.”

  “Two in a row!” Reyna said. “We’re on a roll now. I think you’ll find that it will get easier and easier for you the more you do it. Who knows, if you do well enough, I might even keep you alive for a long time. I’m going to need servants, you know. I don’t plan on eating everybody. Would you like to be my servant?”

  She frowned and twitched the tether when Netra didn’t respond immediately.

  “No, Mistress.”

  “Really? I don’t understand. Wouldn’t being a servant be preferable to death?” Actually, Reyna understood completely. She would rather die than be a servant to anyone. She found herself somewhat liking this stubborn young woman. She was nothing like those two sniveling, crying sisters she’d taken from Thrikyl. Weak, fearful people disgusted her more than anything.

  “No, Mistress,” Netra replied.

  The reply was dutifully subservient, but the look in her eyes was anything but. This was an unusual young woman she had captured. How had she gotten this way? Why was she so strong? She would enjoy prying the answers from her.

  “Where are you from?”

  Netra hesitated, not enough to give Reyna an excuse to punish her, but just enough to show she was still rebelling. It was just what Reyna expected her to do. She liked her better and better.

  “Rane Haven, Mistress.”

  “Never heard of it,” Reyna said. “But then, I guess there’s a lot of places now I’ve never heard of. That’s what happens when you go away for a few millennia. So, did you learn how to steal Song at Rane Haven?”

  Reyna saw the slight flinch from Netra and sensed that she’d hit on a sore spot. Was Netra ashamed of her power? Why?

  A commotion drew Reyna’s attention away before she could pursue the questioning further. Melekath was still huddled on the road. He had ceased trying to stand and seemed to be expending his efforts in staunching the puncture wounds in his torso. Though the gouges left by the axe looked more fearsome, they were not leaking like the punctures were. Reyna could see the Stone power spilling through Melekath’s hands. He was getting weaker by the minute.

  The spear that had caused those wounds—where had it come from? She looked at her arm where she’d been cut by it. For some reason she hadn’t been able to heal the wound, not all the way anyway. There was still a purple-black gouge there. A whisper of doubt crossed her mind, just a suggestion that maybe Melekath was right to be cautious, that they had no way of knowing what they were up against, but she ignored it. However powerful that weapon was, there was only one. As she’d told Heram: if the defenders had more of the same, surely they would have struck with them. Why tip their hand with such a weak attack otherwise? Still, it would be wise to make sure other Children led the attack when they got to Qarath. Let them bear the brunt of any surprise defense. She would lose no tears over any of them. Maybe Qarath’s defenders would even take down Heram for her and save her the trouble.

  Melekath raised his head as the first of the Children reached out and touched him. He looked so pathetic Reyna almost felt sorry for him, just one bedraggled old man, a shell of what he had once been. The woman—a bent over, hairless thing of indeterminate age, her skin bleached-bone white—put her hand on Melekath’s cheek…

  With a soft cry, Melekath jerked back from her, his eyes wide.

  All at once she threw herself on him, grappling him like a berserk lover, mouth straining for one of the puncture wounds in his chest. He threw her off, but she threw herself at him again, and then it was like the fragile dam holding the others back broke. Maddened by their hunger, they charged Melekath with howls and cries of eagerness. He went down, buried under them.

  Reyna walked closer, Netra stumbling along behind her. She took her time. There was no rush. She was curious what Melekath would do. Would he finally turn on his Children? Certainly he had shown far more forbearance than she ever would have. She would have broken the necks of most of them hundreds of years ago. Impaled them on stakes and left them to writhe in torment.

  She watched them scramble frantically, like piglets fighting for a teat, then after a minute decid
ed it was time to intervene. She wanted Melekath still conscious. She hated him, but she had questions she wanted him to answer. Last night she’d been there when he emerged from traveling through the Stone. He’d said that the Guardians weren’t coming? Why? What had happened? Were they now enemies of the Children?

  “Get off him,” she snapped, grabbing one of the flailing mass of bodies by his ankle and jerking him back out of the pile. He squirmed in her grip and tried to bite her—his lips were loose and black, barely covering the two large teeth that were all he had in his mouth—and she tossed him aside with a curse.

  She grabbed another one off the pile, tossed her aside, then another and another, cursing at them steadily as she did so. Then she was at the bottom of the pile and what she found was curious. Very curious.

  Where Melekath had been there was only a lump of vaguely man-shaped stone. She peered closer. It was stone all right. She kicked it and it shattered into pieces. Underneath was a tunnel bored into the ground.

  “He ran away,” she said, disbelievingly. “I never thought I’d see that.”

  Heram came up then. “Where did Father go?”

  Reyna pointed and Heram came closer, then bent to look down into the tunnel. “He went back to the Stone,” Heram said, sounding surprised. He turned to look at her. “What do we do now?”

  “Now,” she replied, “we go to Qarath. We’ve wasted too much time already. I’m hungry.”

  Eleven

  Netra was freezing. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked along behind Reyna, but it did no good. The cold she felt had nothing to do with the temperature. It was the tether that tied her to Reyna. Her warmth, her vitality, her very life, were leaching away down that line.