Caine's Law (61 page)

“I think I understand.”

“For more than forty years, you begged and prayed and pleaded for mercy, and mercy never came. You screamed and no one listened. You bled and no one cared.”

“He cared,” Duncan says fiercely.

“Yes. And you cared about him. And both your hearts are still broken because you didn’t save each other.”

Sometime later, Caine gathers them all together around Duncan and the Sword. When he sees the garland hanging from the guard, he smiles at the horse-witch. “Nice.”

“Thank you.”

“So here it is,” he says. “Here we are. We’re up against the hard shit now. The Sword can’t stay here forever, and neither can we. I need everyone together on this. It’s gonna be fucking hard enough with everybody pitching in; we can’t afford to have anybody working at cross-purposes. Am I being clear?”

He looks from one to the next, meeting every gaze. Ma’elKoth. Pallas
Ril. Deliann Mithondionne. Angvasse Khlaylock. The horse-witch, and Duncan.

“This all happens at the instant the Sword is moved. Actually, at the instant the decision is made. Your decision, Duncan.”

He nods. “I understand.”

“This is the outcome I’ve been playing for. In Purthin’s Ford, Angvasse and Jonathan Fist fight our way up to the Purificapex, to rejoin the power of the Sword and the Hand. We’re not gonna survive—probably—but that’s not important. Both Powers exist outside time, so every version of us will be able to tap in.”

“In theory,” Ma’elKoth rumbles.

“In the vertical city, T’farrell Mithondionne will use part of the Power Rejoined to re-purpose the
dil T’llan
to Bind a different consciousness. To put somebody else in charge of the
dillin
. Somebody we can trust to manage traffic between Earth and Home. On Earth, Dominic Shade will Bind the power of the blind god to our new
dil T’llan
, to give the, whateverthefuck, the Gatekeeper, I guess, plenty of power to open or close the gates.”

Duncan suddenly feels lost again. “You’re using the
blind god
?”

Caine shrugs. “Fifteen billion people on Earth want to live just as much as anybody else. We already know we can’t stop traffic between the universes; they’ll always find a way around any wall we can build. So our next best option is to manage it. We can make being responsible and respectful of Home
profitable
. As soon as people start making money off being good guys, the market for bad guys dries the fuck up, right?”

“It’s … possible,” Duncan says. “That’s as much as I can say for sure. You won’t know till you actually do it.”

“And that’s the big one, right there. Up to now, we’ve had a little wiggle room with this. It’s how I’ve got it as close to fine-tuned as it can be. But the instant the Sword’s in play, everything’s for keeps. We can use it to time-bind Ma’elKoth, at least for a while, so He won’t unhappen right away; it’ll limit Your power, but You’ll still be in the game.”

“A superior option to nonexistence, one supposes.”

“You always wanted the power to help people. You’ll still have some. You’ll need it. I’m pretty sure the Spire’s coming down.”

“The
Spire
?”

“Probably. Since we’re about to steal the whole power of both True Relics that hold it up. Look, I told Kierendal that I’d break the Khryllians like I broke the Black Knives. If You don’t pitch in, that’s gonna get way too literal.”

Ma’elKoth looks appalled—and then distantly thoughtful …

“Cut it out,” Caine says. “Don’t even have that idea.”

“I can’t imagine what you might be—”

“Behave yourself. Same goes for you, Pallas. And all your fucking deific ass-buddies. We’re moving into uncharted territory here. You all understand that, right?”

Again he meets each pair of eyes in turn.

“We all know what the world was like
with
the Covenant of Pirichanthe. A shithole. Since the True Assumption, it hasn’t been much better. From here on out, all bets are off. People turn to gods to make the world better. Shit, we make ’em up right and left. So we’ll give them a little room to work. As long as they’re, y’know, helping more than they hurt, fine. But if shit starts to get out of control … Well, the gods—
all
the gods—need to understand that there are consequences now.”

“Consequences?” Duncan’s still lost. “What kind of consequences?”

Caine shows them his teeth. They appear very white, and singularly sharp. “My kind.”

Ma’elKoth says, “The Sword of Man.”

“Fucking right.”

“Pure destruction. Permanent destruction.”

He shrugs. “My whole life, I can’t remember a single thing I ever managed to take back.”

“The power to punish gods …” Deliann murmurs, then he shrugs too. “I like it.”

Duncan shakes his head. “It seems like a dark life.”

“I’ll try to bear up. One more thing. When Angvasse and I spontaneously combust—or whatever—from joining the Powers on the Purificapex … well, look. It’s gonna put us into the Gatekeeper, and some of Him into us. Like when Deliann joined with the river. So listen, I’ve been over this with Angvasse, and she’s in favor. Because she’s a hero. A real hero, who has the power to do great things, and who lives to help people. To protect people who can’t protect themselves. So if we ever need a hero, the Gatekeeper can
make
one. As long as the Gatekeeper’s in charge, a brand-spankin’ new Angvasse Khlaylock can come walking right out of any
dil
in the world. Either world.”

“An inexhaustible supply of heroes,” Duncan murmurs. “How did you manage to arrange this?”

“It was a negotiation. To get a little, you give a little.”

“What did you give?”

Caine shrugs. “My retirement.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I sold my soul to Pirichanthe.”

“Your
soul
?”

“Or whatever. Look, Pirichanthe was Bound to keep a lid on human gods. That was its whole reason for being. Literally. But it couldn’t really do it—we keep finding ways to fuck with the world—so it decided the next best thing was to find somebody who wasn’t afraid to get up on his hind legs and smack a god in the balls.”

“Metaphorically.”

“You think so? Ask Ma’elKoth.”

Duncan squints at him. “So in exchange for a permanent hero …”

“It got a monster down the block.”

“The only reason civilized Atticus has the luxury to be civilized,” Duncan murmurs, “is that he’s got a monster watching his back.”

“You must be quoting someone smart.”

“You frighten me, Caine.”

“I should.” He looks to each of them. “I should frighten all of you.”

“Except for me,” the horse-witch says.

“Except for you. Everything is except for you.”

“I like it that way,” she says. “It makes me feel special.”

“Just before I killed him, Purthin Khlaylock told me
fear of God is the beginning of wisdom
. I think he was wrong. I think the more you fear God, the scarier God gets. Fear His Anger, and He starts tossing thunderbolts and earthquakes and whatever. Fear His punishment, and He gives you eternal damnation. People need to know they don’t have to be afraid. It’s
God
who has to be afraid.”

The horse-witch smiles fondly. “For God, fear of Caine is the beginning of wisdom.”

Caine returns her smile as a fierce grin. “Somebody should write that down.”

Duncan frowns at her. “Caine doesn’t scare you?”

“Of course he does,” the horse-witch says. “Caine’s a monster who gives monsters nightmares.”

“But then—?”

“We don’t use that name,” she says. “Call a monster’s name and it remembers where you sleep.”

“Exactly,” Caine says. “As soon as the fuckers understand they need to check their closets and under their beds for Caine before they turn out the lights, a lot of potential problems become self-correcting.”

“Consequences.”

“Believe it.”

“And the Gatekeeper—”

“Can dropkick Caine out of any given dil. Just like Angvasse. Wherever and whenever he decides he needs Somebody hurt.”

“You’re giving this Gatekeeper a great deal of very dangerous power.”

“That’s why I got somebody I can trust.”

“And that would be—?” Duncan says, and then he realizes everyone is looking at him. “Oh, no—come on, you can’t
possibly
ask—”

“The world needs you, Duncan. I need you.”

“But I’m the
last
man who’d want—”

“I know. ‘The only man who can be trusted with power is a man who doesn’t want it.’ Wait—who said that?”

“But—you can’t—”

“You’ve been here. You’ve seen. You know the need is real. Jesus Christ, Duncan, who would
you
trust?”

“Well, I … well, I …”

“I’ll let you call me Hari.”

“What? You will?” He frowns, just a bit. “Will you call me Dad?”

Caine smiles. “Are we haggling now?”

“I just … I don’t know. There’s just so much I wish could be different. Should be different.”

“I told you before that we don’t get should, we get is—except right now, right here, we’ve got a chance to take an is and make it
into
a should.”

“Don’t be afraid,” the horse-witch says, so softly he can barely hear her. “Be what you are.”

“What if,” Caine says slowly, almost solemnly, “what if the worst thing you ever did wasn’t you?”

“What?”

“What if. You don’t remember the beating that killed Mom, do you?”

“I remember plenty of others.”

“Me too. But what if. What if it wasn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if she got mugged? Hit by a Businessman’s car?” He crouches at Duncan’s side. “What if she didn’t die?”

Duncan can no longer breathe. “Are you …” he croaks. “What are you saying?”

“The old guy at the clinic that day—the one who looked like me. What was he doing there? What was inside that crutch he was carrying?”

“I … I don’t …”

“Think about it. What if somebody Healed her that afternoon? What if somebody took her away?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if
she’s sitting inside that yurt over there, waiting for you to decide whether to take the chance?”

“Is she?” The words scrape his dry throat so hard he tastes blood. “Is she there?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“The only way you’ll ever know is if you say yes.”

“Yes.”

“That’s right. Just yes. A simple word.”

“No, you don’t understand. That
was
the word. Yes.”

Caine stands. “Well, all right, then. Go take a look.”

The Sword is gone. Duncan is free. There isn’t even a slice in his serape. He stares, half-frozen with incomprehension.

Caine shrugs. “I told you: a metaphor.”

“You are the Sword.”

“Yeah. And you just pulled me from the stone. Welcome to your kingdom.”

“My—?”

“Whose else?” Caine says. “I think we should call it Duncan’s Gate.”

“If I didn’t just now destroy the universe.”

“Well, yeah. Too late to start worrying about it now.”

On Duncan’s chest lies the wildflower garland. He gathers it to himself and stands, then goes to return the garland to the horse-witch.

“Take it with you,” the horse-witch says with a tiny hint of smile. “Girls like when you bring them flowers.”

I
’ve been thinking about this moment, in broad outline, off and on for a long time. Before I was kidnapped by the Knights of Khryl. Before Assumption Day. Before
For Love of Pallas Ril
. If I had to pick a moment when it first crossed my mind, it’d be the end of
Servant of the Empire—on
the platform with Shanna, when Kollberg’s emergency transfer got us Earthside in time to save my life, and in my lap I still held the severed head of Toa-Phelathon, a pompous, slightly dim old man I had murdered for the crime of taking bad advice. I was in the middle of passing out from blood loss, having a few minutes previously taken one of the worst wounds of my career, but even with night falling on the universe around me, I could see the look on Shanna’s face.