by Peter David
A loud screech filled the air. We both turned and there, somehow as I knew he would be, was Mordant. Something was glittering in his talons as he angled downward, and then he released it and it thudded to the ground next to us.
We stared at it in amazement.
It was the Eye of the Beholder … intact. Ribboned through it were what appeared to be over a hundred fractures … but nevertheless, the gem had fused into a whole once again. It glinted at me in the light of day, and instinctively I backed up. To my surprise, Sharee did as well. She seemed no more anxious to be near the thing than was I.
“Is that … ?” she inquired.
Slowly I nodded. “I saw the damned thing shatter into shards, but there it is again,” I said wonderingly. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible. But considering all that I’ve experienced, I’m beginning to think nothing is impossible.” I had told Sharee some of what had transpired: of everything that I’d learned of the Eye, of the true identity of my consort. I continued not to tell her about the notion that I’d condemned the world to eventual mundanity. It was hardly something I was anxious to boast about. “So … what do we do with it? I mean … we can’t just leave it here.”
“No, it’s too potent,” she agreed. “We have to dispose of it.”
“Right, yes. Absolutely.”
Sharee looked slightly agitated as she continued, “I mean, that … that thing … it’s an icon of pure chaos. Whoever remains in continued contact with it, well … it’s obvious that horrible things will happen as a result. It will cause discord and strife and war and … and all manner of horrible things …”
“Frequently in the names of gods,” I added.
“Yes, correct. Right. Well,” and she took a deep breath, “I’ll just … I’ll just go and get it, then.” She took a step toward it, and I immediately clamped a hand on her shoulder.
“You?” I said softly. “Why should you get it? I should get it. I was bonded with it, after all. I know how to handle it.”
“Oh, and didn’t you just do a fine job of handling it thus far,” she said, pointing around the courtyard at the assortment of corpses. “I, on the other hand, never was corrupted by it …”
“It was more likely deciding which of the two of us to go after. It might well settle for you since I fought it off,” I replied. “I should carry it.”
“I should!” snarled Sharee, and she started to reach around for her knife. I, meantime, swung my now-intact walking staff around and snapped the blade out of the dragon’s mouth, ready for her to make a move.
The loud screech from Mordant jolted us out of the moment, and we stood there and stared at each other sheepishly. “It would appear,” she said softly, “that neither of us should be in possession of it. So … now what?”
“We find some shovels,” I said.
We were able to turn up a couple before long, and we began to dig. As we did so, I thought briefly about the assortment of gems currently sitting in the mansion. The generous present that I had brought from deep within Mount Aerie as a gift for my beloved consort. I toyed with the notion of going back for them, but painfully decided against it. I might have been imagining it, but I couldn’t help but worry that there was some sort of connection between those gems and the frightening large one that lay on the ground next to the deepening hole Sharee and I were digging. Besides, the fewer remembrances I took along with me of this entire madness, the better I would like it.
We dug for much of the rest of the day, feeling that there wasn’t a hole deep enough to bury this thing in. We had a small bit to eat, but I can assure you that being surrounded by corpses is a superb way to lose one’s appetite. As the day wore on, the bodies began to become more pungent, but Sharee reached out and gently tugged some of the threads. Soon stiff breezes were rolling in, pushing the aroma substantially away from us. I was extremely grateful for that, and told Sharee as much. She shrugged it off.
Finally the hole was deep enough to satisfy us both. I tapped the gem into the hole with the flat of my shovel, and it tumbled in without a sound. “Let’s put a couple of bodies atop it,” suggested Sharee, “so if anyone happens to realize there’s turned up earth and they begin digging, they’ll come across a corpse and stop.”
“Excellent idea. And I know just the corpses.”
I went out to the front steps, brushed the flies away from Gavin, slung him over my shoulder and brought him back to the hole, tossing him in. On top of him, I lay Hecate’s body as well. It felt impossibly light; perhaps the only thing that had given her any weight at all was her hatred. I wondered briefly how much my own hatred was weighing upon me, and then dismissed the notion as being excessively profound.
Sharee stared down at her. “I’ve never seen a god before,” she said.
“What do you think?”
“I thought she’d be taller.”
And we proceeded to shovel the dirt back onto them. The dirt certainly went down much faster than it came up. We were covered with grime and sweat by the time we were through, and the sun was setting. It had certainly been a hell of a way to spend the day: in a city where the only sounds were the buzzing of insects and the scraping of shovels.
Once we were done, I went back into the house and returned several minutes later with tins of oil. I started spreading them everywhere while Sharee looked on. “You seem pensive,” I ventured as I emptied the last of the containers on the bodies.
“It’s nothing,” she said dismissively, and ignored any attempts of mine to press the matter.
Several minutes and a couple of well-placed torches later, the courtyard was burning. The flies were no doubt rather upset about the development as the flames licked hungrily at the corpses of men whose main sin in life had been following me. Well … they should have known better was all I could think.
By the time the flames were really high, we were already out of town. I had made only one, brief stop during our exit: I had passed a shrine dedicated to me. One of many, I was given to understand, that dotted the city. It had originally been dedicated to some other god, but there were crude portraits of me now placed all around it, and a few sacrificed animals strewn about. I stared at it for a long moment, ignoring Sharee’s urgings to depart, and then I knelt before it and whispered something softly. I returned to her then and she said impatiently, “What did you just do?”
“Prayed for myself,” I replied. “If I can’t pray to myself for myself, to whom can I pray?”
We stood outside the walls of the Golden City and watched the flames licking the sky, smoke spiraling upward in great thick black clouds. Mordant was perched upon my outstretched arm. I could see that same thoughtful look in Sharee’s eyes as the flames continued their cleansing work. “What is it?” I demanded. “You wouldn’t tell me before. Reticence has never been your strength. So out with it.”
“Well,”—she sighed—“I’m just thinking that we’ve likely doomed this city, that’s all. As I said to you before: That gem is a focal point for discord and strife. It may be that, in time, it becomes more and more powerful, which means that anyone who resides within those walls could eventually fall prey to the chaotic energies the gem gives off. Perhaps we should have found a way to dispose of it in some other manner …”
“No, we did the right thing,” I said firmly. “First, the chances are that no one is ever going to try and take up residence in that city again. And if they do, and if they start fighting over it, well … how long can they keep it up? Eventually they’ll have to come to peaceful terms, lest they kill each other off wholesale. Either way, it won’t be our concern. Isn’t that right, Mordant?” I added affectionately.
She looked at the drabit with distaste as we started walking, with Sharee holding her horse’s reins and guiding it along the road. “How you can dote on that hideous-looking beast, I’ve no idea.”
“This isn’t just any beast. This,” and I jostled Mordant slightly, “is my mother, reborn again into this lower creature and keeping an eye
upon me.”
Sharee looked well and truly appalled at the notion. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”
“From a dream I had. You were in it, as a matter of fact. Or are you going to deny you sent me this dream, as you’ve denied it in the past?”
“Bloody well right I’ll deny it. You’ve got to start thinking for yourself, and stop ascribing everything in your life to me.”
“Do I have to do that, Mordant?” I inquired.
“Absolutely,” said Mordant.
And as we both stopped dead and stared at the creature who had just spoken to us with perfect articulation, the Golden City—known by many other names, but most commonly called “Yerushalem” by the natives—continued to burn brightly against the rapidly darkening skies.