The Mirrored City (43 page)

“I just wanted you to know that it’s okay.” Heath forced a pained smile and stood tall.

He raised his arms, and the sky responded with flashes of lightning. Not the illusory reflection of the city, but the real natural sky outside the Incursion. Columns of electric fury rained down the long, straight boulevard in this twisted version of Baash, shaking the ground with thundering explosions. The crowds didn’t scatter, but they fell. Each bolt advanced their beleaguered party farther into the thick of the riot around them.

Heath had never seen the front lines of warfare, but the spectacle around him was chilling. The people weren’t fighting an enemy or defending the Cyst; they were fighting everyone with every ounce of anger they possessed. There were no sides, just a roiling blood bath. No wonder the streets were empty—everyone in the city was here.

Sword was in rare form, leading the charge. Daphne’s body may have seen better days, but she was still a lethal fighter. The sword hacked through the crowd, chopping off heads and limbs. Sword loved battle, but this time her face was grim. These were women, children, and ordinary citizens, helpless in the throes of bloodlust. Heath took some consolation in the fact that the sooner he died, the less these images would haunt his dreams.

Maddox looked shaken, his only concern keeping clear of the battle and protecting the twins. He was a difficult person, but when the chips were down, he protected the innocent without thought. He complained about it, vocally, but he did it. He was a better man than Heath ever gave Maddox credit for.

And Lyta. If his daughter had lived, he’d like to imagine she’d look like Lyta when she hit that age. It was silly to think about the past as he brought a rain of destruction down from the sky, but his role was the easiest and afforded him time to reflect. He just needed to stay on his feet and keep moving forward; Kondole would do the rest.

It was a slaughter of innocent people all around him. Taking life came easily to him, even before joining the Inquisition. He was fully a Stormlord now. The Light inside him was dead. The best he could do was make sure that when this was over, as much of the blood was on his hands as possible. He could carry it.

They reached the Cyst, a colossal structure of curving glass and steel. It looked almost alive yet completely artificial at the same time. He hit it with a concentrated blast of fulmination from the heavens. Kondole was a gentle god, but he despised the unnatural magic of the Harrowers. A shower of sparks and glass exploded onto the street. White light poured from the puncture.

The remains of their group hurried through the smoking breach as the fighting continued outside.

The curved inner chamber was completely white and sterile, with shiny tile walls and floor. He could see his breath in the air. Three central columns of glowing blue crystal pulsated with motes of light. The din of fighting remained behind them, but the enraged masses didn’t cross over into the Cyst. It was like his group had become invisible to the combatants outside.

“What is this place?” Lyta asked.

Sword approached one of the columns. “The people of Sarn collected their shared knowledge and art in these heartstone constructs. Most of it was pornography. No way to be sure though—these crystals are just an echo of something that used to be here.”

“I can’t feel them outside that wall… our people.” Shannon cradled herself.

Soren hugged her. “They did what they were born to do.”

Heath dropped to his knees. He felt dizzy and sick. Lyta rushed to help him, grabbing his arm gently and lifting him to his feet.

“Thank you, Lyta.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“No,” Heath declared, “I’m not. But I have some fight left in me.”

Sword pointed toward a doorway in the wall. The surface was shiny like ceramic, the seams barely visible. “Once we go through there, we’ll enter the heart of the Cyst. The Harrower will split us up and plunge each of us into our own personal nightmare. There is no guarantee of making it to the other side.”

Shannon stomped her foot. “I’m not going. You don’t need your army anymore.”

Heath sighed. “It’s not much safer out there.”

She thrust out her chin. “I think I can handle myself. Soren?”

The boy hesitated for a while and shook his head. “The best way to protect our child is if I help defeat this Harrower.”

“I just found out I have a real family,” Shannon pleaded.

Soren smiled. “Me too. And I need to protect it.”

They embraced one final time. Shannon turned to her lover and outstretched her arms. “Goodbye, Lyta. This may be the last time we ever see each other.”

Lyta returned a stiff and formal embrace, her features tightly wound around her emotions. “Be safe.”

Shannon’s eyes were wet with tears, and as Lyta walked toward the breach, Shannon said, “Be safe, too.”

Lyta nodded. “I’m not afraid.”

Sword marched toward the door. “No matter how much time seems like it’s passing, we’ll all arrive on the other side if we make it. Don’t panic. Take the time you need. Just remember—they will fuck with you hard. You need to be strong.”

“See you guys there.” Heath walked to the doorway. It slid open, revealing a long dark hall beyond. He stepped across the threshold, and the darkness swallowed him.

Heath wandered into an office he remembered from the Rivern Temple. The walls were white marble flecked with gold veins that shimmered in the light of hundreds of candles set along shelves in the walls. It was uncomfortably warm. In the center of the room, framed between two stained glass windows, was a large desk of Maenmarth oak. He saw himself sitting behind it, scribbling into a ledger.

“This is Bishop Samseth’s office,” he commented, looking at the candles and religious artwork that decorated the chamber. Samseth was the bishop who had sent Heath down the path of the Inquisition.

The other Heath at the desk looked up from his ledger. “Hello, old friend. Glad to see your eyes have healed. Although silver is an interesting color…”

His doppelganger had dark brown eyes.

“So,” Heath said. “You’re my worst nightmare. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“The Harrower shows us the most uncomfortable parts of ourselves,” Other Heath replied. “It’s like a mirror. We appear as different things because most can’t face the reality that they are their own worst enemy. You have no illusions about what your demons are and see me for what I am.”

Heath smiled. “So do we fight, or do we talk?”

“We always prefer to talk first,” Other Heath said affably. “You’ve borne the touch of the Seal of Mystery and survived a Harrowing, and you’re a Stormlord, so this is more of a formality. It’s very unlikely I’m going to be able to kill you.”

Heath rubbed the back of his neck. “So if you’re me, then you want to negotiate?”

“It’s what we do. Convince people to do things. We explain their options, show them the outcomes, and lead them to their inevitable conclusions.”

“Which would be what?”

Other Heath closed his ledger and set down his pen. “Voluntarily end your own life now and spare yourself further anguish. It doesn’t matter at this point. The result is going to be the same. Sword is going to kill the Harrower or the Inquisition will with the Eye of Ohan.”

“Then let me continue on my way,” Heath said.

Other Heath said, “If you do, there will be consequences.”

“Such as?”

“The end of reality.”

“I never imagined I was that important.”

Other Heath folded his hands. “Indirectly you are. You are a foreign piece on a complex puzzle board of players—an extra king, neither red or white, but black. You don’t fit in the Grand Design. Neither does Maddox. He’s dangerous to reality in a way that makes this Harrower incursion seem quaint.”

“He’s dangerous to you.”

“Yes,” Other Heath said. “He could un-create the universe. Imagine the power of an omnipotent god of gods in the hands of someone like Maddox. He’s harmless now, but when he realizes the full potential of his ability, he could change the fundamental nature of causality. He could bring the Outer Darkness into this universe.”

“Outer Darkness?”

“When mortal minds entangle with cosmic forces, it creates gods, for lack of a better term. The ones who help were called Guides by the First Mages. The ones who seek to eradicate life, you call Harrowers, or demons. But there are things worse than demons in the cosmos. A god born of cosmic power and mortal anguish can destroy the boundaries between this universe and the states of existence that lie outside it.”

Heath shrugged. “What does Maddox have to do with this?”

“The heart of a Cyst is one of the only places the already mutilated laws of this universe allow Maddox to permanently die.”

“Fair enough. You want me to kill him?”

“Sit this one out,” Other Heath explained. “Sword can easily defeat the manifestation on its own. You can remain here in the Dreaming for as long as you like. Time is immaterial, and this world that was created for us to talk is infinite. Live whichever life you choose, and end it when you lose interest. Remain here and let Maddox die.”

“Fuck,” Heath said. “The human sacrifice… If Maddox dies in the Cyst, he’s dead forever. If I take his place, then he lives. Is that it?”

Other Heath said, “You die either way. Stay here and you will live forever in a world created to your every desire. If Maddox lives, he could destroy the Universe. You’ve both suffered long enough; Maddox doesn’t even want immortality.”

“Why should I believe you?” Heath folded his arms. “I also know I’m a very good liar.”

“The more important question is ‘why would I lie?’ The Harrowers didn’t bring hell to Creation; they just revealed it for what it is. Self-awareness, sentience—it’s a disease, like the cancer growing in your stomach. Misery doesn’t come from chaos, it comes from the desire for order.”

Heath took a deep breath. “Maybe misery exists for a reason you don’t understand. If there’s an Outer Darkness, then I have to entertain the possibility that there’s something else at work, a grand design to the whole of created existence that’s beyond the Guides.”

“Faith is a delusion,” Other Heath said, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe.” Heath cracked his knuckles. “But if your answer to suffering is a universe devoid of life or consciousness, then it’s already destroyed. If you’re not going to kill me, I kindly request you send me to meet my friends.”

“You will damn us all, Lord of Storms.”

T
HIRTY-
E
IGHT

Family Traditions

J
ESSA

My Darling Daughter Jessa,

If you are reading this, then against all odds, I have been laid low by my enemies and you have become the Tempest. We have had our differences over the years, and I have ill prepared you for the necessities of survival within our family.

I cannot protect you or your unborn son. That task falls to you, and unfortunately I have little to offer in the way of comfort. I was never that kind of mother. Your father had a much more protective nature. He allowed mammoth witches, your supposed ancestors, to bless your cradle when you were a babe with their superstitious magic. I can only hope that at least one of those haggard crones wasn’t completely full of shit because you will need every ounce of luck you can get.