Healed by Hope (22 page)

61

THE
VIJJAADHARAA
were not warriors. Their function was to guide, not to fight. But neither were they powerless. As individuals, they had little puissance. But when trillions and trillions came together, they became formidable by any standard.

Sakuna followed the ruined dragon downward, watching as the
Vijjaadharaa
nudged the flaming carcass this way and that, adjusting to whatever occurred on the surface of Nirodha.

Invictus had been the most powerful being to ever live, but the great dragons were next in line. Their massive bodies were bloated with crimson magic, and Sovaōōa was no exception. When her sizzling remains finally smote the ice, there would be an explosion of titanic proportions. Yet that was only part of what was about to occur. Jord, in her incarnation as the mountain eagle Sakuna, would follow behind the dragon and unleash the combined power of her kind. Everything within a league would be incinerated, and there would be lesser damage far beyond that. In his previous existence, Invictus would have survived a cataclysm of even this magnitude. But in this new body, he did not yet wield enough might to save himself.

Jord’s time on Triken was about to end. Like the snow giant, sadness also struck her. Memories of Ugga and Bard surged through her awareness. Watching each of them die just one time had been almost intolerable; yet living beings were forced to watch loved ones die hundreds and thousands of times over the course of their existences. Jord the Faerie should have been celebrating the cessation of emotional suffering, but she realized with poignancy that she would miss life’s sweetness and beauty.

Was life worth living? In her final moments, she discovered that it was.

The flat white surface of Nirodha seemed to rush toward her, rather than she toward it. She tucked her wings tight against her body, extended her neck, and torpedoed downward, positioned only a handful of cubits from the tail end of the crimson flames. The dragon’s carcass would strike. And Sakuna would follow a moment later. After that, the Faerie’s essence would return to the cosmos. She might even be assigned Invictus as her first patron. No, that wasn’t right. The sorcerer would be given to elders who—this time—would not permit him to direct his own rebirth. Instead, they would place him where he could no longer do any serious harm. Perhaps he would become a rabbit, a mouse, or even a worm. And in the lower levels he would remain, where he would be trapped in an endless succession of deaths and rebirths.

And so, for everyone else the nightmare would end.

Except for one thing.

Life and Death had been appeased.

But not yet Undeath.

The cataclysm would destroy Invictus, but not his creator. Jord knew that Vedana would receive payment for her role in eliminating the Sun God—in the form of freedom. Peta had not lied, after all. The demon would be released from her realm and become a living being.

What happened after that was beyond Jord’s knowledge.

In her final moments as a mountain eagle, Jord saw several things with her magnificent vision: Yama-Deva struggling to retain his grip on Invictus, the little girl lying on the ice with her eyes clamped shut, the physical incarnation of Vedana shielding her face against the blinding light.

Right on target, the dragon struck.

For Jord, there was one final moment of awareness.

Then searing pain.

Followed by . . .

Peace.

Placidity.

And the resumption of servitude.

As a reward for her toils, Jord was assigned the privilege of helping guide Nimm to her next lifetime—where the little girl would be great among the great.

62

IN THE MOMENTS before the explosions began, Vedana’s perceptions were strangely muted. Ever since Invictus had cast aside the amulet, her plans of training him to do her bidding had been shattered as easily as a shard of ice. Even the brain damage that she had hoped would make him compliant had only served to make him more unpredictable.

Vedana felt betrayed. Peta had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she would be freed from her prison and released into the Realm of Life. Would Undeath not be appeased? How unfair was that!

If she could just clear her thoughts, maybe she could figure some way out of this. There was a fire in the sky. Coming her way. Should she flee? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t seem to make any decisions.

The portion of Vedana that still resided within the Realm of Undeath decided that enough was enough. It was time to regroup. A portal was opened, and her dark essence reached out to grasp her physical incarnation and yank it back inside. Simultaneously the world was thrown into chaos.

There was a titanic
whoooomp
!

And another.

Then everything went blank.

When Vedana awoke she was lying naked on the crest of a mountain of ice. For a while she simply stared at the passing clouds. Parts of her body were moving in strange, fluttering motions that she found confusing—until she realized that she was shivering. For the first time in her long existence, Vedana was cold.

When she sat up, she felt a stabbing pain in her lower back. In her various incarnations, Vedana had experienced pleasure and pain, but it had been in a muted sense that was nowhere near to this extent. Now she grimaced and cried out as tears leaked from her eyes and froze on her cheeks.

Vedana sobbed.

Sighed.

Chuckled.

Laughed.

Could it be?

Yes . . . she was alive!

It had taken more than one hundred millennia. But
finally
she was alive. And bombarded by physical sensations.

When Vedana stood, her legs were wobbly. She fell face-forward and then rolled off the side of the mountain, tumbling several times before sliding to a halt. A few chips of ice got into her mouth, and she lay on her stomach and tasted them, the sensation amazing her. After these melted, she ate some more.
If ice tastes this good,
she thought,
what will food taste like?

The water gave her strength. Now when she stood, she was steadier. But her stomach was making all kinds of unusual noises.
This is what it feels like to be hungry,
she thought. Not very pleasant . . . and she had nothing to eat, which was troublesome. Before, her physical incarnations had eaten flesh and drank blood, but then it was more for show than sustenance. Now, her body needed food to
survive
. How strange that was.

What to do? Where to go? First she tried to enter her former realm and found that she could not. That was a bit annoying. Her only choice was to journey to Kamupadana, more than seventy leagues to the southeast. There she would find allies. Or if not,
make
them her allies.

The darkness brought even worse cold. Vedana decided that she didn’t like the shivering one bit. Did she still have her magic? Until now, she had been afraid to test herself. But she had no choice.

She willed a film of crimson flame to ignite upon the surface of her naked skin. As easily as before, the flame roared to life—only this time it covered her with warmth. Vedana was alive, but she had not lost her powers. This made her laugh. How glorious!

Vedana began to giggle and then dance, starting with a series of wiggles that progressed into all-out jumping, spinning, and screaming. Crimson magic burst from her mouth, eyes, ears, and nostrils, spitting on the ice like a fountain filled with acid. Beneath her, there was a great maelstrom of cracklings and sizzles, and pools of water alternately boiled and froze, forming a clear sheet of ice at her feet.

“I’m alive!” she screamed. “Alive . . .
alive
 . . .
alive!
”

She leapt onto her stomach and slid wildly, laughing all the while. She smacked face-first into a crusty mound of snow—and this made her laugh even more.

She had power, but she also had life. Nothing of her essence remained in the Realm of Undeath. The cataclysm that had so obviously destroyed Invictus had freed her from her prison.

How utterly wonderful!

But not
entirely
wonderful. Eating the ice had quenched her thirst somewhat, but she was discovering that the sensation of hunger could be downright maddening. Snarling replaced her laughter, and she looked about with crazed eyes. She needed to find meat—raw, bloody, and warm. It was clear that she could not go from here to Kamupadana without eating something along the way.

For a time Vedana chose to walk. But her hunger pangs worsened with each step, and she realized that she would need to move faster if she was to reach Kamupadana before dying of starvation. The markets inside the ninth wall contained every form of food and drink, including a variety of livestock. The thought of sinking her fangs into a squealing pig made her mouth water.

Vedana transformed into a raven, though this relatively simple feat was more difficult than it had been before she became a living being. Now instead of imitating, she was re-forming—and it took more energy and concentration than it had before. In the swirling winds, her flying was erratic. Early on she spun out of control and crashed headfirst into the ice. An ordinary raven might have broken its neck; she only cawed and cursed before taking to the air again.

When she saw the mammoth standing alone in the darkness, Vedana circled several times before landing less than a stone’s throw away. Then she shape-shifted back to her favorite physical incarnation—the gray-haired woman—only this time she remembered to include her tattered robes. The mammoth towered over her like a mountain of flesh, sinew, and shaggy hair. The demon admired its curved tusks, imagining how wonderful it would be to break one of them off and suck out the steaming marrow.

The mammoth’s eyesight was poor, but its sense of smell was not. Suddenly it became aware of her presence—and didn’t like it. First the great beast reared on its tree-trunk hind legs and bellowed. Then it turned and thundered away. But Vedana gave chase. And when she unleashed a torrent of crimson flame, the mammoth thudded heavily on its side, slid for a hundred cubits, and did not move again.

Vedana leapt onto the beast’s thick carcass and sank her fangs into its hide. She spat out a mottled ball of hair and then took another bite. And another. Eventually, her stomach began to protrude, as if she were pregnant.

The mammoth’s carcass remained warm. Vedana yawned and lay down, using the dense hair as a blanket. For the first time in her existence, she slept.

Beyond hope

63

LARGE AS A MOUNTAIN, a ball of crimson fire thundered downward at fantastic speed. In its wake was a smaller figure giving chase. Both fell out of sight behind the ice bulwark—and then a blinding flash of light leapt into the sky, followed by a shuddering explosion. The wall of ice seemed to come to life, bowling outward like a frenetic tidal wave. It blasted Torg in the face and knocked him onto his back, the furious cataclysm tossing him to and fro. When calm finally was restored, Torg found himself buried by frozen water. But not enough so that it was inescapable. He twisted around until he faced upward toward the light and then used Obhasa to scorch a tunnel to the surface. Soon after, he climbed free and looked about in amazement.

A crater as broad and deep as the largest canyon in the world loomed before him. Its floor was made of ice that was as clear as monochrome glass, and it leaned downward like the sides of a funnel. At the base of the canyon—several thousand cubits below where Torg now stood—was a wide pool of deep-blue seawater that frothed and boiled. The explosion had burrowed all the way through the ice to the ocean that hitherto had been sealed beneath.

Torg leaned against Obhasa and stared, his breath smoking in the frozen air. Then he shook his head, as if to break a spell. Laylah . . . he had to find Laylah.

First he called her name. Then he blasted bolts of blue-green energy into the sky. But nothing seemed to attract her. Torg ran in all directions, looking for any sign. Finally, he realized that she must still be buried under the ice—and probably unconscious.

Torg searched for the rest of the afternoon but could discover no signs of her. At one point, he found what appeared to be a chip of bone, and for a panicked moment he became convinced that the explosion had blown Laylah apart. With a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to stand still and watch his breath. In this manner, he grew calm and regained his composure. The bone could have belonged to anyone or anything. Besides, Laylah was too strong to not survive. She was alive. But where? And for how much longer?

When dusk arrived, Torg’s panic returned. Perhaps Laylah was buried so deep that not even she could fight her way free. If so, he probably would not find her, regardless of how long he searched. At the same time, he knew that he would never give up, even if it meant using his magic to melt every speck of ice in Nirodha.

Torg clambered up the wall that surrounded the frozen crater. From its crest he could see far, despite the intruding darkness. To the east rose the gibbous moon amongst glittering stars, and to the north, multicolored bursts of light danced in the sky. Torg scanned the basin for any sign of movement. Then he smiled and let out a shout. Far below and to his right, a patch of clear ice glowed alabaster.

Laylah!

Torg raced down, slipping and sliding like a lunatic. When he reached the area of illumination, he placed the rounded head of Obhasa on the ice and scorched it with blue-green heat, melting it at an astounding rate.

Fifty cubits beneath the surface, he found Laylah lying motionless on her stomach. Torg set Obhasa aside, knelt beside her, and took her in his arms, willing healing energy into her body. Though he could sense that she still lived, it felt like forever before she finally responded. Then she did so violently, arching her back and screaming. White magic blasted Torg’s face, hurling him backward. He smacked against the ice with such force that he slid partway up the side of the hole he had magically excavated before slipping back down and landing roughly on his rump.

Laylah was on her hands and knees, coughing. Torg scrambled over to her and cradled her like he would a child. Again he bombarded her with the blue might of Death combined with the green magic of the
Vijjaadharaa
. Obhasa lay off to the side, thrumming on the ice as if anxious to be a part of the reunion.

This time Laylah responded in calmer fashion, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing hard. After a while Torg pulled away and stared at her lovely face. Finally, she opened her eyes and then smiled. To his utmost delight, she crushed her cold lips against his and held them there for a long time.

When the kiss was over, her lips were warm. She whispered, “Beloved, can you feel it? Invictus is dead. This time for
good
. We’re finally . . . free.”

Torg could find no response, other than to sob. They were so close, the two of them, to being “free.” But one obstacle remained.

“Vedana . . .” he said.

“Beloved?”

“The demon took Jhana, my father.”

“But Vedana’s gone. Surely she could not have survived.”

“She lives . . . I can sense her.”

Laylah crawled to Obhasa on hands and knees. “As can I,” she admitted. “Then let’s find her, together. I crave vengeance as much as you.”

Torg reached behind his neck and felt the exposed tang of the Silver Sword. The cold, disinterested metal gave him comfort.

“As you say, my love . . . together it shall be.”