Dark God (40 page)

Bane sighed and sank down on the
steps, looking tired, and Mirra sat beside him. His cloak spread
around him like a pool of black-edged blood, and the slight breeze
that sprang up lifted the hair from his brow. A soft rumble of
thunder made him glance up.

"They had better hurry. I have
no wish to get wet."

Half an hour passed before Mirra
spied a movement amongst the buildings, and a soft scuffling of
claws broke the silence, making her hair bristle. One of the
many-legged monsters emerged from behind a wall with an awkward
shuffling gait, its many arms and heads moving in weird, sickening
motions.

Bane frowned at it, and Mirra
raised a hand to her mouth as her stomach clenched. It whimpered
and moaned with many voices, sobbing as it crawled closer. Its
terror reached her in a foetid stench, rank with obscenity and
decay, as if parts of it were dying while the rest lived. Bane
watched it approach, apparently unmoved by its plight. The creature
reached the bottom of the steps and flopped down as if exhausted,
raising many clawed, misshapen hands in a variety of pleading
gestures.

"Mercy, Demon Lord."

Bane rose and walked down the
steps. After a moment's hesitation, Mirra followed. The creature
whimpered and sobbed, some of its legs moving in a futile bid to
retreat, but it remained, the bulk of those comprising it too weak
or desperate to flee. Bane stopped beside it and studied it, his
expression one of intense disgust. He held out his hand.

"Take my hand."

"Mercy, Lord," the creature
begged.

A clawed, scaly appendage crept
out to touch his hand, and four of the runes lighted as he started
to Gather. The dark power flowed into him, and he dispersed it as
cold shadows that sank into the earth. The Black Lord's
transformation reversed. Spines and scales shimmered and shrank
back into the bulky body, the twined, twisted forms untangling.
With surprising speed, the black scales, hair and spines vanished,
and the naked bodies returned to their original shapes.

As the binding power dissipated,
the monster fell apart and released a dozen people, four of them
dead. The rest crawled away from each other as if afraid they would
be drawn together again in the foul embrace that had held them for
so long. Some paused to gaze in wonder at their restored limbs and
wail with joy. The young woman whose hand Bane held fell at his
feet and tried to embrace his legs in a frenzy of gratitude, but he
stepped back, avoiding her.

"Thank you Lord, thank you!" she
cried, and some of the others joined in, prostrating
themselves.

Bane waved a hand at them. "Go
away."

They scattered, and another
monster shuffled from the shelter of a building, moving towards him
as rapidly as it could. Now that his intentions were clear, dozens
of the afflicted creatures emerged from their hiding places to
crawl forward and receive his mercy. Individuals came too, their
bodies contorted and transformed like Mirra's arm had been. Bane
cast an impatient look at her, but she was gazing wide-eyed at the
growing throng.

"So many. I only saw him create
a few of these."

"Clearly he spent time
entertaining himself when you were not around."

"Yes." Her voice was faint. She
wanted to run from the horrors that gathered at the bottom of the
steps.

Bane held out his hand, and the
first creature to reach him grasped it. As he drew the dark power
from the monstrosity, it shrank back into another dozen people and
fell apart, releasing nine people and three dead bodies. They knelt
before him in worship, then retreated as the next creature
approached.

Bane restored them one after the
other, the pile of half-rotted corpses growing. He shot Mirra an
occasional resentful look, clearly disliking the chore and blaming
her for inflicting it upon him. As he worked, the throng of
restored people grew, and a few red-robed priests appeared to watch
the proceedings.

At midday, Bane retreated up the
steps and sank down, leaving the next monster to whimper and whine.
He looked exhausted, and beckoned to the priests who waited nearby.
Two dashed forward to prostrate themselves before him, and he told
them to bring food and wine. One ran off to obey; the other
remained on his knees, his forehead pressed to the ground. Bane
ordered him to clear away the pile of corpses, and the priest
gestured to his fellows, who in turn ordered the people to do it,
and they came forward to drag the cadavers away. Mirra moved closer
to Bane, and he shot her a quizzical glance.

"What do you think of what the
Black Lord did to these people?" she enquired.

He eyed her. "A waste of time
and power, but evidently he found it amusing."

"It does not horrify or disgust
you?"

"Their stench disgusts me."

"What about their
suffering?"

"I have seen far worse in the
Underworld."

She hesitated, disappointed by
his replies and afraid to probe deeper. "Would you do this, for
sport?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I would not find
it amusing."

Their meal arrived, an
assortment of cheese, nuts, dried meat and bread. Bane ate well,
but Mirra could only manage a little, for the stench of rot
permeated the food as well. The priests brought finger bowls and
cloths, and filled Bane's golden cup with rich, blood- red wine.
When he finished his meal he returned to his chore, and Mirra
settled down to wait.

By late afternoon, the last
monstrosity was transformed, and the crowd of released people, now
joined by the rest of the city's citizens, began a hissing chant of
gratitude and worship. A group of priests came forward leading a
naked, blank-eyed girl, and bowed.

"A sacrifice for you, Demon
Lord."

"No." Bane shook his head. "No
more sacrifices. No more bloodshed."

The priests looked shocked and
puzzled. "But the Black Lord..."

"I have cast the Black Lord down
and sent him to the Land of the Dead. Stop worshipping him. He is a
false god."

"Then you are the true god,
Demon Lord."

"No. I want no worshippers."

"But -"

"Do as I say," Bane ordered, and
the priests cowered. They retreated, dragging the girl, and the
crowd muttered in confusion.

A man shouted, "Then who shall
we worship, Lord?"

"I do not care," Bane said.

Mirra stood up, remembering her
duty. "Worship the Lady. She will redeem you."

A short,
pregnant silence fell, during which Bane shot her an amused glance,
then an angry muttering came from the crowd. A stone sailed from
its depths, aimed at Mirra. Bane raised a hand, and the rock
exploded in
mid-air, turned
to dust. He strode towards the crowd, which fled with shrieks of
terror. Mirra ran after him.

"No, Bane! Leave them!"

The Demon Lord stopped and
turned, his cloak flaring. As she reached him, he held out his
hand, and she slipped hers into it, then the world vanished in an
instant of freezing blackness. They reappeared in the temple's
inner courtyard, and Mirra bent over, clutching her stomach while
he supported her. When her sickness passed, she followed him into
the temple, where Ellese waited to greet them. Mirra hugged her,
but Bane walked away in the direction of his room. Ellese raised an
enquiring brow at the young healer, who shrugged and shook her
head.

"He seems in a foul temper,"
Ellese commented.

Mirra nodded, and Ellese put an
arm around her shoulders. "Come and tell me all about it."

In Ellese's study, an acolyte
brought sweet bread and milk for their refreshment, which Mirra
consumed under Elder Mother's indulgent eyes. When Mirra finished
her tale, Ellese turned from the window where she had been gazing
out at the ruined garden and regarded the girl.

"Do you think you could persuade
him to give up the dark power, my dear?"

Mirra shook her head. "No. I
will not ask it of him."

"Why not?"

"It is all he has left. Without
it he will be defenceless."

Ellese bowed her head. "I know
it seems a lot to ask, after all he has done for us. But if he
keeps it, he will be an outcast."

"He is a god."

"He will not cease to be a god,
my dear. Nothing can change that now."

"But you want him to be a
powerless one."

"No, I want him to be a good
one."

Mirra frowned. "What do you
mean?"

"The dark power will corrupt
him. He can use the blue, if he wishes to retain power."

"Is he immortal, Mother?"

"No. He will live a very long
time, especially if he keeps the power, more than a thousand years.
If he gives it up, he will live only half as long, but he will fly
to the Lady when he dies. A better prospect than the Land of the
Dead, do you not think?"

Mirra looked puzzled. "But when
he dies, will he still be a god?"

Ellese smiled. "My, but you are
worried about his godhood, are you not?" She chuckled at Mirra's
abashed expression. "Yes, my dear, he will remain a god when he
dies."

"What will happen to him
then?"

"If he retains the dark power
and it corrupts him, he will enter the Land of the Dead as a spirit
so powerful that he will gather the power to free himself within a
few months. Then Arkonen may choose to destroy him before he can
acquire enough power to defend himself, or he may welcome him as an
equal, but I doubt that. If he gives up the power, he will ascend
to Eternity, where the Lady will greet him as an equal. Once freed
of his mortal body, he will become even more powerful, but whether
his power will be good or evil depends on what he chooses now."

"But it is his choice."

Ellese sighed. "I would like it
to be, but I fear that external influences will force him to make
the wrong one."

Mirra shook her head. "I think
he will make the right one in the end, even if it takes him a
little while to reach it."

"I pray you are right,
child."

"I also think the Lady will be
the one to persuade him, not me."

"Perhaps. She certainly will not
want him in league with Arkonen, given his powers, although the
wards will imprison him below too, once he has descended there as a
spirit."

"But if he retains them while he
lives, he will be the Overworld's protector."

Ellese looked grave. "If he
becomes corrupted, he will be the Overworld's destroyer, and the
Lady will not be able to stop him."

"Then she will ensure that he is
not corrupted."

Three days later, Mirra
persuaded Bane to walk with her in the pale morning sunshine, and
they strolled away from the abbey across fields of dried mud. As
yet no green had returned to the land, save for the tree Mirra had
healed. The thick layer of dry sludge bound the grass beneath it,
denying it light and air and poisoning the soil. Hunger stalked the
surviving villages like a ravening wolf, and many people abandoned
their farms to travel to the coast, where food could be found in
the sea. Livestock survived on the stores of hay that farmers had
put away for winter, but that would soon run out.

Mirra walked beside the Demon
Lord in companionable silence, and he made no effort to break it.
He had been even more subdued since their return from the Old
Kingdom, and she had yet to understand why. There was no hostility
in his grim mood, only a deep brooding, as if he pondered the
world's problems, and perhaps he did. Nevertheless, a gulf yawned
between them, which only Bane's occasional warm look or Mirra's
timid caress crossed. Although he did not object to her gestures of
affection, they seemed to confuse him, as if he could not
understand why she wished to hold his hand on occasion, or even
spend time with him. He generally granted her wishes, like walking
in the sunlight, which he disliked.

Mirra skipped closer to him and
slipped her hand into his, making him glance at her and smile. She
grinned, happy in his company despite the drab surroundings and
looming disaster that stalked the land. When she was with him such
worries seemed insignificant. They stopped on the crest of a hill
and looked out over a black, bare forest, the air heavy with
silence. It seemed brighter than usual this morning, as if a
celestial force was at work in the land.

Bane sensed a benign, rich power
seeping under his feet, and frowned.

A soft,
musical voice spoke behind him. "Are you not forgetting
something,
My
Lord?"

Bane spun around in surprise. A
moment ago they had been alone, and he had sensed no one
approaching. He faced the Lady's shimmering, pearly form. Sunlight
gilded her, permeating her brown hair with myriad warm colours, and
golden sparkles danced in her green eyes. A pale glow suffused her,
belying her ghostly translucence. Her pure white gown swept the
ground, patterned with a delicate filigree of gold and silver and
shot with rainbow hues. Golden sandals shod her feet, and where she
stood, grass sprouted lushly and the soil burgeoned with deep brown
fecundity. Mirra gasped and sank to her knees. He looked down at
her in confusion, then raised his eyes to meet the Lady's.

"Get up, Mirra," the Goddess
said.

Mirra rose and took Bane's hand,
clinging to it, her eyes wide and awe-stricken. Lyriasharin walked
closer, stopped within arm's reach and raised a pale hand to touch
Mirra's brow.

"Peace, my special child."

Mirra relaxed, her awe washed
away, apparently, by the love and compassion that flowed from
Lyriasharin's fingers.

The Lady turned to Bane. "So, we
meet again, Demon Lord. You have kept your side of the bargain, and
that is good. For aeons I have been alone, with Arkonen as my
enemy, and it is good to have another equal. Even though you are a
dark god, you are not my enemy."