by M. H. Bonham
Thunder rolled across the plains, and violet lightning streaked across the sky in a pattern that unmistakably caught the filaments of the Wyrd threads. Areyn grinned, feeling his link establish to Tarentor and his other worlds again. The dead’s energy strengthened him once more, and he looked up at Rhyn’athel’s troops in satisfaction.
Let’s see how you handle the Fyr, Rhyn’athel.
CHAPTER Eighty-Three
Demon warriors charged Lochvaur and his Chi’lan. No longer Braesan, the Chi’lan attacked the demons in fury. Their bodies, now from Athelren, made them immortal, and they could not be killed. The demons fell to their swords and spears.
Thunder rolled across the plain, stained black with demon blood. Fialan looked up to see instead of stars, dark clouds with violet lightning shimmering across them.
Lochvaur finished impaling Flayer on his sword and looked up. Dread crossed the godling’s face as his silver eyes darted from one end of the horizon to the other.
“What is it?” Fialan asked.
“I’ve seen skies like this once before,” Lochvaur said. “Can you see the Wyrd filaments or the branches of the World Tree being shaken?”
Fialan stared into the sky. The violet flames licked the stars and coursed along in a spinning fashion. Ethereal and beautiful, yet altogether sinister, the fire seemed to arc across the sky. “I see something, but I can’t describe it. Like a dance of fire, only woven…” He shook his head.
“Damn demon!” Lochvaur said. “Areyn is releasing the Fyr — I thought we had weakened him enough.”
“What does this mean?” Fialan asked. When he heard no reply, he turned to Eshe. “Eshe — what is it?”
“It’s our destruction,” Eshe said, her face pale. “Unless Rhyn’athel can stop it.”
*****
“You knew it was a possibility,” Ni’yah said as the flames raced across the sky. His voice was as hard as his brass eyes. He met his brother’s gaze. “I can’t stop it — you know that.”
Rhyn’athel gazed at the fire. “I know,” he said. “It is something I must do.”
“What is it — the Fyr?” Lachlei asked, her terror creeping into her voice. What had Rhyn said about the Fyr? She tried to remember, but none of what she could recall would help her battle this power.
Rhyn’athel turned to her. “Stay with Ni’yah — no matter what happens to me.”
“What are you doing?”
“What I must do, Lachlei.” Rhyn’athel reached over and caressed her cheek. He met her gaze. “I love you.” He drew Teiwaz, clapped his legs against his warhorse, and rode forward.
Rhyn, no! Lachlei shouted in mindspeak, but she heard no acknowledgment. His form glowed as he rode forward and faded on the wind.
She turned to Ni’yah. “Will he live through it?”
Ni’yah turned to her, his brass eyes filled with worry. “I don’t know.”
*****
Rhyn’athel rode forward, his eyes focused on the flames of the Fyr. They swirled ahead of him, dancing like the Northern Lights. Yet, unlike the Auroras, Rhyn’athel could see a pattern and a purpose to them. They ran along the World Tree’s trunk and through its branches; across the filaments that wove the great Web of Wyrd — the Web of Fate. He stared at the flames, both beautiful and deadly.
Rhyn’athel had used the Fyr when it was contained. Like the Wyrd, the Fyr was the power of creation and destruction. Like the Wyrd, an Athel’cen could only affect it, not fully control it. He and Ni’yah had used it to create life. Areyn had used it to destroy. It would destroy again if he did not stop it.
As Athel’cen, the higher gods believed nothing could destroy them, but Rhyn’athel had long wondered about the Wyrd and the Fyr. Even the higher gods were beholden to both: the Wyrd controlled the Athel’cen destinies and the Fyr gave them life. But could they destroy the Athel’cen? Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah had argued the philosophical points, but to no avail. They simply did not know, and neither wanted to find out, even though Ni’yah wryly suggested they try its powers on Areyn Sehduk.
Rhyn’athel stared at the flames as they spread across the fiber of the Web. Areyn did not care if he destroyed all in his quest for power. He would rather destroy all than give into Rhyn’athel. The warrior god concentrated, but the power of the Fyr was too great for him to simply control. There was only one way, and that was to transmute into pure energy and join it. Only then, Rhyn’athel knew he might be able to control it.
But at what cost?
The god stared at the Fyr. He might lose himself to the Eternal Fire. He would not be dead, but he would be trapped for eternity. Without him, the Eleion would not survive, even under Ni’yah’s protection. Areyn Sehduk was too powerful for Ni’yah to defeat alone, and the death god would gain the upper hand in this battle for power. His sons would not survive, and Areyn would finally have control over all the worlds, save perhaps Athelren. But, in time, even Athelren would fall, regardless of the other gods and goddesses. Areyn was too powerful to be held at bay for long.
But the Fyr would destroy all.
Rhyn’athel closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do. He shed the corporeal shell he had so carefully constructed. Areyn must not win now.
Without a body, he was free to sense the Wyrd and its patterns. It gave him no hope — no answer to his questions. It merely stopped at his decision point. The future was completely unknown. His destruction would shake the World Tree at its very foundations.
Perhaps there would be another Athel’cen; another warrior god created from his own energy.
Perhaps; perhaps not.
His thoughts were of the Eleion, the Lochvaur, his son, his unborn sons, and Lachlei before he leapt into the Fyr and was consumed…
*****
The foundations of the Nine Worlds trembled. Tremors ran across the Darkling Plain causing the battle to halt. Demons and Eleion stared into the sky as the Wyrd strands streaked across it. Dark lightning coursed across the filaments.
Fialan turned to Lochvaur, who watched the patterns of the Wyrd race through the sky. “What does it mean?” he asked.
Lochvaur gazed at the sky stoically and shook his head. “I don’t know, Fialan. I hope my father knows what he is doing.”
Farther up the battlefield, Areyn Sehduk smiled.
Rhyn’athel was no more.
*****
Lachlei hung her head and began to weep. Rhyn’athel was gone — she could feel it as the Wyrd shifted. Why, Rhyn? Why? she silently asked. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. Ni’yah’s brass eyes glittered in concern.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
The wolf-god shook his head. “I don’t know, Lachlei. I can’t see into the Wyrd with this. The path isn’t there…”
Lachlei wiped her tears and met his gaze. “Is there a chance he might survive?”
Ni’yah sighed. He shook his head. “I don’t know — it’s the Fyr, Lachlei. Only the dragons survive it, themselves being creations of it.”
“Then, there is a chance,” Lachlei said fiercely. “We do have hope.”
“A foolish hope, perhaps,” Ni’yah said. “Come, we must meet with Lochvaur and the others.”
“Lochvaur? Rhyn’s son?” Lachlei asked.
The wolf-god nodded. “Lochvaur might have a better idea for fighting Areyn than I do. He was under Areyn’s dominion for nearly two millennia.”
“Lochvaur is still not as strong as he would like to think he is,” a voice came from behind them.
Lachlei turned her horse. Before her stood Areyn Sehduk. Beside him stood two demons holding Lochvaur, who struggled against the chains that bound him.
CHAPTER Eighty-Four
Lachlei and Ni’yah’s warhorses spooked. Lachlei leapt from her own before it threw her. Ni’yah dismounted and stood beside her. “Let them go,” he said quietly. “You won’t be able to hold them now that Areyn is here.”
Lachlei released her horse and it scampered away, terrified of both Areyn and
the demons. She drew her sword, Fyren. The long sword felt woefully inadequate against the god.
Four demons flanked Areyn at either side. They were not the heath-stalkers, but arch-demons. They had raptor heads and gazed at her hungrily; their yellow eyes glowing as they considered her. Yet, it was Areyn who drew her attention.
Areyn Sehduk was a handsome god, Lachlei had to admit, despite his Eltar features. Dark, piercing eyes and a long black mane, Areyn was as tall as Rhyn’athel and as muscular. He wore black mail and no surcoat. A dark Sword of Power hung at his side.
Despite herself, Lachlei felt strangely drawn to the death god as much as she had been drawn to Rhyn’athel. She could see a resemblance between Areyn and Rhyn’athel. The warrior-hardened features, the angled jaw-line, the fierce expression — he reminded her of Rhyn’athel.
Could they be brothers? she wondered. She glanced at Ni’yah, whose gaze was riveted on the death god. There was a resemblance between Areyn and Ni’yah, too — she had not seen it between them because of Ni’yah’s wolf-like hair and eyes. But now, having seen all three Athel’cen, Lachlei could discern their similarities. Ni’yah and Rhyn’athel considered themselves brothers, being Athel’cen. Areyn was Athel’cen — did that make him Rhyn’s brother?
Lochvaur struggled against the fetters on his wrists, ankles, and neck. Stripped and bloody, he met Areyn’s gaze with a feral look that spoke of hatred.
Areyn laughed. “So, you will destroy me, Lochvaur? Where is your power now that your sire is destroyed? Where is the great Rhyn’athel now?”
Lochvaur was facing Areyn, but he held Lachlei’s gaze. “He isn’t destroyed. You of all should know this.”
Ni’yah glanced meaningfully at Lachlei. If what he says is true, he knows more than I do but, it could be the ramblings of a madman.
“Rhyn’athel is gone,” Areyn replied with such finality that Lachlei closed her eyes. “Nothing survives the Fyr save that which belongs in it.” He turned and slammed his mace into Lochvaur. The Chi’lan warrior went limp in the chains. “I’ll deal with you later,” he growled.
Ni’yah had already transmuted into his wolf form and leapt at Areyn. The wolf’s massive jaws closed around the death god’s gorget, but Areyn threw him off with ease. Suddenly, Ni’yah stood chained beside Lochvaur’s limp form, unable to move as the fetters wound around his body.
“Leave him alone,” Lachlei growled, raising her sword. It was a bold, defiant gesture, but one she knew was hopeless.
Areyn turned to Lachlei, his dark eyes considered the Chi’lan woman thoughtfully. “I think not,” he said with a sneer. “I think they’ll make fine pets. Don’t you think?”
“I think if you were as powerful as you say, you’d free them,” Lachlei said. “They can’t hurt you.”
Areyn laughed. “A brave goad, Lachlei, but I think not. Even I know my own limitations when handling fellow Athel’cen and their spawn. Ni’yah, for all his meddling can indeed be dangerous. And Lochvaur…” He paused and his countenance darkened. “Lochvaur is dangerous indeed.”
“Why are you toying with me — certainly not to taunt me,” Lachlei said.
“Rhyn’athel is gone, Lachlei — the Fyr consumed him as it will consume all. You’re alone now, and you alone must make a choice.”
“Choice?” Lachlei snarled. “What choice could you offer me?”
“Lachlei, don’t listen!” Ni’yah said.
“Silence, cur!” Areyn snapped, and a muzzle twisted around the wolf-god’s jaws. “Your brother is gone, and as usual, you haven’t the power to deal with me.” He turned back to Lachlei. “He meddles in the affairs of mortals without understanding what damage he causes. Lachlei…” His tone was almost a throaty purr. “Lachlei, they’ve kept so much from you.”
Lachlei took a slow breath. “What have they kept from me?”
Delight flickered in Areyn’s dark eyes. “You don’t know, do you?” Areyn said. “Neither Ni’yah or Rhyn’athel bothered to tell you your destiny? Funny how that slipped their minds.”
“What destiny?”
“Lachlei, Rhyn’athel was never in love with you. Gods such as the Athel’cen are incapable of love. Oh, we have needs and desires, but they are much different than anything a mortal experiences….”
“That’s not true,” Lachlei said.
“Really? Did Rhyn’athel mind-link with you?” Areyn smiled as he saw the doubt form in her eyes. “Gods can’t mind-link with mortals, Lachlei, because we are very different from you. While you may satisfy us for a short time, there is no love, not as you know of it.”
Lachlei forced herself to stare ahead at the demon god, but her mind was reeling with his words. Could Areyn be telling the truth? Rhyn’athel had not offered to mind-link with her as first-bloods did. Perhaps Rhyn’athel did not because he was a god — in that case, Areyn was right, Rhyn’athel could not mind-link with her. She forced herself to recall Rhyn’athel’s last words. “Rhyn loves me.”
“Rhyn is it?” Areyn chuckled. “My, my, how he duped you! Poor girl!”
“Silence!” Lachlei snapped. She raised her sword defensively. “Would you like to feel Fyren’s bite again?”
Areyn smiled, but his smile was patronizing. “Lachlei, don’t you think as a god, I could have anything I desire? Even you? Your pathetic attempts at defending yourself are hardly worth noticing. Still…” He grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know why ‘Rhyn’ was so eager to bed you?”
Lachlei’s face flushed slightly, but she kept her gaze steady and her guard up.
“The sons you’ll bear will change the balance of power,” Areyn remarked. “The Wyrd has shown us all this. Rhyn’athel naturally decided to seduce you to be certain it was his offspring, not mine.”
“That can’t be true…”
“Can’t it?” Areyn asked. He glanced at Ni’yah. “Why don’t you ask the meddler? He’ll tell you the truth.” With that, the muzzle slipped from the wolf’s jaws.
Ni’yah moved his jaw back and forth in an effort to restore feeling to it. “Don’t believe him, Lachlei. Rhyn’athel loves you…”
“Is it true about my sons?” Lachlei asked. “Is that why Rhyn…”
“Lachlei, he’s twisting the truth around,” Ni’yah said. “That was a consequence of Rhyn’athel’s appearance in this world on the Wyrd…”
The muzzle snapped around his jaws once more, and the wolf-god tried fervently to paw it off. Areyn laughed. “You see, Lachlei? Ni’yah can’t deny that Rhyn’athel used you. I would’ve done the same, except Rhyn’athel kept such close guard over you; I couldn’t get my demons through.”
“The demons you sent after me…”
“Were to capture, not kill you,” Areyn Sehduk remarked. “I’m more honest about my intentions, even if they aren’t particularly honorable.”
“Why do you tell me this?” she said. “Why now — now that Rhyn’athel is…” She couldn’t finish her statement. The thought of Rhyn being gone for good was unbearable. Still, if the warrior god had tricked her as Areyn had said…
“Because there is a slight problem,” Areyn said. “Even though I have won, I don’t have full victory yet, Lachlei. Only you can give that to me.”
“How?” Lachlei asked.
“You carry Rhyn’athel’s sons already,” Areyn said darkly. “They should be my sons, not his.”
“I see,” Lachlei said, frowning. “If you’re so powerful, why don’t you simply change it?”
“It’s not that easy,” Areyn Sehduk admitted. “You’re a twice first-blood with blood from both that cur and from Rhyn’athel. I can kill you or even take you by force, but I can’t control you fully. Your power blocks my abilities.”
“My power?” Lachlei mused. What power? she wondered. As far as she knew, she had no great power — certainly none that she could use against Areyn. Unless…
Unless Rhyn’athel had left her some type of protection.
Her gaze strayed to Lochvaur, and saw he was conscious
once more. His face was bloody and swollen, but Lochvaur held her with his own steady gaze, so reminiscent of Rhyn’athel. She glanced away, hoping that Areyn did not notice.
“Your power,” Areyn continued. “Lachlei, Rhyn’athel is gone now. I can restore this world to what it was and return the Lochvaur to you, if you wish. You can be the greatest Eleion queen in history.”
“Really?” she asked.
“I could bring back Fialan,” Areyn said slyly. “You know I could do it. Rhyn’athel granted me the souls of the dead when we first divided the Nine Worlds. I could return your beloved husband to you. And all I ask in return is for you to be my consort. To let me destroy Rhyn’athel’s sons and make you my queen.”
Lachlei’s gaze had shifted to the wolf-god’s steady gaze. He could not speak or even communicate to her in mindspeak, but his brass eyes spoke plainly. We are all lost if you give in to him.
Lachlei recalled Rhyn’athel’s earlier embrace. Had she fooled herself into thinking that the warrior god could actually love her? Areyn had said the Athel’cen could not love the way mortals did and Ni’yah could not deny Rhyn had used her. Yet, the wolf-god thought there was more, much more, than Areyn had said.
If Rhyn’athel had only wanted to make her pregnant, he could have done so any time without her permission or love. Instead, Rhyn’athel had taken a mortal body — for her?
Not entirely for her. He had hoped to change the balance of power between himself and Areyn — to take back something that belonged to him. And now, Rhyn was dead.
But was he? Rhyn had told her the greater gods such as Ni’yah, Areyn, and he could not be destroyed. None of the Athel’cen could be destroyed because they were part of the Wyrd. And part of the Fyr.
Free me, Lochvaur’s voice rasped in her head. Free me, and I can return Rhyn’athel…
Lachlei hesitated. Lochvaur could mindspeak when even Ni’yah could not. She remembered what Rhyn’athel had said about Lochvaur — how he had been a special type of Wyrd-blood. What are you? she asked Lochvaur.