The Undying God (24 page)

“Are we returning to Azia-Nocti now
that we have the means to transport merchandise?” Arxu
asked.

Nishka playfully spun around and
chirped, “No.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to Eternitas.” The word
jogged a memory in Arxu’s brain, but he couldn’t place it in any
context.

“What about the spring market? I
thought we were fulfilling your responsibility to your
father—”

“We have to stop Margzor,” Nishka
interjected. “This is more important than the spring market. If
what the priestess says is true, hundreds of people are going to
die soon. He only has two places left to go.”

Suddenly, Nishka saw something in his
expression she hadn’t seen before. Understanding. He didn’t
question her. Instead, Arxu seemed willing to sidetrack from the
task assigned by her father and assist her.

Nishka turned away, suddenly aware of
the affectionate way she was looking at him.

Chapter 24

Margzor slinked through the dark nexus
of the forest. The blackened canopy tinted the sunlight above,
transforming it into a lifeless gray. He waded through a pool of
grime in total silence. He had no thoughts to express, merely
drowning in the frustration that would not let him go.

Tar streaked across his legs as he
emerged onto a hill swathed in shade. Everything about this place
was surreal. Pain shredded his side and he staggered forward with a
shout. He fell to his knees and almost tumbled backward into the
blackened pool. Instead, his fingers curled around a root jutting
from the earth.

The wound pierced him with agony. It
would be over soon, he told himself. He would never feel pain again
once he became a demigod. He lifted his eyes and spotted an
enormous tree at the top of the slope. It was barely alive,
standing as a testament of nature’s strength against whatever
infestation had taken seed. Drawing inspiration from the monument,
he began to climb again.

He leaned his back against the tree,
feeling diminutive beneath the wooden goliath. Margzor sighed in
sweet release and closed his eyes.

Her eyes flashed briefly in his mind.
The same blue eyes that belonged to someone he could barely
remember, someone who helped him. Maybe he had only dreamt of her
kindness and mercy. Now was not the time to think about the blurred
line between fantasy and reality.

He swayed from exhaustion and his
vision began to fog. Memories of a different breed slithered into
his mind. Emotional trauma.

He needed to cauterize the wound. He
searched among the nearby rocks and scavenged two that would serve
his purpose. He knelt down and struck them together as an eternity
of frustration passed him by. At last, an ember of hope leaped
between the stones and glistened on the dry tinder. Margzor watched
the flame grow, nurturing it with care. For several anguished
minutes, he hesitated to do what was necessary. There was no
avoiding it; he needed to prevent infection of the wound.
Hesitation was always his greatest adversary.

With a frail grip, he dipped the branch
into the flames. It licked the wood with a voracious appetite,
snapping like the fangs of a beast.

Margzor brought the flaming tip close
to the gap in his armor. At last he plunged the searing instrument
into the wound. His eyes widened. His mind departed from reality as
pain overcame him.

The first excruciating caress of fire
is not so easily forgotten. He remembered a day almost nine years
ago that would scar him forever.

Margzor collapsed to his knees at the
edge of the forest, gazing in horror at the devastation. Engorged
lightning veined the sky, pounding out a frantic pulse.

His sanctuary, his
home
, was
burning. Flames ravenously consumed the trees, licking at their
twisted husks. The inferno breathed like the lungs of a great
beast, carrying the stench of decay.

His territory was forever lost, his
only source of solace and retreat from the outside world. Where
would he go now? He wanted to extinguish the flames, but even he
could not undo the devastation.

Margzor stepped forward against his own
will. He could feel the sickly heat through his skin. He walked
among the ashes, still hot from the inferno.

The demon wanted Margzor to stick his
hand in the fire. He refused the self-destructive impulse, but his
muscles tightened and he found himself unable to resist. Fighting
his own body, he advanced into the hellfire. The naked man took one
step after the other, his arms outstretched to embrace his
destruction. He could not deny the rush of excitement as he
traipsed into the forested hell.

Hissing inferno reached sensuously
toward his body, a seductive dance of writhing flame.

He, too, reached toward the fire, his
fingertips beginning to singe. Fear blazed inside him. He knew what
it was doing, but he could not resist. He could feel his flesh
being devoured.

He tried to tear his hand from the
flames. Pain crescendoed to a symphonic scream of agony, a voice
wrought of defiance. His screams would always go unheard. His voice
echoed in the silence until it died.

You are a beast,
the demon
whispered.

The refuse of
society.

Margzor’s eyes opened to the familiar
scent of decay. The tree on the hill was now a husk, gutted of life
by inferno. He must have ignited it during his post traumatic
episode. He lay at the foot of the hill, as though he had fallen
there.
Out of reach of the flames...

But the gnashing flames were drawing
nearer, crawling toward his fallen body. He shook his dizzy head as
he adjusted to reality.

The drowning and burning he endured by
the demon was not without purpose. It was building up his immunity
to pain. To overcome the emotional trauma, one must first conquer
the physical. Margzor would endure any ordeal to become a god.
Anything.

The heart of the forest pulsed no more,
freed from a slow demise. Hellfire retreated to magnificent plumes
coiling in the sky. Margzor swept through the smog and left behind
the remains.

Chapter 25

Nishka looked over her shoulder as a
growl reverberated from the forest. They had separated from the
caravans, taking a shorter route through the wilderness, where
bears surely lurked. Hrioshango clutched his howling stomach with
an embarrassed smile.

“The belly requires
sustenance!”

“Perhaps we should stop for a break,”
Arxu suggested. Hrioshango smiled triumphantly.

Nishka quickly discarded her armor,
glad for an opportunity to shed the burden. Though she hadn’t eaten
since morning, her appetite was absent. She craved privacy,
something that had been denied to her for too long. She glanced at
her companions to find them sorting through foodstuffs. She
innocently slipped away, melting into obscurity.

Arxu noticed her departure despite her
stealthy efforts. He looked away, knowing all too well she did not
require his protection. Yet, he could not deny the strange feeling
that pierced him when she vanished into the forest.

He reached for a piece of dark bread
and began to eat despite his lack of hunger.

The forest floor cushioned Nishka’s
feet as she followed the trickle of water. Emerging from under the
trees, she spied a lush creek nestled below. Every detail hummed
with tranquility; the poetic whisper of the water, the sun’s gentle
caress across the trees.

The creek reminded Nishka of the forest
around her home. She walked along the shore, stepping gingerly
among the pebbles. Amber sunlight floated on the surface of the
creek, a luxurious pathway that led into the mist. She stooped low
and dipped her hand into the water. It felt icy and cold, a
pleasant contrast with the warmth of day. The current swayed
playfully across her fingertips.

This would be her last opportunity to
bathe before they reached another city. She looked over her
shoulder to ensure her privacy.

Nishka crossed her arms in front of her
chest and gently removed her shirt. As it hiked up, it revealed
marks and scars on her back. Her injuries from the tavern brawl
still caused her pain. She didn’t want to concern Arxu with
injuries that would heal in time. As far as he knew, he had
succeeded in protecting her.

The waters looked so inviting as she
stepped within them and waded toward a small waterfall. Nishka
closed her eyes as the cascade flowed around her like the caress of
a lover. She let down her hair and she could feel the tingling
water across her scalp. She breathed deep and relished the cool
sensation on her skin.

As she bathed, Nishka spotted a blue
stone in the water, subtly reflecting among the ordinary sediments.
The color reminded her so vividly of Arxu. She plucked it from the
water and slipped it among her possessions.

She returned to the campsite only to
find Arxu studying a magnificent tree.

“Arxu, I found this in the forest,” she
said, offering the blue stone. The Nightwalker looked at her with
sincere confusion. “This is for you.”

“It has no magickal properties,” he
remarked. At last, he reached for her hand and accepted the small
stone.

“Thank you?” Nishka goaded with a
pleasant smile. Arxu examined the cerulean stone, pondering the
significance of this gift. A strange urge overcame him to return
her kindness. The placid green of her shirt grabbed his focus and
he reached into his satchel for a token of thanks. A green crystal
gleamed before Nishka’s eyes, reflecting in the brilliance of the
sun.

Nishka smiled warmly as he placed it in
her hand.

* * *

Margzor was only a young man when the
worst of it began. He had resolved his hatred with the demon long
ago. In fact, he came to regard it as his only ally in a deceitful
world. He could remember how it all began, with one innocent
fantasy. Sometimes even the noblest intentions can be twisted into
something horrifying.

As he crept through the forest years
ago, he could sense the demon’s frustration like an unpleasant
taint on the fringe of his mind. It searched deep inside, looking
for something to prey on.

Margzor’s transformation was not yet
complete. He was in a dormant state of metamorphosis, his flesh
finally resistant to pain. The next stage confronted the more
emotional, moral, and mental aspects of the host. His identity
required drastic change.

The demon sifted through his memories,
exploring the crevices of his mind and the dark fantasies it
concealed. It was a twisted and treacherous journey navigating his
mind, interrupted by moments of surprise and sheer amusement.
Suddenly, the demon discovered something shocking in the convoluted
terrain of Margzor’s brain. A secret.

He had been hiding a secret from the
demon, so carefully tucked away beneath a wave of frustration that
it almost eluded the demon. How delightful.

That secret manifested more vividly as
the demon pried. Margzor craved companionship, love, affection,
sex. He did not want to feel pain anymore. He ardently longed for
someone to love him.

The demon took joy in this wonderful
discovery. This was a welcome opportunity to
develop
Margzor.

That opportunity began to innocently
manifest in Margzor’s dreams. One dream after the other penetrated
his subconscious, drawing him deeper into his fantasies, inventing
a woman who cared dearly about him. Margzor adored the delusions of
joy. He did not feel alone in his dreams; he felt loved and
fulfilled. His senses convinced him this was real, not a concoction
of cryptic desires.

He slept peacefully on the forest floor
as night enveloped him. A dream embraced Margzor like one he had
enjoyed during so many nights. Her arms encircled him as they lay
under the canopy of the forest. Her body contoured to his, giving
of herself with complete, loving surrender. She whispered
succulently in his ear, every syllable weaving a spell over his
mind until he could hear the truth ring in every word. She peeled
away the layers of his pain and filled him with content.

Her eyes locked with his in rapture
and, at once, he knew she would always stay by his side. He
relaxed, no longer afraid to open himself up to a woman.

He entrusted his heart to
her.

Margzor closed his eyes and leaned
closer. Her soft, wet lips barely grazed against his and agony
lacerated through his head.

* * *

A labyrinth of candles surrounded
Astalla as she sat on the floor. Hundreds of wicks burned warmly,
casting shadows that curved around her like a divine aura. The
scent of lavender and vanilla permeated the chamber.

She lifted her head as the high cleric
swept into the prayer hall. Baby blue garments draped ceremoniously
around Ava’s body, fluttering like silk in the hush of
wind.

Astalla always felt a surge of
inspiration when she met with the priestess. Perhaps what astounded
her most was Ava’s perseverance and strength.