The Undying God (29 page)

Invictus groaned and laid his head on a
plush cushion.

Chapter 30

The cavern was plunged into darkness.
In the grip of twisted shadows, Arxu could not even see his icy
breath. His eyes were all but worthless in so black an
abyss.

He touched the wall but the crystals
would not ignite. The skin prickled on the back of his neck as he
remembered stories of wanderers losing their way in caves. Deprived
of light, an ordinary man’s grip on sanity would quickly erode. In
these unholy grottos, the night was as infinite as it was
cruel.

The first seeds of madness would take
root in his brain in a matter of hours, its tentacles latching onto
fear and feeding on frenzy. Symptoms of concern would wrack his
body; his heart would flutter with panic, a tortured melody
prompting his deepest terrors until every breath filled with a
nightmarish scream. By the end of the night, he would be crawling
on all fours like an animal, wallowing in his newfound
asylum.

An ember of light began to take form in
the freezing gloom. The stone atop Arxu’s staff flared to life,
illuminating the chamber in a glossy film.

In control once more, he swiveled
toward the tunnels. He sensed a large spike of energy from far
below. Nothing natural could produce that level of power in an
isolated cave. Few monsters were capable of magick, but he did not
dismiss the possibility.

He knelt and placed his ear on the
floor, its cold stinging his cheek. Something hummed there like the
whisper of an earthquake. It sweetly beckoned Arxu, lulling him
from his apathy. Infected with curiosity, Arxu swept out of the
chamber in search of the mysterious anomaly.

He treaded through a shallow pool of
water and weaved around the protruding stalagmites. The source was
closer than he realized. He could palpably feel the aftershock in
the air. Arxu paused near a fortress of limestone. Bony columns
spiraled into the distance above him, posing like surreal icicles.
A green glow peeked beyond the stalagmites, oozing out of an
ancient corridor.

Arxu squinted for a glimpse into the
tunnel, but the columns would not let him pass. The glow bore a
striking resemblance to the tinted lights hovering in the lake. He
could sense he was drawing near to the source. Determined not to
fail, he searched for another route. A gaping tunnel awaited him,
its cramped space magnifying every minute sound from the bowels of
the cave. Every note rolled off the walls like a gurgle of thunder
summoned from deep underground.

Suddenly, a searing brilliance met his
eyes. He stepped out of the tunnel and feasted his eyes on a
subterranean lake.

Concern erased whatever appreciation he
held for the sight. Arxu scanned the bank and spied the disturbing
source of power. Hrioshango lurked on the shore, engrossed in a
shamanic ritual. He gestured excitedly above the waters glowing
turquoise in the darkness. For a creature barely three feet tall,
the shadow he cast was deceitfully gigantic. Hrioshango was
blissfully unaware of the Nightwalker observing him.

He swept his hands through the air like
an artist, and the water formed ambiguous shapes that writhed like
snakes.

The energy he emitted was capable of
bringing down the entire cavern if unleashed. Unknown to the
Nightwalker, Hrioshango was preparing himself to slay
Margzor.

His fanged mouth formed a gleeful
smile. He could not predict the results of his ritual, but if all
went according to his plan, he would emerge more cunning and
powerful than ever. If not, he would likely end up dead.

“But such chances are necessary when
reaching for greatness,” he spoke. “The risk of death is but a
trivial concern when faced with desire.” And he desired greater
things in life, not the meager existence of a criminal. “Everything
I rightfully deserve will be mine when Margzor is dead.”

Suddenly, he spied the Nightwalker. He
retreated a few steps from the lake, shocked into submission. The
waters instantly calmed but remained alit.

“Where is Nishka?” Arxu
demanded.

Hrioshango eyed him contemptuously. He
wondered if Arxu knew what he was doing.

“Nishka isn’t here,” he hissed as he
flashed a mocking smile. “She left.”

The lakeside offered little sanctuary
from the cave. In fact, Nishka’s misery followed her out of the
grotto and along the shore. She almost wanted to climb into the
vessel and drift far away from Arxu. Let the mist-shrouded lake
take her to a place where men didn’t exist. What drew her to Arxu
in the first place?

He had shown her no emotional warmth or
conveyed any romantic desire. She couldn’t remember when these
feelings emerged, but she knew they grew the more time she spent
with him. This only added to the confusion surrounding her
life.

She felt safe around Arxu as much as
she denied it, and loneliness tormented her when they were apart.
He could not satisfy her emotional needs, but he did listen to her.
Whether this was done merely out of duty or something deeper, she
didn’t understand either. Her attempts at prying his emotions loose
didn’t reveal anything.

She shook her head and suppressed a
laugh. How silly emotions are, the plague of the human race. Yet,
she could not deny he was unlike any man she ever encountered. The
tide lapped serenely at the shore, making her feet tingle with the
cold. Exhausted, she lay down in the sand.

She stroked the surface of the water.
Absently, she began to scrawl her secrets in the tide with her
fingers, the things she could never say to Arxu. Nishka shut her
eyes and tried to focus on anything besides the
Nightwalker.

Only a night ago, she had pressed her
lips against his, breathing life into him when he lost the will to
live. Suddenly, she realized he was awake and his eyes had opened.
Even as the blood streaked down his face, he managed to say, “At
least … at least I won’t die alone.”

He probably didn’t remember speaking
those words. Nishka almost wanted to return to the cave and
confront him about his commitment to her. She paced down the beach,
determined to know. She broke into a run.

She had only reached the outskirts of
the cave before hesitation crippled her. Sometimes ignorance is
better than uncovering the truth.

Chapter 31

Men and women so accustomed to joy and
laughter now spoke timidly. They huddled together in the temple and
offered each other what little comfort they could.

They would not sleep peacefully tonight
with the threat of Astalla’s absence hanging over them. Her
followers did not feel secure without her unconditional protection.
Many begged for answers, but nothing would sate their
questions.

Several clerics gathered in the prayer
hall, separated from the worshippers.

“The faithful speak in hushed tones,”
one of them said.

“I feel detached from my demigoddess.
Have we fallen out of her favor?”

“What are you suggesting? That one of
the faithful—Astalla forbid, several of them—have corrupted their
flesh with temptation? Or worse, they have allowed their souls to
become hedonistic and wicked?”

“Disgusting... How could they turn
their backs on everything we have taught them? How could they
betray our principles? Astalla shall never forgive us for our
indiscretion.”

“Before you accuse anyone of succumbing
to promiscuity, we should confirm that such sin has indeed
occurred.”

“You are putting forth a very dangerous
theory. One should consider all possible sources for this
abandonment.”

“If it is truly abandonment,” a third
cleric said, injecting himself into the conversation. “Elder
Invictus and Ethan are split over the problem.”

“What matter has divided
them?”

“Ethan seems to be under the impression
that we are in danger. He is suggesting that Astalla may be warning
us,” the aged cleric said. “Invictus has not yet come to a decision
regarding the mental link that failed. He will reserve the benefit
of the doubt before he rushes to any conclusions.”

“Ethan has only recently been ordained,
and he is
questioning
the Elder Cleric’s judgment?” a priest
scoffed.

“A schism in the religion would only
worsen our situation. We must prevent it from ever coming to that.”
They did not respond for a long period of time. One of the clerics,
Valesius, glanced at the followers in the large chamber. They
congregated in small groups, speculating about the
dilemma.

They looked concerned and
nervous—perhaps some of them had indeed indulged in wanton
pleasures. As the cleric observed the anxious followers, he
wondered if they had anything to hide.

“Perhaps we should conduct an inquiry
of our own to resolve this matter,” Valesius suggested. Their eyes
met in silent conspiracy, analyzing one another for any sign of
distrust. It was of dire importance that their mission remained
secret. One slip of the tongue could spell disaster for all of
them.

“Not a word of this to anyone,”
Valesius warned. Nods were exchanged among the clerics. The
“corrupted faithful” would be smoked out of their unholy cloisters.
Of that, Valesius was certain.

* * *

Margzor walked freely beneath the night
sky, passing through a valley beyond the trees. The warmest zephyr
washed across the glen, whispering its secrets to him.

He had never felt so liberated from his
emotional chains. Somehow, he repelled the curse of depression for
several days. He could not remember feeling at peace like this, not
for years. Margzor believed he knew what gave him the strength to
endure.

The woman who showed him mercy filled
his thoughts. He longed for her, he coveted her with passion, he
wanted to see her beautiful face alit with happiness. The breeze
caressed him again, as if to approve his sentiments.

He could only imagine what he would do
to please her, to show her the kind of devotion that few men were
emotionally capable of. She may not have done anything to heal his
wounds, but she had touched his fragile heart. Margzor had never
experienced something this strong before, an emotion that
diminished the hate held deep inside. Sorrow and resentment were
helpless to this... love?

He shook his head, not out of denial,
but rather at the conflicting nature of his feelings. He couldn’t
help but smile.

Margzor scoffed at the absurdity of it
all. How could he love this woman so fervently without even knowing
her name, her spirit, her essence? Perhaps that anonymity only made
him covet her more.

Was she indeed the woman he sought? He
realized now that hate did not endow him purpose. Love was the only
thing that motivated him to survive one more day, to overcome his
childhood scars. He would cherish her until the last breath
departed from his unkissed lips. He would devote every second to
making her feel like the most adored woman in existence.

If only he could speak to the
mysterious woman and confess his feelings… even if he had nothing
to base his infatuation on.

But what is love if not a mental
process utterly bereft of logic, merely suffused with strong
emotions? He hoped she would at least listen to him if their paths
crossed again.

He almost believed he could let go of
his hatred if…

For a moment, he contemplated aborting
his plot against Astalla. He halted in mid stride and wondered if
he could seriously continue. How could he maintain his plot when he
felt no hatred? Perhaps the anger remained, but it was so deeply
buried beneath a newfound wave of hope.

The confused man slowly began to walk
north. He surmised it was entirely possible to defeat his anger—if
only she would bless him with a shred of attention.

Margzor could still feel her soothing
touch on his face. From the moment he looked into her eyes, he felt
a shift in his heart.

He cared deeply.

He wondered if she could save him from
himself.

* * *

The temple in Eternitas remained on
heightened alert. Armed guards and clerics patrolled the halls,
adding to the foul sense of impending disaster. Followers had been
confined to their chambers for the night where they could seek a
false sense of hope in their beds.

Offerings of eucalyptus leaves and
burning frankincense consecrated the altars, a plea from disciples
to their beloved deity. The eucalyptus would molder over time as
their questions went unanswered.

Invictus paused by one of the shrines
which housed all manner of candles carved in the shapes of women.
Disciples would often write their prayers on scraps of paper and
burn them in the flames. The fire would send their wishes up to
Astalla. Invictus watched one of many prayer notes incinerate,
folding in on itself like an imploding star.

“This has never happened before,” he
whispered. “I cannot receive Astalla...”

Ethan paced restlessly across the
hall.