Gods of Earth (35 page)

“Wait,” Chance said, pulling back.

“No,” Sarah said sharply. “No more waiting.” She kissed him and pulled roughly at his shirt buttons.

“Just a moment. Not more than a moment,” he explained. He pulled her up, and she sat beside him on the bed. Then he slipped to his knees before her. He fumbled awkwardly at his shirt buttons
with one hand, and, seeing what he was doing, she helped him unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. She put one hand flat on his chest. Chance grabbed the string around his neck.

“Cut this.”

Sarah drew the knife she kept at her back and sliced the string. Chance pulled the ring from the cord as she sheathed the blade.

“I made this a year ago, from gold that I found. I made it for you. I’ve hidden it, and worn it, since that time. Dreaming of you. Dreaming of making you mine. Sarah Michael, will you wear this ring? Will you be my wife?”

The set of her jaw was fierce. Suddenly, when only a moment before she had seemed lost in passion, she looked at him now with keen calculation.

“You will be no easy husband to have, Chance Kyrien.”

He nodded and held his breath in expectation.

After a long moment she said, “Chance Kyrien, I will be your wife, if you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You will never again speak of purity, and you will never again say that you are unpure, and you will accept yourself as—you will accept that you are a Puriman. Whatever happens.”

Chance hesitated. How clever she was, he thought. For she aimed to absolve him of his impurity by forcing upon him this pledge. And though it would be self-serving, though it would be too easy, to accept her demand and be done then with his doubts—what choice did he have? She was the woman that he wanted. That he always wanted. That he must have. She was the finest Puriman women in the world. The finest that ever was or would be.

“I promise,” he whispered.

She put on the ring. It fit perfectly.

Chance reached forward, and ran his fingers through her short hair. “I love you, Sarah Kyrien. I will always love you. No man in this world could ever love you as I do.”

Sarah pulled him up and into the narrow bed.

“Puriman!”

Chance slept more deeply than he ever remembered sleeping, so that he rose only slowly into waking when he heard the sharp call of the Guardian.

“Puriman!”

Chance opened his eyes. Sarah lay tightly wrapped around him, the rough stitches of her scarred cheek against his shoulder. The dim hint of dawn from the portal window cast pale light into their cabin. Chance pulled away from Sarah, and she snapped awake.

“What is it?”

“The Guardian calls me.”

They dressed hurriedly. With Sarah following, Chance went out to the hall. Seth waited on the steps. Chance could not see the coyote’s face in the dim light but could tell by his silence and the low hang of his tail that he was concerned and perhaps even afraid. Chance ascended to the deck, Seth following so closely that his cheek brushed against Chance’s thigh.

The Guardian stood in the bow still, but was turned now to face him. His eyes glowed pale green, a frightening sight that purged him of any vestige of humanity. Chance glanced back at Sarah, and saw then Mimir, who sat unmoving by the back mast.

“Puriman,” the Guardian said, his otherworldly eyes turning upon Chance like two ghostly rays of moonlight. “The god is free.”

CHAPTER

31

“D
o not cling to an absent God,” Hexus urged Chance as the Puriman boy faded from view.

The barrier blinked, then disappeared. For Hexus only an instant passed, though days had come and gone outside.

The Potentiate was gone. The lights in the round room flickered uncertainly, shedding only a thin glow. The power was failing—someone had cut power to Uroboros, Hexus realized, and so freed him from Threkor’s ancient cage.

And surrounding Hexus now stood five of Threkor’s Engles. The lights died. The only illuminations in the utter darkness were the red eyes of the Engles, moving toward him in a flash. Hexus knew what else moved in the dark: their brutal metallic arms swinging knife hands, their knees, tipped with iron spikes, hammering forward.

Hexus had learned well the force of these guardians of Uroboros. Though he had destroyed two of the Engles in their last meeting, the battle had been bitter and it had nearly annihilated his last body. Now he bent space and let himself fall through the floor, as one of the Engles swung a pointed claw at him, the blow bending around him.

He landed in a black room below. A few bits of light showed him where the door stood. He tore it off its hinges, blasting it down the abyss around which wound the stair, and then at his greatest speed he fled up the stairs, out into the halls of Uroboros. He passed through a dozen walls, running straight and bending space when needed to push past every barrier, until he emerged into pale dawn light and the street. The Engles followed him to the limit of the Engineer’s guild hall, their claws ripping through doors and steel and stone, their hard steps hammering on the steel floors—but they stopped at the last wall. They would follow no farther. They would not leave Uroboros. Hexus turned and skidded across the stones of the road, and looked back. One of the Engles stood in the narrow crack he had made in the wall. Its red fire eyes glared at him, stupidly furious but bound by ancient laws.

Hexus turned away. The coming sunrise gave the western sky a first hint of flaming red. A vast ring of a thousand soulburdened beasts milled about in the square before the entrance to Uroboros, each impatient creature pacing and turning, roused now by the dawn, waiting for a sign before they charged the Engineer’s guildhall. Hexus appeared in the air before them, standing a meter off the ground, in the center of the vast boulevard, where he could see south to the end of the city and the black sea wall.

Before him, a bear that held a shred of torn and bloody cloth in its mouth rose up in surprise, ready to strike him, and then it realized who he was, and its roar died and it fell back to the ground, cringing.

Slowly, silence spread out from this place in the crowd of ready warriors, until all the beasts were quiet.

“I am the god,” Hexus proclaimed, the eye in the hand burning. “You have freed me. Where is my champion?”

The bear pointed with both claws toward the crystal wall at the south end of Disthea, where Hexus had first crossed over with his army.

“Tell your warriors to pause. To wait,” Vark begged. He stood, shoulders slumped, at Apostola’s side as she stared out over the city.

The battle did not fare well. Fighting continued unabated on both sides. Many were dying, and no advantage was being found.

“Soon the god will be free,” Vark continued. “All this can be settled by him. There is no need for more to die.”

Apostola breathed in deeply, preparing to grunt out some response. But a pale blur shot past her, and then the god stood before them.

Vark sank to his knees. Apostola did the same.

“Rise, my champion.”

Apostola rose. Vark, uncertain, watched them both and, seeing their indifference to him, slowly rose, shrinking back a pace.

“How long have I been trapped?” Hexus asked.

“Six days.”

“The Potentiate?”

“On a boat. They sail north. Whale kin follow the ship. The whales await your word, and will attack it.”

“How far are they on the journey?”

“Not half the way, my god.”

“Then let them continue, but the whales must follow. The Potentiate goes where I would take him. But if they head for land, have the whales stop and hold the ship.” Hexus pointed at the city. “How goes the battle for this city?”

“Many of ours are trapped in the high floors of great towers. Can’t descend. Humans within build barriers against our kin in the towers, and against our kin in the street.”

Hexus looked out over the city a long moment. Vark opened his mouth several times, trying to gather the courage to speak, but failed each time.

“Send out word to our troops,” Hexus finally said. “Tell them to get into the towers we control, and to climb. Most should go to the Hand that Reaches.”

Apostola talked with a group of wolves, and these ran off with great leaping strides down into the city, their gray manes rolling.

Hexus walked down the switchbacking ramp. Beneath the ramp, a small black building of stone set up against the Crystal Wall. Hexus waved his hand and the steel door was torn open, the heavy bolts of its lock screaming as they bent and broke. He stepped inside. Light cast through the doorway dimly illuminated five huge pipes that rose out of the floor and sank back into it again. Vark stood behind at a distance, still waiting to be recognized, still afraid to speak. Another wolf approached, and Apostola turned away to speak with it.

Apostola came to his side. “Lord, there is an engineer that seeks to speak with you. It left their guild hall after you left, asking for you. Those in the street thought… maybe.…” She looked at Vark. “Maybe it is Hieroni.”

Hexus stepped back into the doorway. An old woman, bald and with dark, wrinkled skin, walked toward them, a bear on each side. She was small but looked up at Hexus without fear, and showed no fear of the two great bears that flanked her. She stopped a pace away.

“Hexus.”

“Bow!” Apostola shrieked, furious at this human insolence.

The Engineer gave a slight bow.

“I am Sar. Elder and Council Member of the Dark Engineers. I come to ask that you allow me to repair the damage to the power station that your armies have broken.”

Hexus was silent a long time. “Why should I do that?”

“The City will flood. Slowly, but it will flood. That power is needed to pump out the sea water that leaks in.”

“Not slowly,” Hexus said. He turned toward the dark room behind him, and held out his right hand. He closed Paul’s eyes in concentration and bent space, creating a tall slit, the height of a man, in one of the huge black pipes in the floor. As if the iron were made of clay, the sides smoothly bent out and away, before freezing into solidity again. Sea water roared through. As Hexus watched, the water twisted and tumbled through the door and into the city street. They backed away.

“My god, please do not do this!” Vark cried, finally speaking. He stumbled forward, and then went down on one knee in the water. “You destroy the city!”

Hexus looked down at him, Paul’s face frowning, right hand out with the black eye gazing on Vark’s head.

“Rise, Vark.”

Vark stood, glancing nervously from the black eye to Paul’s sad eyes, and then to the ground.

“Look.” Hexus gestured toward the city. “Look. What do you see?”

Vark hesitated a long time before he said, barely audible above the roar of the water, “I see my city, the last great city of Earth.”

Hexus nodded. “Know, Vark, that to me this city is a ruin, without hope. No one loves Theopolis more than I love it. No one. But this city is like me, now. Crippled, unable to grow into its whole self again.” He turned his hand around, and stared at it with Paul’s eyes. “Trapped in a fragmented form.” He let the hand drop and looked again at Vark. “But I will remake the city, Vark. It is already lost, already destroyed. I shall remake it, after I remake myself, so that it is a glory not only of this fallen time, but of all times. When I have the Potentiate, and have properly Ascended, I will make this city greater than ever dreamed in the Penultimate Age. You shall exalt! Have faith.”