Healed by Hope (12 page)

29

FOR THE SECOND consecutive night Torg lay entwined with Laylah in the luxuriant bed they had claimed in Senasana. Her back was to him, and she slept—or more truthfully, feigned sleep. It wasn’t until Torg released her and turned on his other side that she truly let go. Since arriving at Senasana, Laylah had changed. The swelling in her belly had doubled in size, and though she couldn’t have been more than three weeks’ pregnant, Torg would have guessed three months. Invictus’s son was growing fast.

Even more disturbing, Laylah had become cold and distant, and it was obvious to Torg that she found him . . .
distasteful
. She seemed to be doing her best to hide it, and at times she succeeded, but the Laylah who had adored him above all else had been replaced by someone who considered him more a nuisance than a loving partner. Could it be that she had been through too much? Was she psychologically broken? Or was the baby that grew explosively in her womb to blame? Torg suspected the latter, but he dreaded saying anything to Laylah about it now.

Suddenly, he sat up and gasped, causing Laylah to moan but not awaken. Then he slipped out of bed and went to the window of the manse. As he stared at the gibbous moon, Torg ran his fingers through his hair. He had felt—and continued to feel—an unusual sensation, a sort of tingling behind his eyes. But it was barely perceptible. This perplexed Torg.

“What is it?” he whispered out loud. “What do I sense?” It was as if something monumental had occurred, but very far away—perhaps even over water, which deadened magic and sorcery. Torg reached out with his full strength and yet could not discern the source of his bemusement.

“It is not an evil thing,” he whispered again, attempting to use words to focus his search. When Laylah spoke to him, he was so startled he almost fell out the window.

“Beloved?” she said.

Her tone was reminiscent of better times. Torg was so pleased to hear it, tears welled in his eyes. He turned to face her. She stood naked before him, cradling her stomach with her lovely hands.

“Yes, my love?” he said, his voice trembling.

“Torg . . . I’m frightened. Something is wrong. The baby is . . . changing me. And I don’t want to change. I love you so much—more than this child, more than
anything
.”

Torg stepped forward and took her gently in his arms, though he wanted to squeeze with all his might.

Laylah rested the side of her face against his chest and continued to speak. “I know we don’t need this. Both of us have been through enough. This should be a happy time . . . a glorious time. But it’s as if my brother is reaching out from death to break us apart. Even now, his perversions haunt us. The child in my belly . . . the boy . . . is . . . is . . .” Then she burst into tears. “Something is
wrong
!”

Torg found that he also was crying, though mixed with his worry and sorrow was joy that she had returned to him. He took her hand, led her to the bed, and sat down beside her.

“Laylah, I don’t want to make promises that I can’t keep, so I won’t say that no matter what happens I’ll make everything right. But I can promise that I’ll do my best for you and the boy. I love you more than life itself. You are my reason for existence.”

Laylah managed a weak smile. Her face was so beautiful Torg felt as if he might swoon.

“Torg, if I act . . . different . . . please understand that it is not because I don’t love you. The child is powerful—and demanding. Until I birth him, I might be difficult to be around.”

Torg chuckled. “As if you weren’t already?”

She slapped him on the arm. Then, seriously, she said, “Will you place your hands on my stomach?”

“I would love to,” he said. “But it’s not like I haven’t already.”

“That’s not what I mean. I need you to do to me what you did to Rajinii.”

Torg’s eyes went wide. “Laylah . . .”

“Please?”

“Laylah, you saw what happened when I attempted to remove the poison of Invictus’s magic from Rajinii’s flesh. But at least it was
her
flesh. With you, there are two bodies—each dependent of the other. If the child is . . .” Then he paused.

“Say it.”

“Very well. If the child is ‘wrong,’ as you put it, there could be serious consequences. Either of you—or both of you—could be harmed.”

“And you also could be harmed,” she said softly.

Torg stroked her lovely cheek with the fingers of his right hand. “May I tell you what I think we should do?”

Laylah seemed relieved. “Please.”

“We should do as you suggest,” he said. “But not here and not now. I plan to leave for Anna in the morning. Once there, it will be much safer to make the attempt, especially with Vasi masters and Tugars at our side. If something bad were to occur, we would have immediate assistance . . . assistance that would be purely on our side.”

Laylah lowered her head and looked down at her belly, stroking it almost absent-mindedly. “Anna is far away . . . and a long
time
away. Maybe too long.”

Torg considered this. “Perhaps not so far—or long. Do not forget that you and I have friends in high places.”

30

“THIS DARKNESS IS horrible. I can’t see a thing.”

“You’re doing fine. If I tap you on the left, go left. And vice versa. Otherwise just keep flying straight.”

“Vedana, where are we going?”

“First, to retrieve something valuable that I might need, depending on how well the boy behaves. Then, to the place that will give us the best entry.”

“And that’s where we’ll find him?” Sovaōōa said.

“Yes,” the mother of all demons responded.

“Inside the Simōōn?”

“As I said before, the Simōōn is not our concern.”

“And we’ll leave the same way?”

“Sovaōōa, I’m beginning to worry that you might be a little too dull in the wits department to be my partner.”

“I just want to be
sure
, Vedana. Things are likely to happen fast.”

“The faster the better.”

“Yuck!”

“What now?”

“Strange creatures keep bumping into my snout and splattering on my wings. They’re all
slimy
.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just
undines
and
efrits
. They’re harmless—at least in here.”

“Even
you
feel slimy,” Sovaōōa said to the demon. “There’s stuff dripping down the base of my neck. Have you bathed recently?”

“Ha. Ha.”

“You said there’s a place we needed to go first?”

“Yes . . . and we’re almost there. Fold your wings, and close your eyes. It’s going to be a tight fit.”

“Like it was coming in? That hurt, you know.”

“You’re a great dragon. Nothing hurts you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Ready?” Vedana said.

“As I’ll ever be,” Sovaōōa said.

“Now!”

Sovaōōa felt pressure on her torso and then a rushing of supernal wind. When the golden dragon opened her eyes she found that she was staring directly into the morning sun. However, her eyes soon adjusted, and she recognized what lay below: Arupa-Loka, once a thriving city inhabited by living
Adho Sattas
(low ones), but now home to ghosts, ghouls, and the physical incarnations of demons.

Sovaōōa snorted. “Of what possible value could anything be in that hideous place?”

“Let your superiors do the thinking,” Vedana said. “You just do the flying.”

“Funny . . .”

“There!”

“Where? I don’t see anything but a bunch of crumbled buildings.”

“That tower in the courtyard.”

“You call that a tower?” the dragon said.

“Size isn’t everything.”

“I wish you could have convinced Bhayatupa of that.”

“He never listened,” Vedana said. “And look where it got him.”

There was just enough room in the square for Sovaōōa to settle her titanic body. She landed on a ghoul and squished him, which released a terrible odor. Ghosts and demons fled at her arrival, though perhaps it was Vedana’s presence they fled more than the dragon’s.

Vedana incarnated into a gray-haired woman wearing tattered robes, and she clambered off Sovaōōa’s neck and skittered through a door at the base of the strange tower, which was just ten cubits in diameter but at least fifty tall. Sovaōōa waited patiently for Vedana to return. What else was there to do? There certainly was nothing around here that was any good to eat.

An eerie light shone from a window near the pinnacle of the tower. Sovaōōa saw the movement of shadows and then heard cackling. The golden female shuddered. Even a great dragon was not immune to the sensation of fear.

When Vedana emerged from the tower, she appeared to be carrying nothing of significance, though her right hand was clenched into a gnarled fist. Whatever the demon held, it seemed to please her immensely.

Sovaōōa hated to admit it, but she was curious. “What are you holding?”

Vedana opened her hand, revealing a cold sliver of metal attached to a thin cord.

“That’s what you’re so excited about? It’s smaller than a gold coin.”

“Smaller, yes . . . but far more valuable. This is one of the most powerful talismans in the history of Triken. Ever since the Death-Knower made his appearance in this tower a few hundred years ago, no other demons have dared to enter. So it was the safest place for me to bring this thing and hide it. I daresay it could control even you, if I could figure out a way to attach it to your neck.”

This did not impress Sovaōōa. “As you’ve said, over and over, you’re the one in charge. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Vedana’s grandmotherly face brightened. “You’re about to shed a scale on your right hind leg.”

“Dragons shed scales. What of it?”

“Don’t be so defensive. I just want to show you something. Pluck the scale and place it on the stone at my feet.”

“You are easily amused, Vedana.”

“Just do it!”

Sovaōōa bent her neck around, barely avoiding banging into the annoying tower, and grasped the loose scale with her teeth. When she laid it on the cobbled floor of the courtyard, the demon pranced around it like an overexcited child.

“Watch this!
Watch
 . . .”

Vedana placed the talisman on the scale. Then she stepped back and smiled, revealing jagged teeth. The demon’s eyes glowed, and the talisman responded, turning red-hot. Then the scale began to smoke and catch fire. Soon the talisman had burned through it and was liquefying a portion of the stone beneath.

Now Sovaōōa was impressed. “Where’d you get it? And what’s it for?”

“Where I got it is my business. The
when
is far more important. Let’s just say I had this before even you were born. What it’s for? Let’s hope you never have to find out.”

Sovaōōa was still curious, but she didn’t want to give the demon the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, the dragon shrugged her massive shoulders. “I care naught. At least you’ve gotten what you came for. What now?”

“We return to my realm . . . and wait.”

“Yuck. I’d rather wait here.”

“Stop being so petulant!”

“I’m not even sure what that word means.”

“Ha. Ha.”

31

OKKANTI WAS NOT as vast as Mahaggata or Kolankold, but it was large nonetheless. Many of the tallest and most severe mountains on Triken were squeezed into Okkanti’s interior, some so icy and sheer that even a snow giant found them difficult to climb, especially with just one hand.

Still, Yama-Deva leapt from peak to peak and ledge to ledge, traversing knife-like ridges, clambering down into valleys, and then back up to perilous summits. Something drove him that was like and yet unlike the urges to wander that already had cost him so dearly. Though he had counseled Sampakk and Gambhira to search for healing, he believed that he himself was beyond healing. Too much had occurred for it to be otherwise. As Mala, he had performed deeds that had opened wounds too deep to ever close. As Deva, his memories of those evils would never allow him to experience peace again.

Despite all this, Deva could not shake the feeling that one final task remained before he could pass on to the whenever and wherever of his next existence. In fact, it quickly had become far more than a feeling. Deva was convinced that his fate lay somewhere other than the peaks of his homeland. It was as if an invisible chain was attached to his body and pulling him away from his mountains.

Finally, he reached the western foothills of Okkanti and then set out across the Gray Plains. Though it was mid-spring, it remained chilly even during the day. But Deva did not shiver.

Cold was his ally. It was heat that made him ill.

This portion of the Gray Plains extended farther north than any other, reaching all the way to the Ice Ocean. More than eighty leagues of lifeless tableland lay before him. But the compulsion to depart Okkanti was too strong to resist, and Deva did not hesitate. Unencumbered by Invictus’s magical chain, Deva sprinted across the hard turf faster than any land animal save Bhojja herself. The leagues passed beneath his feet in a blur.

Deva ran toward the eastern stem of Mahaggata, where he would clamber from peak to peak again. Beyond those mountains lay Nirodha, a flat, icy wasteland swarming with mammoths, seals, flightless birds, and great white bears.

It was in Nirodha that he would perish, he now realized with uncanny certainty.

Knowing this, Deva was not frightened.

He had lived many millennia.

Too many.

He was tired.

So tired.

And more than ready to die for a good cause.