Dark God (50 page)

He turned to his father. "Take
us to your cabin."

Mithran spurred his horse and
cantered out of town, past gawking people and the still-cowed
trappers. He led the way up a narrow, winding trail that snaked
through forests of dragon pines and arrow-woods, ascending into
thickly wooded hills.

By the time they arrived at a
log cabin tucked away in a glade with stream chuckling past it, the
horses were lathered and blown. The cabin was built from striped
dragon pine logs whose red-gold bark had been stripped off, the
flaxen wood weathered to grey. A stand of ghost trees provided a
backdrop of silver trunks and grey-green leaves, and a clump of
arrow-woods towered over the shed and woodpile next to the cabin.
Grem led the horses away to unsaddle them, and Mirra hesitated in
front of the house, uncertain of whether she should go in with the
men.

Mithran
muttered, "I'll not be alone with him,
healer."

At her nod he opened the door,
and they followed him into the cold, damp cabin. He turned at the
stone fireplace and leant against it, his glare fixed on Bane.
Mirra's heart ached for Bane as he turned away and unclipped his
cloak, folding it across the back of a chair. His shirt still hung
open. He seemed to have forgotten about it. The tension rose, and
Mirra glanced from one to the other.

Bane said, "Perhaps this was a
mistake."

Mirra went to him and touched
his arm. "You must tell him."

"Tell me what?" Mithran
demanded.

Bane shook his head. "This is
not how I planned it. It is all wrong."

"I know, but still, you must,"
she urged.

Mithran growled, "Tell me what,
you pasty-faced bastard?"

Bane swung around and closed the
gap between them in a stride.

Mithran recoiled with a yelp of
alarm. "Healer!"

Mirra smiled. "You are the last
person in the world he would harm, Mithran. You have nothing to
fear."

Mithran locked eyes with Bane,
who was a fraction taller.

Bane spoke in a low, husky
voice. "I am not a bastard, though many have doubtless called me
that. Do I remind you of someone?"

Mithran's eyes narrowed, and he
paled. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Bane stood almost toe-to-toe
with his father. "You had a wife, twenty years ago. Do you remember
her?"

Mithran's hands curled into
fists. "Of course I remember her, you damned Underworld
monster."

"What happened to her?"

"She disappeared."

"That is all you know? Did you
try to find her?"

Mithran looked furious and
stricken. "Of course I tried to find her. I searched for five
years. Five long years, damn you!"

"Do you want me to tell you what
happened to her?"

Mithran sagged against the
fireplace. "You know?"

"Yes." Bane turned away, walked
a few paces, and swung back, frowning. "She was taken to the
Underworld."

Mithran's face twisted with
horror, then fury replaced it. He leapt at his son and grabbed the
front of Bane's shirt, shoving him backwards into the table, which
splintered as he fell, collapsing under him. His father landed on
his knees, straddling him, and drew back his fist. Bane made no
attempt to protect himself, his eyes locked with Mithran's.

"You took her, you bastard! You
took my wife, my unborn child!"

Mithran's voice cracked with
anguish, and he punched Bane in the face. Blood oozed from his
nose, and Mirra cried, "No! Stop it!"

Mithran glanced at her, his fist
cocked. Bane lay on the smashed wood, his father's other hand
clenched in his shirt. Blood trickled down his cheek. Mithran
stared at him, apparently realising that he had attacked the Demon
Lord, the most feared man in the world, and he had not
retaliated.

"Did you come here to torment
me, like that damned demon?"

"What did the demon say?"

"It said I was in for a nasty
surprise," Mithran replied.

"That is all?"

"Yes! What happened to her? What
did you do to her, you bastard?"

Mirra cringed, knowing what Bane
would say, and knowing, as he did, the consequences of saying it.
In some strange way, Bane needed this confrontation, perhaps to
ease his guilt over his mother's death, for which he felt
responsible. To him, the beating his father was administering
seemed a fitting punishment for killing his mother, and his father
was the only one who could do it. His words dropped like leaden
bricks into the silence.

"She is dead."

Mithran gave a howl of rage and
anguish and punched Bane in the face again. Blood ran from a split
lip, and Mithran hit him again, splitting an eyebrow. Mithran
sobbed with rage and grief, while Bane was coldly subdued. His
hands clenched, but remained at his sides.

"You killed her!" Mithran
shouted, gripping Bane's collar and shaking him. "Why did you kill
her? What did she do? Why, damn you!" His face reddened, and blood
vessels swelled on his forehead and neck from the exertion of
shaking Bane. "Why don't you fight back, you whoreson? Fight! You
killed my wife, my child! I'll kill you!"

Mirra sobbed, sharing Bane's
physical and emotional pain. His father knelt over him, raining
blows on his bloody face once more, shouting, "Damn you! Damn
you!"

Still Bane made no move to
protect himself, and Mithran staggered to his feet and slumped
against the wall, burying his face in his arms. His hands left
smears of his son's blood on the logs. Bane raised himself onto his
elbows and looked up at his father.

"I deserved that." His words
were slurred, and blood dripped from his chin. "What was her
name?"

Mithran rubbed his face on his
sleeve and turned. His grey eyes blazed, and deep lines of grief
and pain were carved into his face. "You'll never sully it."

Bane sat up and leant forward,
his elbows on his knees, head bowed. Wings of hair hid his battered
face, and his voice was soft, as full of sorrow as his father's. "I
want to know the name of the woman I killed."

"Why?" Mithran stared at him in
horror and confusion. "Why would you care what her name was, since
you did not ask it of her before she died?"

Bane looked up, flicking back
his hair, and Mirra swallowed a sob at the sorrow in his eyes. Her
eyes stung, and she bit her lip, longing to intervene. Mithran
stared at Bane, his expression a mixture of loathing and amazement.
Bane met his father's gaze, then looked away, his mouth twisted.
"Because she was my mother."

All colour drained from
Mithran's face, and his legs buckled. He dropped to his knees, his
eyes fixed on Bane. "No!"

Bane spoke with tired gravity.
"I was born in the Underworld. She died shortly after. The Black
Lord wanted an unborn boy child, and he killed her to get me."

"No!" Mithran's face twisted.
"You're the Demon Lord!"

"Yes. That is what he made me
into. That is what he wanted me for. You know what I have
done."

"No! It can't be true!"

Bane bowed his head once more.
"It is."

"No, damn you! It's lies! You
were sent to torment me, like the demon!"

Mirra said, "It is true,
Mithran. My Elder Mother is a seeress. She saw your wife taken, and
she watched your son raised in the Underworld. He is your son, and
he is not a monster. Your wife was fortunate to die. She flew to
the Lady, while your son was tormented in the Underworld for
eighteen years. He has turned to the light now, renounced the dark
power, received the Lady's blessing, and been redeemed."

Mithran raised a haggard face to
stare at her. "But in the village, he said..."

"That he can take up the power
again, if he needs to, but he does not wish to, nor did he. He came
here to meet his father, and found you on the gallows. How else
could he save you, when the man he sent to free you had failed? It
was not a bluff. He would have done it for you."

"But he can't be my son. He's
the Demon Lord. He's a god." He glanced at Bane. "Unless the tales
are untrue?"

"No. That is true. The Dark Lord
raised him up, making him a mortal god."

Mithran shook his head, looking
dazed, then raised his eyes to hers again. "My son was raised in
the Underworld by the Black Lord, and he's a god. That's what
you're telling me."

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea how hard
that is to believe?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"All these years, the healers
knew. Why didn't they tell me?"

"What good would it have done?
Only tormented you further, to know your son was alive in the
Underworld. We could do nothing for him until he rose, then we
saved him."

Mithran lowered his gaze to
Bane's bowed head, myriad expressions flitting across his face.
Amazement, horror, pity and disbelief warred with wonder, awe and a
strange longing.

Bane did not see them. His eyes
were averted as he rose to his feet, his expression cold and set.
He had received the rejection he had expected, and now it was all
too painful for him.

"I am sorry I have caused you
grief, but I wanted to meet you, to let you know I exist. I will
leave you in peace now. But if you need my help, you may call upon
me. I will come."

Bane strode towards the door,
ignoring Mirra's pleading eyes and the hand she stretched out to
detain him. As he reached the door, Mithran jerked from his
introspection.

"Wait."

Bane stopped
and turned to face his father.
The blood that dripped from his chin ran across the rune
scars his ripped shirt exposed. Mithran climbed to his feet and
approached his son, scanning Bane's face. Picking up a clean cloth,
he dunked it in a basin of water. He hesitated, his eyes on the
runes, then he wiped off the blood that obscured Bane's features,
the fresh streaks that ran from the wounds frustrating him. His
eyes roamed over his son's face.

"You have her hair, her eyes,
her brows. My chin, my nose. You could be my son." He looked at
Mirra, who smiled.

"He is your son."

Again he studied Bane. "It all
seems so bizarre. Yet you do look like her, and you have... your
grandmother's skin. What month were you born, what year?"

"I do not know."

Mithran shook his head in
wonder. "You look too old... But then, growing up down there..." He
shuddered. "How did she die?"

"I do not know. Arkonen told me
that he had created me himself. I believed him, as I believed
everything he told me. It was not until he betrayed me and left me
to die that he admitted I had a mother. Before that, I did not even
know I was human."

Mithran bowed his head. "I pray
to the Lady that she died quickly and painlessly. Perhaps she even
held you." He looked at Bane again, just as the Demon Lord glanced
away to hide the pain in his eyes. Mithran grimaced and rubbed his
brow. "Of course, that's unlikely."

"Do not try to imagine what
might have happened to her."

"No. No, I won't." Mithran
looked down at the bloody cloth he held. "She's at peace now."

"Yes, she is with the Lady."

Mithran raised his eyes, and a
hesitant smile tugged at his lips. "Could you really be my son,
returned to me? The Demon Lord, no less. A mortal god? What does
that even mean?"

Bane looked embarrassed. "Just
that I have a few... powers, I suppose you could call them."

"Powers. That's hard to
imagine." Mithran ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I
thought bandits had stolen her. I almost got myself killed tracking
down the bastards, but when I told them what I was looking for,
they let me go. All these years I've dreamt of finding her again,
and the child she carried, now grown. I didn't know it was a son
she bore. If only I had known, I would have come to you and stopped
you from breaking the wards."

Bane averted his eyes. "That
would have been a mistake."

Mithran waved a deprecating
hand, aware that he had blundered into painful territory. "No
matter, you're here now. This is incredible, a miracle. If only
your mother was here."

"Tell me about her."

"She was beautiful. A tiny,
fragile thing with a temper like a viper and a love as strong as
the sea." Mithran reached out and stroked Bane's hair, his
expression a mixture of wonder and grief. "You have her hair. She
had a child's innocence and a warrior's courage. She was descended
from gypsies, and she had mage blood too, as do I. When she was
angry, she could beat me into a cowering fool. She threw pots at my
head, and then she could make my heart sing with joy. Look
here."

He strode across the cabin and
pointed to a dent in one of the logs. "She threw a pot at me, and
missed. It would have brained me if it had landed. And she barely
reached my armpit."

Bane smiled.

Mithran stared at him. "You have
her smile. Like a ray of sunshine coming through a storm cloud.
Goddess, how I miss her still. She was my life."

He sank down on a surviving
chair, his face drawn with grief. "How angry she used to get when
she was carrying you. All my fault, she'd say, yet we planned you
together. But she could no longer run through the woods like a
deer, and yet she would hold her stomach and smile. Raysha. Her
name was Raysha." He rubbed his face and ran his hands through his
hair again.

Bane knelt before him.
"Father."

Mithran lowered his hands. "What
did the Black Lord name you?"

"Bane."

His brows knotted. "I curse him,
and his black soul!"

"He will never rise again."

Mithran picked up the cloth and
wiped the blood off Bane's face again. "She wanted to call you
Tavian, if you were a boy. Goddess, why are you still
bleeding?"

Mirra said, "Bane is a
bleeder."

Mithran nodded. "Like my
grandfather, Torvane. That's where you got it from. He was a blue
mage." He brushed the hair from his son's face and studied the red
swellings on his mouth and cheek, the split brow and lip, and a
bruise that was starting to close one eye. "Why did you make me do
this to you? Why didn't you tell me straight away?"