Lucian: Dark God's Homecoming (37 page)

“They’ve gotten to her,” I yelled, even as Baranak and Karilyne stood still, uncomprehending.

The Furies struck then, knifing instantly across the distance from the pool and swinging their swords in broad arcs, the green flames lashing at the two warrior gods and staggering them back.

Struggling to his feet, Baranak saw the jewel then and, understanding, attempted to rush Vodina, but the Furies swung around and beat down at him with flame and sword. He staggered backward a few steps and glared, defiant.

Karilyne must have gotten the gist of the situation by then, too, for she unsheathed her sword with her right hand and hefted her axe in her left, and brought both to bear on the Furies. They grouped into a shimmering wall of violence in front of her and, raising their swords high, they advanced.

With an ear-splitting roar of defiance, Karilyne leapt forward, into and through the Furies, splitting their line easily. Tumbling past them and then regaining her footing with remarkable skill, she spun her sword and her axe in a dexterous, complex maneuver. Then she rushed ahead, colliding violently with Vodina. The two crashed to the ground, each seeking to grasp the other as they rolled along the rocky surface, back toward the pool. The Furies, apparently taken aback, unsure whether to press the attack on us or move to defend Vodina, hesitated momentarily. Then they whirled and rocketed back toward their mistress, swooping down toward the spot where the two goddesses grappled.

As Baranak and I pressed forward, Karilyne got to her feet once more, gained a bit of distance from her foe, and hurled her axe. The big weapon struck Vodina a titanic blow just below her chin and flipped her backwards. Racing toward her, sword held high, Karilyne called back to us, “Go! The City! The Fountain!”

Baranak and I exchanged glances momentarily. Neither of us fancied the idea of leaving Karilyne in the middle of a fight, no matter how tough she might be. As Baranak started to shout a reply, though, the silver goddess reached out and grappled again with Vodina, and the two of them tumbled backwards into the water.

“Karilyne!” we both shouted as one, starting to move forward.

She surfaced momentarily, a green hand grasping at her face, her own fist striking down repeatedly into the water. “I have her,” she cried. “Go!”

The Power fluctuated again, then dropped further. It had become dangerously low. We had to act, and now.

Suppressing further debate, Baranak and I abandoned our lady of silver and black and raced along the Road once more, the humans in tow. We told one another that Karilyne could best Vodina, even in the water. We told ourselves it was for the greater good. And we cursed the entire situation from top to bottom.

The situation, of course, only grew worse.

Emerging from what had turned out to be a long valley, we topped a rise and faced an open plain, flat and dusty, with no end in sight. What looked like an asphalt-paved highway out of antiquity ran like ribbon across it, just ahead of us. As we neared it, a portal shimmered open, its energy halo sparkling white, with traces of red lightning forking through it. From out of the circle stepped another Dark Man.

Immediately Baranak and I took up defensive stances, both of us cursing this additional delay.

Instead of attacking, though, the Dark Man stumbled sideways, moaning softly. This possibly constituted the first sound I had heard one of them make. The moan was followed immediately by a much louder wail, as of someone in great pain. The Dark Man reached up to his own head with both black-gloved hands, clutching at himself.

“What do you make of this, Lucian?” Baranak growled.

I merely shook my head, waiting to see what would happen next.

We did not have long to wait. With a sudden cry, the Dark Man tore at the blank mask covering his face, managing after a few seconds to pull it away. For a moment the face was obscured, as the dark figure kept ripping and tugging on the hood and other garments covering its upper body. Then, pulling the last shreds of black fabric and armor away, he stood revealed to us.

Arendal, his white suit rumpled and torn, scorch marks streaked across his skin, stumbled forward. His glasses were missing, his clawlike hands empty.

Baranak wasted not a second; he rushed forward, his voice shaking with fury.

“Are you the traitor?” he cried. “Are you?”

Arendal looked at us, eyes blank, and I could see that he was not himself. More even than Vodina, he seemed a zombie, animated by an outside force.

“Watch out,” I called to Baranak—as if he needed protection from anyone or anything.

The God of Battle ignored me and seized Arendal by the collar, lifting him up. Golden energies flooded along his arms as he shook the slender god roughly.

“Speak!” he commanded. “Confess!”

Then Baranak gasped and recoiled, hurling the other god to the ground.

“His forehead,” he said, pointing.

Coming up beside him, I looked down at Arendal where he stiffly struggled to rise.

From a distance, I had not seen a jewel on his forehead, like those that had been so prominently attached to Vodina and to the Dark Men. Now, though, I could tell that he, too, wore one. His, though, had been barely visible, so deeply was it implanted in a small, round hole in his forehead.

The hole created days earlier by my pistol.

Arendal still fought to rise, one hand reaching out in a jerky motion toward us. Baranak and I both tensed, preparing for attack. Instead, he opened his mouth and gagged, seemingly attempting to speak, his words choking in his throat.

Crimson energies flared from the sky then, one tendril striking Arendal and connecting with the jewel. Crying out, he fell backwards to the dusty ground. Then, before either of us could react, he leapt up and charged at us.

Baranak stood impassively and waited until Arendal got within an arm’s length away, then swung his huge, golden fist out in an almost casual motion, striking him against the side of the head.

The slender god tumbled away, arms and legs flailing, until he rolled to an eventual stop in what looked to be a very painful position. His suit, now filthy, hung from him in tatters as he once again attempted to rise.

Baranak and I moved to stand over him, ready for further action.

“Noooo…” he gasped, his mouth forming a distorted “O” as he brought up both hands before him in an almost pleading gesture. “Not… meeeee…”

Baranak eyed him warily, waiting.

“We do not have time for this,” he growled. “Some resolution must come, now.”

“If this is what has become of him,” I said, looking down at him, “I think he’s gotten only what he deserved. He was a part of this from the start, I’m certain.”

Arendal, or what was left of him, slumped forward, looking down at the ground.

“Yessss…” he managed to gasp through deadened lips. “I… thought I was… the mastermind…” He sobbed then, once. “But I was… played… was the biggest pawn… of all…”

He looked up at me then, calmness and clarity coming over his features for the first time.

“The biggest pawn…” he gasped, “…except for you, Lucian.”

I only nodded. This was scarcely news to me, anymore.

Baranak glanced at me, then, and I could tell that, probably for the first time, he had begun to realize I truly had been framed. Then he returned his attention to Arendal.

“Who?” he demanded. “Who was your partner?”

“I did not know…” he said, his voice now very rough, very ragged. “Did not know he would kill them… Kill so many…”

Interesting, I thought. If Arendal actually believed the gods were dead, perhaps he spoke the truth.

“Who was it?” Baranak yelled, reaching to grasp Arendal by the throat. “WHO?”

“Vor—“

He gasped, choked, and the jewel popped from his forehead, landing at my feet. A tiny tendril of red energy trailed from it, back to the wound in his forehead. The air seemed to go out of Arendal then, and he collapsed limply. Baranak released him and he fell to the ground, unmoving.

The tendril of energy vanished.

I lifted the jewel and looked into its depths. Inside, a tiny spark of light swam, just as it had in the jewel I had taken from the pistol with which I had shot Arendal before—the jewel I had given to Alaria, I recalled. This, I knew beyond question, was that same jewel.

As I watched, the light flickered, died. The jewel grew dark in my hand.

Arendal seemed to sigh, once, softly, and then his body crumbled to dust, disintegrating before our eyes.

Startled, Baranak stepped backwards, nearly stumbling.

We looked at one another, wordlessly. There was nothing to say.

Again the Power shifted around us, dropped.

We had very little time remaining to reach the City.

We ran.

# # #

At last the gates of the City loomed before us.

“The Dark Men are gone,” Baranak said as we approached. “They had surrounded this area, laying siege.”

“I fear I know exactly where they are now,” I replied.

His face hardening into quite possibly the most fearsome and intimidating expression I have ever beheld, Baranak strode forward.

We gathered before the gates, all five of us, we improbable rescuers of the eternal realm: three humans, hurled out of their universe and their depths; the golden god of battle, my eternal foe and constant tormenter, now my only trusted ally; and me, the erstwhile dark lord, home again at last to save the City he loved, or die trying.

The gates were closed. Each of us who called that place home, however, carried the key within ourselves.

Leaning forward, resting both massive, armored hands upon the golden surface, Baranak pushed.

The doors resisted.

He groaned, redoubling his efforts.

Still they did not budge.

Louder he groaned, and I knew he had bent all of his will, as well as his strength, to overcoming the resistance. Moving up beside him, I lent my own efforts to the job.

Those gates could hold back an army, but they could never withstand the force and determination of the master of the City. With a shudder, they parted slightly, the light from inside spilling out. And then, as if some invisible barricade had been removed, they gave way and swung easily open.

We strode onto the gilded streets of our Heaven, our eternal realm. Palaces and towers lined the broad avenue ahead of us, jewels glinting from every surface, but I saw no one on the terraces or balconies, no faces in the windows. Once again I experienced a visceral reaction to the sheer emptiness of the place, but I shoved the feeling down through force of will and buried it.

“Beware,” Baranak growled, “for the Power ebbs low. We are extremely vulnerable.”

At the far end of the avenue lay the great basin, a circular bowl of white stone perhaps a hundred yards wide, set into the ground, its lip raised up about four feet above street level. It contained the pool from which the Fountain sprang. One look at it confirmed his words and my fears. In place of the usual towering geyser of cosmic energies at its center, roaring up from none-knew-where, instead existed a mere sputtering trickle. What little remained of the Fountain could be seen bubbling just above the top of the ceremonial stairway and platform that extended out over the basin.

The state of the Fountain was not what caught my attention, however. As the five of us raced along toward the main square in which it lay, we saw that the basin had been surrounded by figures in black. More of the “murdered” gods, I was certain; their bodies perverted into mindless servitude. From high up on the platform extended myriad forking tongues of red lightning, each reaching down to touch one of the Dark Men below. The creatures writhed at the touch of the current, almost basking in it.