Medophae shook his head and brought his mind back to the present. The glade wasn’t the same. All of the trees that once stood here were gone. Tall brown grass had replaced the short green lawn, cropped by the goats Silasa had once kept. The tall trees had died in the wake of the capping of Daylan’s Fountain, giving way to the smaller, hardier oak trees. The archway of her cave was covered with spider vines. If Medophae had not come to this exact spot countless times in the past, he might not have even recognized it. He approached the cave and curled his fingers around a thick tangle of the vines, but paused.
Do you want this? You could just run away right now. Does it really matter if the GodSpill is returning? Would anything change? If Orem is right, his quest might sweep you away, and if it does, what has changed? You, meddling in the lives of mortals until you come to love them, until you lead them to their deaths. You resisted Orem. You could walk away from here, go west over the Spine Mountains, and never return.
With a vicious yank, he tore the vines away, revealing a wide, arched entrance bordered with cut stones, half again as high as he was tall.
He stepped into the darkness, holding his fiery fist above his head and pushing the shadows back. The polished walls were adorned with rotting tapestries thick with dust. He could only see vague images, but he knew all of the paintings all by heart. One told the story of Sasha Braen’dite and her warriors, how they sacrificed themselves to close the Godgate. Another showed Vlacar, the last Paladin of Natra, in the forest where he disappeared. There was one of Medophae and his lieutenant, Bresher Benn, at the disastrous battle of the Deitrus Shelf. He had often wondered why she kept that painting, a rendition of one of Medophae’s greatest failures.
Beautifully designed sconces bearing long-dead torches lined the walls. He moved past them, his golden glow illuminating the hall.
Marble sculptures were placed at each forking of the tunnels. He moved past those as well, choosing his way from memory. He passed the greatroom and the throne Silasa had never used. The vampire, Darva, who had turned Silasa into one of White Tuana’s children, fancied herself some kind of queen, so she had stolen and feasted on the princess. When Medophae found this place, he had let Oedandus feast on Darva. To Oedandus, destroying one of White Tuana’s children was almost as satisfying as destroying one of Dervon’s.
This would be the final test for Medophae. A darkling and a bakkaral in Amarion was almost proof that the lands were changing, that GodSpill had returned. But if Silasa had awoken, then it was certain. She was a construct of White Tuana, an animation of the dead, completely sustained by the GodSpill. Darkling and bakkarals were actually alive. If what Orem hoped was right, then Silasa would have risen again.
But there was no sign she had frequented these halls since the great dying. There were only layers of dust, and spiders fleeing from his light.
He continued to the small room at the end of the hallway, which was unlike the rest of the cavern. These walls were rough-hewn. There were no decorations, and the floor was rock and dirt. For once, Medophae’s relentless memory of centuries past was a blessing, and he went straight to the hidden lever in the far wall. He pulled it.
The edge of a square of floor popped up in the center of the room. He scooped away the concealing dirt and lifted the square to reveal a passageway. He dropped through it to the floor below and stooped to walk the last few paces into a circular room he had hewn out of the stone himself. In the center was a sarcophagus made of rock.
Dust lay thick everywhere, just as it had after he’d hastily finished the chamber. The air was stale.
The sarcophagus was ten feet long and three feet wide. It stood atop a dais that he had hacked out of the bedrock. His only sculpture: a monument to Silasa’s death.
Nothing in the caverns had changed. Silasa had not returned. Orem was wrong.
He stepped up to the dais and stood for a moment next to the sarcophagus. The lid was solid stone, a foot and a half thick. If some nosy explorer had happened upon Silasa’s cavern while she slept, and if he had managed to find this secret room, Medophae had made sure he would not be able to get into her resting place. It was impossible to get enough mortal arms around that slab to budge it, much less lift it. He had hoped it would safeguard her until the GodSpill returned.
He ran his fingers underneath the edge of the lid. Spiders fled, dancing down the sides of the sarcophagus.
Now I have use for you, Medophae said to Oedandus.
Make them pay, the dark voice responded. Destroy him. Destroy them all....
Medophae put his arms around the lid and grabbed hold. His muscles corded tight and golden fire leapt about his body. The lid did not move. With a grimace, he shifted his grip and tried again. Golden fire flared in the room. The lid shifted.
“By Thalius!” he grunted. He didn’t remember it being that damned heavy.
His lip curled. He thought of Tyndiria, splayed across her bed in blood. He thought of the smug expression on the bakkaral’s face. Oedandus’s fire lit up the room like midday. Medophae elevated his chin and gave a roar. With a mighty heave, he dislodged the mammoth lid and tossed it away. It crashed to the wall and broke in two.
The golden fire faded, leaving him again with only the flickering golden light. Breathing heavily, Medophae curled his flaming fist and shone it upon Silasa’s pale face.
She lay in the same cold repose with the same deadened expression....
No... Wait.
She wasn’t the same. Her dusty, dark hair was in disarray. Her brow was wrinkled, as though she had fallen asleep in anger.
Idiot! The GodSpill has returned, and she awoke with it, but after three hundred years of sleep, how could she possibly have moved the stone slab?
She might have been awake for months, even years, trapped in her own tomb.
How much pain do I really cause as I stumble through my life? How many things would be better if I simply wasn’t here?
“Silasa, I’m so sorry...” he said, lifting her out gently. He carried her to the dusty ground and sat with her in his lap. If she had returned, had he destroyed her by trapping her?
If she could be revived, night would tell the tale, so he sat with her and waited. Time moved slowly, and Medophae was exhausted. He needed rest, and as he held tightly to the princess, he let himself sleep.
There was a faint rasping sound, and he snapped awake. The rest had improved his beleaguered body, and so Oedandus’s glow was fainter, barely lighting the dark. Medophae’s gaze went to Silasa. Had she moved? Had she spoken? He leaned over her, putting his ear to her mouth, listening for another sound. Had it been some other creature in the room, skittering around?
He leaned over her, listening....
Her arm wrapped around his head, and she plunged her fangs into his neck. Blood spattered her cheek and shoulder. Medophae gasped and pulled back, but she clung to him. Sharp fingernails dug through his shirt into his flesh as she tore at his neck.
The pain was sharp, and his mortal instincts screamed at him to fight her.
But he held himself still. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to him.
“Drink, princess,” he whispered.
She sucked like a hungry baby, and he let her feed. When he began to feel light-headed, he pushed her away. She growled, yanked him back viciously. He set his lips in a firm line and pulled her off, wincing as her claws left deep slices in his shoulder and neck.
She howled. Oedandus flared, lighting the cavern again as Medophae pulled on the power to trap her wrists and her head away from him. The supernatural strength of a vampire could pin a mortal man to the ground like a rabbit. Of course, with as much blood as she had taken, a mortal would also have gone into the deep sleep that preceded Tuana’s transformation. But Medophae had discovered long ago that vampires couldn’t turn him into one of them. He already belonged to a god. And, even as he held her, he felt the golden fire burn where Silasa had bitten him. He felt the muscles, blood vessels, and skin of his ne
ck repair itself.
Silasa made several more childlike attempts for his neck, but he grunted and held her tight. Finally, she went still. She licked her lips, as though testing for something.
“Medophae...” she said in a light rasp, her eyes still closed. Her bony hand came up and caressed his cheek, touched his long hair. “No one has blood as stale as yours, my ancient friend.”
“I can only imagine,” he whispered.
He bowed his head and hugged her, surprised to feel tears in his eyes. She was alive. She had come back. He held her gently against his chest as she spoke with her rough, unused voice.
“What happened?” she asked as he set her gently back on his lap. She experimented slowly with raising and turning her head on her thin neck, but she couldn’t open her eyes. “Did someone catch me during the day? I feel like a skeleton, as if I haven’t fed for ages.”
“It has been ages.”
“How long?”
“More than three hundred years.”
She gasped, and it ended in a little cough. “Medophae, how...? How am I still here, if I have not fed in three hundred years?”
“A goddess’s blood? I don’t know. What is the last thing you remember?”
“Nothing. I must have already been asleep— Wait. No. I do remember. I was outside in the glade. I was looking at the night sky. There was something strange. Then it all went quiet. There was no sound, as if the night birds and the crickets were all slain at once. Even the wind did not rustle the leaves. It was as though someone had clapped a lid over the world. I was frightened. I turned to run into the caverns to see to my defenses. I thought it was an attack. Not ten paces inside my cave, I was gutted, as though my organs, my blood, my soul was being sucked out through the tips of my fingers, through my eyes and nose and mouth...” Her thin hands clamped tightly on his arms. “I stumbled and... That’s all.” She paused. “That’s all I remember. What happened?”
“Harleath Markin. You remember the GodSpill Wars?”
“Of course.”
“Never underestimate a threadweaver’s ability to make a horror even more horrifying. Harleath Markin and his pack of fools set out for Daylan’s Fountain. He was a sort of threadweaver inventor, and a bit of a crackpot. I don’t think the man ever had an idea that truly worked like he wanted. But apparently he had an idea to “stop the GodSpill Wars.” By all accounts, he was a good man, and an utter fool.”
“What did he do?”
“There are no records, but I’ve been to the north, and I think Harleath somehow broke Daylan’s Fountain. Whatever he did, he made sure the fountain no longer worked. Maybe he thought taking away the Fountain would cut the power to the threadweavers and end the wars. Perhaps he thought he would dampen the power, take the teeth from the beast, weaken the threadweavers. But in his worst nightmares, he didn’t imagine the catastrophe he would bring. His meddling killed him, his apprentices, and everyone else who pulled from the GodSpill. Most of the humans in Amarion died. Every supernatural creature did. There are a few struggling kingdoms on the peninsulas. Some villages around the Inland Ocean. The rest are gone.”
“Belshra?” she croaked, asking about her father’s kingdom, where she had been a princess until she had been turned into a vampire.
“I’m sorry, Silasa. It was one of the first to fall. There were just so many dead and dying...”
She was so still that he thought she had descended into her slumber again.
“Why am I awake now?” she asked. “Did someone undo Harleath’s handiwork?”
“An acquaintance of mine told me the GodSpill is returning. I didn’t believe him, and someone close to me paid the price. You were my final test. If you had risen, I would know he was right. And if he’s right about that, he may be right about other things.”
“What other things?”
“The GodSpill isn’t returning evenly. I killed a darkling. Orem says there are more. He says he has a plan...” He sighed. “But I am not certain what I should do.”
She paused. “What you should do?”
“I do not know where my life goes from here. It might be best if I leave Amarion.”
“Why would you leave Amarion?”
“Because I only hurt those I try to help. I lost a dear friend not five days ago. When I get involved with anything, it becomes a disaster. The only remedy is to remove myself from Amarion entirely.”
“Who died?”
“You don’t know her. She was born centuries after you fell.”
“Who killed her?”
“A bakkaral, sent by someone. I don’t know who.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. She’s dead. I can’t change it. But I can keep it from happening again. I can leave.”
“I... Medin, I don’t understand. You’re saying you want to leave instead of finding the one who sent the bakkaral? Instead of seeking justice?”
“Things have changed for me,” he said in a husky voice.
“What does Bands think about it?” she asked. “Surely she doesn’t condone...” she trailed off.
He said nothing.
“You solved the riddle?” she asked.
He tried to control the wash of anger, of frustration, but despair rose like a wave within him. Every day that had passed since Bands was taken... Every single day was a failure.
Yes... Destroy them all.... the dark voice whispered.
He twitched, tried to keep a handle on his emotions, but all he could see was golden fire.
Silasa sucked in a breath. “Oh, Medophae. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He had to move. He had to walk. He gently pushed Silasa off his chest, laid her against the wall, and walked to the other side of the chamber.
“Don’t leave, please,” she croaked. “I didn’t know. I never imagined you wouldn’t find a way. All this time... I didn’t realize that the spell was so powerful... Is— Is she...?”
“Dead?” he finished for her. “I don’t know. Surely she must be after all this time, but...”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“How could you know?” He closed his eyes and tried to stop the hammers pounding in his stomach. He wanted to vomit. “It’s over.” He forced the words out. “There is nothing I can do for her. I’ve tried everything.”
She swallowed. “What will you do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“There must be something you can do.”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that!” she rasped. “I wake after three hundred years... The most shocking thing should be that I’m alive at all, that the world has been all but destroyed, but the most shocking thing is that the indomitable Wildmane is talking like a mouse.”
She clenched her teeth, her fangs flashing in the golden light as she forced her dry, wrinkled eyelids to open. She squinted up at him, her milky eyes shriveled.
“I wish I could see you,” she rasped. “I would know what your face looks like as you say these things.”
“I’m angry, Silasa,” he said. “I want to take it out on whoever sent that bakkaral. But I don’t want...” He hesitated and fell silent.
“You don’t want what?” she asked. She pushed against the wall and rose on thin, shaky legs.
He sighed and swallowed. “I don’t want to...”
“To what?”
“Too many people get hurt when I... I once thought Oedandus was a gift, to me and everyone I now had the power to help. But it’s a curse. All he can do is destroy.”
She paused, and her emaciated face wrinkled into a frown. “Medophae, you may believe that Amarion revolves around your misfortunes, but it does not. Innocents are hurt every day, whether you do something or you do nothing. That’s not going to stop. Imagine how many more monsters would roam this land if not for you.”
“I am the monster.”
“You slew the monster!” she said. “Dervon created nearly every horror Amarion has known, and you ended him.”
“That
was Oedandus,” he said. “Me, I can’t use the power. I can’t use it correctly. It uses me, shapes me into whatever it wants.”
“That is the most cowardly thing I’ve ever heard you say. You helped shape two entire ages of humankind.”
“They were better off without me. If I had not been so assured of myself, so blinded by my own purpose, Bands would still be here—”
“Oh, gods!” She snorted. “Bands made her own choices. She ran her own risks. You were not responsible for her. By Oedandus, she was three times your age and a dragon as well. If she was here, she would laugh in your face.”
“But she is not here to laugh, is she? And it’s my fault—”
“And if you weren’t an oozing wound of self-pity right now, you would have found a way to get her back.”
Her words lashed him, leaving stripes of pain. Golden fire raced over his chest.
Destroy her, Oedandus said. Destroy them all.
He turned and put his hands on the stone wall, calming himself.
“What do you want from me?” she asked. “To tell you it’s okay to give up hope? Well, it’s not. Especially for you. By Thalius, Medophae, you’re the one who is supposed to give us hope! No wonder Amarion is dying. Who can show us the light in the darkness if not our own patron god?”
“I’m not your god.”
“No, Tarithalius is our god. A frivolous, uncaring prankster who moves us like toys on a game board. He never cared for us. But you do. You care for humans, from the weakest to the strongest, from the smallest to the largest. You’ve never given up on us. And if you do...what chance do we have?”
“I’m a destroyer, Silasa. It’s all I do. It’s all Oedandus allows me to do.”
“Bullshit.”
“Silasa—”
“When I awoke as one of Tuana’s children that first night—when I despised myself so much I wanted to die—you told me to live. I had been twisted into this horrible, evil thing. I became the monster. I crave human blood. I destroy life to perpetuate myself. I wanted you to kill me that first night, but you wouldn’t. You said giving up was the coward’s path.”
Wildmane: Threadweavers, Book 1 Page 17