by Welcome Cole
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“No? You don’t seem sure.”
“No, of course he didn’t hurt me.”
“Even when he—”
“He didn’t hurt me, Mawby. He didn’t even abduct me. I asked him to take me.”
Mawby nodded. “I know,” he said, feeling strangely embarrassed, “I read the trail. But I have to be sure, jh’ven?”
“I understand. But you needn’t dwell on it.”
“So, we’ve cleared that up. Want to tell me what it is, then?”
“You mean him. You want my assessment.”
“Ay’a, Kad’r.”
“Don’t call me that, Maw. I’m not a kadeer. I’m not even a warrior. Not anymore. I’ve no faith left for it.”
Mawby nodded. It made sense in its own way. “I understand. You don’t have to explain. We’re family before anything else.”
She looked away from him, and in that moment she seemed frailer and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her.
“You want to know if he’s the Father,” she whispered.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by the bluntness of it, not coming from her. And yet, he was surprised. Maybe because he was afraid to say those same words himself. Maybe because uttering that holy title out loud might somehow break everything.
“You don’t have to be afraid of it,” she said.
“I never said I was afraid.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He felt a little irritated by that. Maybe because it was exactly the truth. “Is it true, then?” he pressed.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Mawby took her by the shoulders and turned her gently toward him. “Koo, is it true or is it not?”
She didn’t resist the hands locking her. “Maybe,” she said, looking at his chest, but not really at him, “After a fashion, anyway. He says he’s not the Father. He says it’s more like the Father speaks to him.”
“What?”
“He says the Father is in him, like a voice in his head.”
“A voice in his head? What, like a raver? That’s not reassuring.”
She slipped out of his grip. “It’s the best I can do.”
“Koo, please. You have to do better.”
“I only know what I see. He’s not inclined to share all that much. The old Beam is still home, I can assure you of that. But there’s something new in him, too, something… something breathtaking
“You’re not convincing me.”
“In one moment he’s spewing philosophy like he is the Father. In the next he’s talking about the Father like he’s quoting history. A moment later he’s cursing the man. And in between he’s the same aggravating bastard he’s always been. It’s like he’s a god in evolution.”
“A god? Seriously? That’s what you believe?”
“I don’t believe shit, Maw. I just don’t know.” She ran her hand up over her face and slowly shook her head.
“Are you all right?”
“No, I’m nothing like all right. The truth is I’m more than a little confused. It’s another world in there. It plays with your head. I felt at complete peace inside. When I step out of the cave it’s like the weight of the world crushes back in.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s complicated. I don’t have the wisdom to explain it. I wish Chance was here. I wish I could just underst—”
She stopped. Her eyes drifted off into the beggarberries.
“What is it?” he asked.
She looked back at the cave.
“Koonta, I know that look. What is it?”
Her eyes returned to him. She suddenly looked afraid.
“Just say it, Koo. Please.”
“There’s something else,” she whispered, “He… he descends from… from both of them.”
“Both of them? Both of who?”
“Praven and Goelvar.”
Mawby didn’t know what to make of the words. He wondered if maybe she was still sick, maybe hallucinating. “He told you that?”
“No. Not directly. Not exactly. I just know it’s true.”
“Goelvar’s a demon. How can he be the descendant of a demon?”
“You’ll need to ask him that.”
He looked past her at the cave. He knew she was absolutely right, that he needed to see the rogue for himself, needed to talk to him directly. But first he had to make it possible to even walk into a cave.
“I have Chance’s tonic in my saddle bag,” he said to her, “After I take some of it, I want to see him.”
“You don’t need it.”
“Oh, I think I do,” he said, laughing.
“You don’t need it in there.”
She might as well have said he didn’t need to hold his breath before diving into the water. “Well, no offense, but I’m feeling sick just thinking about going in.”
“You need to trust me on this, Mawby,” she said with her old kadeer’s voice.
She might’ve quit the warrior’s life, but her tone still prevailed. Even as children, she was the one who directed their play, the one who wrote the rules, the one who meted out the punishment for failure to comply. Looking back over their lives, he realized he hadn’t followed her because she intimidated him; he followed her because she was never wrong.
“Okay,” Mawby said at last, “I think it’s crazy, but I’ll trust you. Worst thing can happen is I start puking and have to crawl back out.” Despite his submission, the water hadn’t return to his mouth.
“There’s only one thing,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure how to broach this, so I’m just going to say it straight out, jh’ven?”
Judging by the look in her eyes, Mawby wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. “Ay’a. Go on.”
“It’s a different world in there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t. But you will. You may hear voices. You may feel a presence in your head. If you do, try not to be alarmed.”
“Voices?”
“Ay’a. The caeyl energy is unimaginable in there.”
“All right, then. What do I do?”
She took his hand and looked hard into his eyes. “All you need to do is follow me. Watch me. Follow my cues. He’s waiting for you.”
For some reason, those words gave him a chill. “Waiting for me. Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Just follow my cues.” Then she towed him into the cave.
Mawby braced himself for the expected shock that should come with entering a cave, but exactly as she’d said, the pain never arrived. And as they moved deeper into the darkness he began to understand that it wasn’t going to come at all. It seemed his lifelong fear was missing in action. Koonta was right, and the relief he felt almost made him sick.
“How is this possible?” he whispered to her.
“Just trust it, Maw.”
He watched the crystals glimmering above him as they walked. Light flowed through the jagged surface as if it originated there, as if the crystal matrix was the source of the light rather than a conduit for it. A glowing pool formed in the black, polished floor beneath him, and it followed him at every step so that he was never in complete darkness. Koonta had a matching pool of her own. He remembered what Koonta had told him: the caeyl energy is unimaginable in there.
Deep into the wide corridor, they came to a dead end. Koonta released him and raised a hand before it. The craggy crystal surface immediately shifted. The twisted jags and sharp angles melted back into the wall like waves going still on a lake. Then the wall simply collapsed silently into the floor, leaving behind no evidence that it had ever been there at all.
Mawby gaped down at Koonta.
“Don’t get excited, my old friend. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
And as she pulled him through the newly formed door, Mawby realized just how unprepared he’d been
for what awaited him on the other side.
The room was a royal chamber of some sort, every bit as regal and indulgent and self-important as the palaces of the Allies. And yet, it was somehow more primitive, more organic. It glowed as brilliantly as if filled with moonlight. An elaborate chair like a throne sat on a low dais in the midst of four massive pillars. The chair pointed off to Mawby’s right so that he saw it from the side. As he studied the scene, he was gripped with a chill revelation: this was the scene of his vision.
Something shifted in the chair. It was the rogue. Koonta startled him with a nudge. He looked at her as she gestured for him to follow.
They turned right inside the door and followed the rounded wall’s perimeter to the far side of the great room. Halfway around, they turned so that they approached the chair and rogue dead on. It seemed like a bizarrely formal approach to a man they’d been trying to kill for well over two years, but he submitted to her better judgment and said nothing.
As they approached the dais and his view improved, Mawby’s disappointment hit him as physically as a kick in the stomach. Any hope he’d nurtured that this man may be actually be the Father vacated him as abruptly as if he’d vomited it up.
Koonta guided him around a mangled suit of metal sprawled across the floor like a crushed spider. Mawby immediately recognized it. These were the remains of a wyrlaerd. “Koo, that’s—”
“Leave it. I’ll explain later.”
Mawby yielded to her, though he felt even more uneasy for having seen the armor. Were there demons in this place? Had he completely misjudged the whole affair? Maybe this wasn’t the Father at all. Maybe this was just another wretched hack. Or worse, a wyrlaerd delivered into mortal flesh as some of his family’s legends had predicted. He slipped his hand over the hilt of his sword.
“Leave it, Mawby,” Koonta whispered.
Mawby wasn’t sure what to expect of the Parhronii. He’d only seen the man from a distance in the endless months they’d pursued him through the scrubs, and briefly up close in the night during the rainstorm back in the swamp. And what he’d seen then hadn’t impressed him a bit: a dirty, hairy thug of a Parhronii who looked more savage than civil. Sadly, what he saw now did little to change that first impression.
The rogue slumped disrespectfully across the great chair with elbow on the armrest and his head propped in his hand. One leg was thrown over the opposing armrest and the other stretched uselessly out onto the dais. He was dirty and shirtless, and wore tattered leggings with bare, blackened feet. His dark hair flowed freely over his bare shoulders and chest, and he was sorely in need of a shave. Seeing such a barbarian spoiling the grandeur of this throne felt as offensive as a pile of shit squatting on a holy altar.
The only characteristics that didn’t scream animal were his oteuryns. Unlike any oteuryns he’d ever seen on a living being, these bits of curled bone looked almost icy, like they were carved from the same diamond material as the throne.
Mawby looked down at Koonta and shrugged his brow in question.
Be careful of traitorous thoughts, my friend.
Mawby flinched and grabbed his skull.
You look like hell.
Mawby staggered back, squeezing at his head. The words mingled through his own thoughts, as thick and fleshy as a fat tumor swelling in his brain. His stomach threatened to heave.
What’s the matter? You don’t like that?
“Don’t,” Mawby stammered, “Don’t do—”
“Stop it!” he heard Koonta shout, “You don’t need to show off!”
The invading thoughts receded. The ill ease that’d so gripped Mawby just a heartbeat before immediately faded to memory. He steadied himself, then stood fully upright again and looked up at the man sitting a dozen paces before him. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to slap that condescending smile off his face.
Beam continued grinning back at him.
“Who are you to challenge my loyalty?” Mawby said.
Beam didn’t move and his smile didn’t fade. His eyes locked with Mawby’s.
Mawby felt more irritated than afraid. He pushed past Koonta and climbed up the deep, wide steps of the dais, but stopped just at the edge. The Caeyllth Blade leaned against the armrest beside the rogue. The clear eye in the hilt glistened enthusiastically, casting a rainbow of colors onto the dais. The sight threw him off a bit.
“Damn me if you aren’t one big ass savage,” Beam said, “You must have some Baeldonian in that blood of yours.”
“First time I’ve heard that one. Glad I didn’t come all this way for your wit.”
“Ouch,” Beam said, his grinning face still propped unceremoniously in his hand, “I swear, Maubius Yendt, you cut me to the quick.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“You tell me.”
“I’m too tired for games.”
“So go take a nap.”
Mawby felt his face flush with his anger. “What did you say?”
“Go. Take. A nap.”
Before he knew what he was doing, Mawby had drawn his sword and was heading straight at the bastard. He was nearly on the rogue when the eye in the Caeyllth Blade flashed. A wave of overpowering nausea seized him.
His sword clattered to the crystal dais. The earth opened beneath him. His skin felt on fire. His stomach lurched. Somewhere in the distance, Koonta yelled at someone.
It was over in an instant. He felt the reassuring solidity of Koonta’s hands on his shoulders. As the memory of the pain and nausea quickly faded, he realized he was on his hands and knees.
“I don’t appreciate being challenged,” he heard Beam say above him.
“I don’t give a good goddamn what you appreciate,” Koonta said back, “Mawby is not the enemy.”
“No?”
“Why don’t you save your energy for the real fight? My gods, you’re such a juvenile.”
Mawby pushed himself back so that he sat on his heels. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth to clear the wet from his lips. Though the pain was gone, his head still spun. He felt Koonta standing over him, her hands locked protectively on his shoulders.
“It’s all right,” he said as he lifted himself to his feet, “I charged him. It’s my fault. I lost my temper.”
“Bullshit. He goaded you into it just like he always does. He has no right to offend a member of this party.”
“Hmph,” Beam said
Koonta released Mawby and stormed Beam. The harsh sound of a slap reverberated through the room.
Mawby noted with some satisfaction that the rogue was no longer smiling. Still, he had a feeling he’d best intervene before she got herself hurt.
“Koonta, stop,” he said, moving in behind her, “Stand down.”
“Yes, Koonta,” Beam repeated as he rubbed his cheek, “Stand down.”
“Go to hell!” she barked back at him.
Beam laughed. “That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s just a matter of when and how.”
She leaned over him and stabbed a finger into his face. “I’ve had enough of your rude behavior! Why must you constantly play the angry toddler? Why don’t you act like the man Prave wants you to be?”
Beam flew up from the chair. She stumbled back in retreat. His face was red, his brow twisted in anger. But Koonta pushed back into him before he could act. She shoved him hard, forcing him back a pace, then pointed off into the fortress.
The rogue crossed his arms, but said nothing.
Koonta stepped into him so hard, he collapsed roughly back into the chair. She bent over him, sticking her finger hard into his face again.
As Mawby watched this most bizarre dance, he realized that, though they weren’t speaking, they were clearly communicating. It was just like when the bastard’s thoughts were in his head. What he watched was the only physical manifestation of their argument.
“Well?” she finally said out loud.
Beam shifted in his seat. His dark eyes fled her.
“Damn your
soul,” she shouted at him, “I mean it!”
“Fine!” he snapped back. He looked ready to melt, like he wanted nothing more than to turn to butter and dribble away. He looked up at her like she’d actually intimidated him. Then he looked at Mawby.
Mawby felt a traitorous pang of fear as the rogue’s ridiculously blue eyes locked on him. He was pretty sure any fight between them would be breathtakingly short. Hell, he doubted it would even come to a fight. He’d probably be dead before his hand found his sword.
“Mawby,” Beam said with obvious effort, “I apologize.”
Mawby just looked at him. He didn’t know what to say. The whole scene had devolved into a melodrama he didn’t understand and was pretty sure he wanted no part of.
“Well,” Beam said, “Did you hear me or not?”
“I don’t understa—”
“Damn me, you don’t have to!” Beam shrugged and sighed and looked away. “She’s right. I reckon I’ve been something of an ass.”
“Something?” Koonta snapped.
Beam looked up at her. He slowly pushed himself up from the chair. He stood there a moment, his eyes locked with hers. Then he moved past her and stopped before Mawby. He seemed strangely calmer now.
“I have been an ass,” he said directly to Mawby, “I apologize for that. It wasn’t right. I’m honored to have you here.” He sounded as if he might actually mean it, though he did throw Koonta an affirming glance.
Mawby felt stunned. The last few minutes had mutated so absurdly and so quickly, he wondered if he were dreaming. He wasn’t sure what to say, but was pretty sure he should say something, “I think we’re, uh… I think we’re making a bigger thing of this than we need to.”
“No. She’s right. It’s my dark side. It’s…” He looked down at his feet as if the words had spilled there. He didn’t seem to find them.
Mawby looked at Koonta who was busy watching the rogue. It was the single longest stretch of utter discomfort could remember experiencing in his life. He shifted from one foot to the other. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to flee the cave, grab the Watcher’s horse and keep on riding to points anywhere.
When Beam finally looked up at him again, Mawby noticed a conspicuous change in his countenance. A dark angst had filled him so completely that Mawby was surprised to feel a sympathetic pang of grief for him.