Blackhand Page 27

  He allowed his mind to wander back to Sirian Ru on the far side of the world. The god had continued his work while Blackhand slept. He saw Ru had been busy during their conversation. New monsters were growing in the dark factory, mammoth creations that made the god’s previous efforts trivial; monstrosities that had the power to kill him. He would have to deal with them soon.

  Blackhand felt Ru’s mind near. He was invisible to the god, yet somehow, Ru could still tell where he was. The god’s perception sniffed around him, never focused. The merger had occurred to make Ru blind to him, yet the deity still followed his steps.

  Then Blackhand realized how. Removing the Agara blade from his rotting belt, he looked into its red heart. He could see Grom beneath the sword’s black surface.

  “It is you the god’s eyes follow,” he said to the Agara within the blade.

  Grom stirred. His previous wielder did not have the power to address him.

  “True,” Grom answered. “My spirit cannot be hidden from him.”

  Blackhand saw the Demonthane no longer viewed him as an enemy, but as something else.

  “Your tone has become humble,” Blackhand said. “Where is your hatred for me? Has the taste of Thog blood converted you?”

  “No,” Grom answered with a small laugh. “I care not which side triumphs. The man who bore me before was an abomination, a hybrid who should never have existed. You are something new to the world, a being without name, perhaps greater than the gods themselves. My defiance would mean nothing to you and thus nothing to me.”

  Blackhand knew the Agara was right. What world was this where gods lied and demons spoke the truth?

  He thought about discarding the sword, but its threat was still real. If Ru retrieved it, the god could build another body around its core. While such a creature would not be a danger to Blackhand, it would cause him another distraction, and he had already suffered many.

  And besides, he might soon need the tool.

  “You will stay with me until your use is fulfilled,” he said to the Agara. “I will decide what to do with you after that.”

  He reset the blade in his belt and continued walking. Sirian Ru’s mind followed clumsily behind, busy with other tasks, turning an unfocused eye in his direction out of caution, but ignorant of his intent.

  After many days, he arrived at the southern edge of the world. The Lanya were waiting for him. They had docked their island on the earth’s rim to allow him access. Their confidence rubbed him. He was not there in good will. He had come with force, looking for answers.

  For whatever their elusive reason, killing Aul would be an act with accountability.

  The floating city was made from glass, gold and silver. Great arching structures rose across the surface of the island following organic geometries that made them appear grown from seeds rather than constructed. Symmetry and order defined the buildings. Each resembled a flower adorned with sparkling jewels. They flowed into one another as if cast from a single mold. This was not a city built by hands, but a kingdom raised by magic.

  Where the island met the earth, a troop of the silver clad women awaited him. He approached boldly and without concern. Their chains could no longer hold him. Their swords could not harm him. Closing the distance, Blackhand saw the warrior-witches were unarmed, their armor ceremonial.

  As he grew nearer, he felt something bloom deep inside of him. A warmth spread throughout his body with every step he took toward the city. It began in his chest and moved into his throat and loins. There was no resisting the sensation and he felt himself encouraging its rise. By the time he reached the bridge that straddled the two parcels of land, the warmth had filled every cell of his body and his anger diminished. He knew he was being manipulated, that the Lanya had bewitched him. But he was powerless against the spell. He tried to resist but found himself moving forward.

  The sentries parted to allow him entry. Their gold eyes never left him, but their expressions were soft and welcoming.

  Entranced, Blackhand passed the sentries and stepped upon the golden streets of the city. The warmth dispelled all of his questions, and he recognized the feeling from the bits of memory left from Quintel and the god. The sensation was love. Despite his resistance, he loved the Lanya.

  Deeper he walked into the graceful metropolis. Lanya warriors lined the streets in silent greeting, kind smiles upon their lips, their souls open to him and unhidden. He looked into their light and felt the expanse of their lives. All were ancient. Most of them were as old as the world itself, or least the piece that had survived. He saw their magic and the mathematics that formed their philosophy. Beautiful and rich. He saw the fullness of each of them and they shared every moment of their lives with him, withholding nothing. He saw they loved him in return, without reserve, without judgment.

  Soon he had forgotten why he came, but knew where he should go. Following the gently winding streets, he found the queen’s palace and entered its ornate portal. Inside, stepped rows of seated Lanya lined a long hall. All of the women were dressed for ceremony.

  At the center of the room sat the Lanya queen, naked upon a great, jeweled throne. A couch covered in silken sheets rested before her. Her golden skin glistened and the vision of her bare flesh brought forth desire beyond his control. A great lust filled him and he had no wish to make it stop. Its fire made him feel whole. It gave him answers.

  “Come,” invited the queen, standing.

  He walked over to her and she took his blackened hand gently. Her touch filled him with completion. She walked him to the couch before the throne and stroked his dusty arms. Her eyes did not leave his as she removed his belt and tattered clothing. Soon they both stood naked before the hall of attending Lanya.

  She lay back upon the couch, parting her legs and pulling him down upon her. She kissed his lips softy and he entered her.

  The spiritual world rejoiced and the physical world trembled at their union. With every movement of his hips, the remaining universe celebrated and its gratitude consumed him.

  “You have slept long, Blackhand,” she said to him through panting breath. “We were afraid you would forget her.”

  The passion devoured him and he wanted nothing but to be inside her body. There had been no pleasure born before this in the world. She shared her ecstasy with small moans and each told him what to do to bring her more. He wanted her to feel as he did. Aflame. As his eyes locked with hers, they became one.

  He emptied inside of her. Her legs stiffened and wrapped around his waist. She arched her back and a cry escaped her throat.

  Drained, he remained within her. Fulfilled, but not wanting to let go.

  She smiled and touched his face with bronze fingers.

  “Never again,” she said. And with that, she reached between his legs and ripped the loins from his body.

  All went dark.

  When he awoke, he lay fully clothed at the edge of the world where he arrived. But the floating city was gone.

  He stood and surveyed the boiling clouds for any sign of the Lanya. There was none. He searched the entire rim of the world, but it appeared they could indeed hide from him.

  Had it all been a dream?

  His black blade was tucked in his belt, but something else was missing. Now he knew it had not been an illusion, for he was leaving the city with less than he came with. The Lanya queen had taken from him the thing she wanted and disappeared in the mist. Again, he had followed their plan, fallen into their trap. With the enchantment expired, his anger had returned. Somehow, in some way, the Layna would pay for their acts. Blackhand turned and headed back to the Abanshi.

  On the opposite side of the world, he sensed Sirian Ru working, never stopping. The god had something coming for him. Blackhand could see a heavy gray light glowing upon the horizon and it was a horror. Something enormous.

  He and Ru were not finished. Although he did not have Quintel’s ingrained drive to kill the god, Blackhand knew he had a destiny to fulfill.

 
No, not a destiny. A duty. A promise to keep to a dying universe.

  Walking north, he let his thoughts move to that piece of him the Lanya queen had taken. He could not let her have her way, so as he had done with his blackened hand, he replaced the missing part with another.

  Chapter 42

  Blackhand headed to Jura because that was the one place he called home. Although he was not welcome there, he had nowhere else to go. He knew they would do nothing to stop his return and perhaps they could help him kill Ru and finally put an end to everything.

  His pace north was not rushed. He enjoyed the beauty of Ru’s world. The god had made a titanic sacrifice to keep it whole. A tight weave of power bound together everything around him and gave it law. The god had amputated a part of himself to make the law real. Quintel examined the binding strands that held everything together. Ru was wrong. When the god died, it was possible the world would continue without him and the universe would not end. But it did not matter to Blackhand. Ru was going to die. That was the extent of his promise.

  The moment he entered the Abanshi city, Blackhand felt something happen on the other side of the world. A gray flame ignited. Dark wings stretched wide. Ru had hatched his new monster, gigantic, covered in scales, a thing that could fly. He sensed his arrival in Jura had triggered its release.

  “Why are you here?” Ana said to him at the entrance to the castle. “Banished twice, you return again and again. You have no honor for our law. We do not want you here.”

  “I have no other place to go,” he said. “I can return to the wall, but to what end? Even in control of my power, I cannot traverse the barrier. I hope the Abanshi can help me finish my task. I hope that you can help me slay Sirian Ru and put an end to all of this.”

  Ana looked at him, bewildered.

  “There has not been such talk in Jura for decades,” she said. “The wars have ended. Sirian Ru is imprisoned and his stray creations slain.”

  “But the god lives,” Blackhand said. “In defiance.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “He is not done. As we speak another monster approaches and I sense it is his greatest.”

  Ana swallowed hard. “That cannot be.”

  “Yes,” Blackhand said. “It comes swiftly, flying through the air.”

  He saw Ana’s fear rise. Her eyes widened. She believed. Grabbing a nearby guard, she spoke urgently.

  “Summon the generals. Tell them the Thogstacker has returned with warning. Mobilize the troops. Send word to the Forestlands and Vaer,” she turned to Blackhand. “How much time do we have?”

  Blackhand looked to the east and saw the approaching beast in the sky.

  “It will be upon you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Ana staggered. She was not Aul. She was not a warrior. “What is it? Another Agara?”

  Blackhand had seen the creature clearly. Its great wings spanned a mile and propelled it at fantastic speeds. Serpent-like, its body was covered in scales that could not be pierced. Two great eyes rested upon its long head, and he knew they could see an ant move from the top of the world. Inside its breast, a stone the size of a village infused life into its veins. Blackhand saw a rancid ocean of fluid splashing within its gullet.

  “Much worse.”

  Within an hour, the entire city convulsed in panic. A generation had risen since the Thog attack and these Abanshi knew nothing about war. The Abanshi spirit was still in them, but they were soft and not so willing to die for glory or other such ideals.

  Blackhand ascended to a parapet at the top of the castle and looked east, watching the new threat as it closed the distance between them. The first city the creature destroyed was the one built around him at the base of the Living Wall. He watched as the creature flew in a circle above the settlement and vomited a river of acid upon the inhabitants. With a touch, the citizens dissolved to nothing. All those who had devoted themselves to him died in the blink of an eye. Thousands were killed in a matter of seconds without a defensive arrow flung. The deaths did not wound him as they would have before. He did not collapse in sorrow. Everything was one.

  More towns and villages rested in the creature’s path but it ignored them, keeping course towards its goal, the city where he stood.

  It was coming for him.

  In the streets below, Abanshi citizens scattered in all directions, unsure how to respond to Blackhand’s warning. Most ran to the catacombs beneath the city. Soldiers wore their armor awkwardly, not used to its weight. Regiments lined up in disorganized rows, unpracticed, undisciplined.

  Blackhand knew their inefficiency did not matter. Even at its peak, the Abanshi army could not defend against the threat approaching them. He saw no way to defeat the thing. It was designed to exploit every weakness he possessed. He was not even certain how to reach it. Even if he could, any wound he produced would be tiny compared to its great size. A day would be needed to kill it.

  He also knew the acid boiling in its belly was caustic enough to destroy him. A direct hit would melt him instantly before he could heal. The god had thought carefully about such a weapon.

  Blackhand marveled at Ru’s genius.

  Behind him, Ana approached, out of breath from climbing the hundreds of stairs to the parapet.

  “How near is the monster?” she gasped.

  “But hours,” he said, his spiritual eyes upon the creature in the distance.

  “Everyone is in the tunnels,” Ana said. After Blackhand described what was coming, she had evacuated the city without hope. “If it’s half as hideous as you say, we have no defense except to hide.”

  “As near as I can tell, the beast has no weakness,” he said. “I do not even know how to reach it to strike a blow.”

  With those words, he heard a voice speak near him, a rumbling low whisper inciting a single word.

  “Harpoon,” the voice growled. It came from the Agara blade.

  Blackhand removed the sword and held it before him.

  “What?” he asked.

  The demon within the sword stirred and addressed him.

  “My battles are countless, my victories absolute. I know war. I would have defeated even you were it not for the god’s poor design of a body,” the Agara said. “You should listen to my council.”

  “Speak.”

  “Men upon the sea hunt behemoths with harpoons,” the Demonthane said. “Lance the beast with a tether and meet it in the sky.”

  Blackhand visualized the plan. It had merit.

  Ana could hear only half the exchange. All she saw was Blackhand speaking to his black sword. He turned to her.

  “Gather as much strong rope as you can find,” he ordered. “Bring it to the square at the center of town.”

  “Your sword told you do this?” she asked.

  “The Agara within offered a plan. I don’t know if it will work, but it gives us an action.”

  He saw Ana was not comfortable with trusting a plan given to them by an Agara, but she did as he asked.

  It took hours to gather and bind the rope. Soldiers tested each knot to ensure a tight hold. By the time they were done, a single length thousands of feet long coiled around the open center of the square.

  Blackhand at first considered attaching the rope to a spear, but knew such a weapon would not be able to pierce even the softest portion of the creature flying towards them. Instead, he bound the tether to the hilt of the demon sword with only moments to spare.

  “It’s here!” a watchman shouted from one of the towers as Blackhand tied the last knot.

  From the square, a clear view of the eastern horizon could be seen. Above the sharp, azure mountains, Blackhand saw a dark slit gliding towards them from the sky.

  Even from such a great distance, it looked gigantic.

  Blackhand knew the creature was attracted by his sword. He knew the others had a chance to get away before it vomited its deadly bile.

  “Go to the tunnels,” he called to Ana and the warriors who remained. Al
l fled, leaving him alone upon the wide expanse.

  He knew he would only get one chance and he did not want the beast to regurgitate its cargo upon the length of rope, so he ran to the outer wall of the city. He hoped the creature would attack him there and give him a chance to get back to the coil while it reloaded another storm of acid.

  As the creature closed, more details took shape. Its wings and body were covered in the same diamond-hard scales that had thwarted his attack on the Agara decades earlier. Its tail twisted and coiled in the wind as it changed direction. Upon its back, great wings sprouted like sails on a ship. Two huge yellow eyes perched above its fanged snout and already they had recognized him.

  And there was another detail that intrigued Blackhand. Within the monster’s head, the lightning of reason flashed. Not merely the crude awareness of the later Thogs, but something far more complex. Images and reason, plans and strategies. Self-awareness. The creature possessed real thought. It was truly alive.

  Great wings dug into the air and closed the distance between them.

  The beast roared and gathered a mouthful of vomit. Diving, its jaws parted and a yellow river spilled forth. Blackhand jumped backwards to miss the tide, hurtling Jura’s concentric walls in a step.

  The acid struck the ground. So caustic was the substance that it melted the stone walls in an instant, disassembling the smallest particles of their form. A sizzling lake bubbled like lava over a third of the city. Buildings slid into the lake and disappeared.

  Another leap and Blackhand was on the green beside the makeshift harpoon. The monster passed overhead and climbed, gathering more corrosive for a second strike. Its wings whipped a gale through the streets.

  He retrieved the bound Agara blade and calculated the force required to hit his mark.

  “The eyes,” the Agara offered. “They are soft.”

  Raring back, Blackhand took aim as the creature turned wide to make a second pass. He hurled the sword.

  The weapon flew straight and true, taking with it the tons of rope tied to its hilt. The coil spun madly into the sky, reminding Blackhand of the Lanya’s living chains in its movement. Several seconds passed before the sword met its target.