Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 26

  “Besides, they offer recompense as well. In return for the boundless supply of passion we give them, they harvest and provide what edible foods can be found in these hills. Tubers, nuts, berries, fungi and the like – they leave baskets outside our living quarters daily. We have heard other yokai honor the Aranae clan as one of the wisest of their race. They have established a good home for themselves here, living in harmony with the people of Oración.”

  “I see,” Keren murmured. Apparently even selfish, heartless beasts like those could get along with humans, when given the right incentive. She would not have believed it, however, had she not seen it happen before her eyes between the priest and the crow.

  Raisa left them at the guest-hut, saying she would return with provisions at day’s end. Akar paced the clearing as Keren sat in the doorway.

  It was several hours before the Necrow stopped his pacing. He stood in the center of the clearing, head upturned, eyes closed, as if listening to the wind. Serene as he appeared, his body still carried the tension kindled during the meeting with the Masters.

  At last he turned to face her. “I have been thinking. Where do you plan to go from here?”

  Keren shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess…I never really knew. I’ve just been running in circles blindly, relying on the directions others gave me. Without my home, or my people, it doesn’t really matter where I go.”

  “What if I told you I planned to return to Herayon, and wished for you to come with me?”

  Keren stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t…you cannot mean that! Why would you go back?”

  Akar came and knelt before her, so they were almost eye to eye. His voice was as serious as it had always been. But there was also a personal note to it now; a tone that had only shown itself before in times of anger or duress. “The convictions I witnessed in the minds of your people…I now believe what they said. The depths which lie within the human heart are not to be feared, but embraced. But I must not enter those depths fully until my mission is complete, for to do so may lead to my ruin. There is truth there, truth which Lord Belshazzar and the brethren fear to acknowledge. You must believe this, after seeing where their disbelief has led them.”

  “‘God offers assistance to those who ask’,” Keren recited bitterly. “That is what my people always said. But that did not help them, when the time came. I gave up on Him when He left my people to die in the Tyrant King’s fortress.”

  Akar took her hands. His touch was icy but unwavering. “You say God has abandoned your people. But I tell you in truth He intends for me to remedy Belshazzar’s injustice. Follow me to Herayon, and I will ensure the Tyrant King harms no more innocents!”

  Keren blinked up at him, her face wet with tears. “You said, before, that there was no use fighting Belshazzar. That a Necrow could not possibly beat him…”

  “I did not have faith then.”

  “This is humiliating…a Necrow has faith in the beliefs of my fathers, but I do not…”

  “You are stubborn. This is known. So I promise you: even if you only see me fighting against this evil, through my actions you will glimpse the work of higher powers.”

  Keren shuddered. It was not with contempt, this time. The Kirin’s curse was at work in her again. She wondered when she had begun to feel this way. What knelt before her now was no longer a monster, a mannequin, or a ghoulish spirit. It was a man.

  Keren could have kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. But then, how could she have known? “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For calling you a monster, and a nuisance, and…everything. I’m sorry. I’d even take back your name, if I could.”

  Akar lifted her chin with a finger. “Do not trouble yourself with that. You have already been forgiven.”

  Keren saw the look on his face then, and felt all the sorrow of the world welling up inside her. She could barely choke out the next words: “Gladly will I go with you, if that is your plan. Although I have my doubts, I do not doubt you!”

  He smiled faintly and nodded. Then he left, striding into the woods to join the chanting of the sages.

  Raisa returned later that afternoon. Keren sat alone, unwilling to wander far from the hut, reasoning that the horse would appreciate a bit of company in these spider-infested woods.

  The luminous sage brought a jar of water, as well as several bags of tubers and mushrooms. “The Masters of Oración give you these with their blessing,” she said, placing the gifts nearby. “Have you and your companion decided where you shall be traveling next?”

  “Yes,” Keren said dully. “Akar wants to return to Herayon. He thinks he has a good chance of overthrowing the evil tyrant who created him and enslaved my people.”

  “Forgive my bluntness, but why do you not seem accepting of this decision?”

  “What? Accepting, yes. Happy, no. Then again, I haven’t been happy in a long time…”

  Raisa tucked her pale robe under her knees and knelt a few paces away from Keren. “There are likely many reasons for that.”

  “And you think you understand them?” Keren scoffed.

  “I have guessed they have something to do with your people’s suffering and the loss of your own faith.”

  Keren stared at her coldly for several moments. Finally she said, “That would be the essence of it. What do you plan to say to me? That God is wonderful and has a great plan for us all, even when that plan turns out to involve endless cruelty and injustice? That I should think man’s faith is more than a warped reflection of his own self or his own desires?”

  “You take issue with divinity because there is suffering in the world.”

  “Yes! Doesn’t everyone? Who in their right mind couldn’t see that –”

  “What is so wrong with suffering?” Raisa asked.

  Keren peered at her suspiciously. “That’s the same thing the Master said to Akar.”

  “Aye. I repeat the question with the same intent. However, you will find my view of suffering is…a bit unorthodox as far as Oración philosophy goes,” Raisa said, smiling slightly.

  “I don’t have a problem with divinity just because there’s such a thing as suffering,” Keren said through gritted teeth. “I have a problem with it because suffering is evil.”

  “Oh? What do you mean by ‘evil’? Is not suffering simply a condition of our mortal bodies? Why is the pointless suffering of the innocent any more troubling to you than the pointless happiness of a drunken man? What of the happiness of a man who tortures a child? Are they not all equal in this vast and disordered tumult we call life? Why do you object so strongly against one and not the other?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Keren cried. “Evil is evil. Suffering is bad because it is evil!”

  “But what is evil, if not suffering?”

  “It is cruelty, perversion, destruction, disorder… I don’t know how to describe it, except in terms of something else. But it’s real! It’s all of those things and more! It’s as real as everything else in the world! A tyrant is killing my people for no other reason than to satisfy his own lust for power – you can’t tell me evil doesn’t exist! I’ve SEEN it!”

  Raisa sighed. “So you disbelieve in the divine, but hold fast to your belief in the wicked. A paradox, that is. One cannot believe in Asuras without believing in Devas also. Evil cannot exist without goodness; it is by definition the perversion of what is good.”

  Her lucid blue eyes transfixed Keren like a spear. “Every man must choose to place his faith in one of three things. First, that evil exists, but cannot necessarily be overcome, for good and evil are merely natural laws in opposition to one-another. Second, that good and evil are both illusions, and there is no lasting difference between the things we wish to love and hate in this world. Third, that evil exists, and may hold sway over the world in the here and now, but is only allowed to do so because an even greater good will come of it.”

  Keren looked at her blankly. “What, you’re saying a person can’t compromise betwee
n those three choices…? You have to pick one of them?”

  Raisa nodded. “On closer inspection, the first choice is not as coherent as it may seem. If goodness is merely a natural force, how is it inherently better than evil? If it is merely a force of order matched against a force of disorder, why is it more praiseworthy? Is not each of them divine?

  “As for the second choice – when people speak of goodness they assume one should act on it for its own sake, regardless of one’s own interests. Why would this be so if goodness were only a question of practicality, or merely a way of fulfilling one’s desires? Men will gladly throw themselves against what would otherwise be deemed impractical and undesirable in pursuit of a greater good. If that is all goodness is to you – simply another word for what is ‘practical’ or ‘desirable’ in life, or else a neutral phenomenon like any other – then I’m afraid we can speak no further on the matter.”

  The Sage waited, watching Karen with her silent and imperturbable gaze.

  “Of course I believe in goodness!” Karen said. “It is…I mean…I can’t really explain what it is, but…it’s not any of those things you just said! We are all sworn to do right no matter how difficult or nonsensical it may seem.”

  “If you accept goodness must be adhered to no matter the cost, that it is greater than anything else in life, then you acknowledge that goodness is essentially perfect. We may lack the power to discern what goodness is in all times and places, but this is to be expected, as we are only mortal creatures. Even though evil holds sway over our world, if we acknowledge that evil truly does exist, then goodness must also exist…And not merely frail and temporal goodness which we glimpse in the everyday, but a most real and eternal good, more powerful than any denizen of hell could possibly comprehend.”

  Keren stared at her, mind churning, unwilling to comprehend the magnitude of what she was saying.

  Raisa laid a hand on her arm. “There are consequences to everything we believe. I do not demand your response to this. It will show itself in time, through the actions you choose to take. It has shown itself already in what you have already chosen. I wish only that you go forth with my blessing.”

  Desperation clouded Keren’s face. “Raisa, how can I be happy? I cannot see how I’ll ever be happy again!”

  The woman smiled, her golden hair rippling in the breeze. “Seek out the truth, child. In truth you shall discover awe at those things which are greater than yourself, wonder at the infinite mystery which is existence, and rapture at the supreme beauty of it all. You must be honest with yourself – do not fear truth. It is all more beautiful than you could ever have imagined.”

  CHAPTER 19

  LORD OF NECROSIS

  It was strange to see the land of Herayon blooming softly beneath the sun. A shy wind blew among the budding trees, stirring up the scent of wildflowers. The sky was the same deep blue it had always been, streamers of cloud chasing one-another towards the horizon. Far to the east was the mountain chain that formed the spine of the continent. It didn’t look like a land under siege by a tyrant.

  Keren’s heart ached to see the country of her birth again. Old fires began to stir in her breast. Belshazzar would pay: for her mother, her family, her kin, and her village. The other tribes, too, though she had never seen them. They were all Herayan, the rebels who had fled the dictates of other nations and forged their own way of living, here in this land all others had shunned. They would not be conquered by one man with an idle lust for power!

  The fortress of the necromancer lay due east, on the slope of the mountains.

  It took several days to cross the plains. They passed near several villages on the way, but Keren did not wish to draw close enough to see whether they still stood. The villagers would not welcome them, in any case.

  Akar was often silent, yet his sword spoke volumes – the Necrow’s hands would often run a wet stone across the blade whenever they made camp at night. The harsh, repetitive grating did nothing to help Keren’s nerves.

  On the sixth day they reached the forest which grew upon the foothills of the mountains. The winter snows had gone, the earth putting forth fragrant blooms since last they’d seen it. Still, Keren could feel the memories of their flight arising unbidden from the dark place where her anger smoldered. The surrealness of her escape still baffled her, and she was incredulous to have survived to see another spring.

  Disbelief, anger, sorrow – all these were still with her, though they now took different forms. Disbelief and anger at what had saved her, sorrow at what she had left behind – now was disbelief in what they were about to attempt, anger at herself and sorrow that she did not have half the heart the Necrow did.

  Akar knelt at the edge of the forest, unsheathed his sword and laid it carefully across a stone. Using a paring knife, he cut off a lock of his black hair and laid it on the stone. Then he took a sprig of henna from his cloak and added it to the hair. With a strike of flint, the tiny offering kindled into a flame. The Necrow bowed his head, mottled lips forming soundless words. Keren felt the whisper of them in her mind.

  With a start, she recognized the mark of one of her people’s lesser-known rituals. When Akar had finished she asked, “How did you know that rite? It wasn’t often used among my people.”

  He hesitated, as if unwilling to speak. “I learned it from an old man. Another man confirmed it. The sentiments of their actions impressed me.”

  Keren believed it. That was a prayer sometimes offered before a hunt, or an undertaking into dangerous territory. “My uncle was named Malak. He was very knowledgeable in the old ways. Did…did you know him?”

  “Aye. I spoke with him several times. He taught me much.”

  Keren shivered, remembering the last time she had spoken with him. Malak had been kneeling in his cell, mouthing soundless words to one of the Necrow that stood outside, watching. Could Akar have been…?

  “Are you certain you are willing to go further? It may be dangerous. I may not be able to guarantee your safety.”

  Keren forced a laugh. “Come on, you can take them all with one hand tied behind your back, can’t you? I’m not afraid of them, and I wouldn’t miss the look on Belshazzar’s face for the world!”

  “So be it,” Akar said. “There are two scouts on the road nearly a mile from here. We’ll see what news can be gleaned from them.”

  They continued through the forest, approaching the road at a tangent. At some point Akar gestured for Keren to wait behind a thicket with the horse. He crept off into the underbrush alone.

  Keren strained to see through the brambles and the approaching twilight. She couldn’t hear anything, damn it…no, there was a small cry, quickly stifled. Perhaps a whispered scuffling in the grass. Then Akar spoke: Come out. They have been subdued.

  She trotted over to the edge of the road. Two Necrow knelt on the dirt track. Their masks had been thrown off, their faces stiff, eyes open and gaping at Akar. Random muscles in their limbs twitched spasmodically from time to time. It was disturbing.

  “What did you do?” Keren asked.

  “I believe it is what you would call ‘mind-crushing’,” Akar said, “Which is a rather inaccurate term. Their minds are still intact; it is only their active awareness which has been overwhelmed by mental force.”

  “So…they’re just unconscious?”

  “Just so.” Akar waved a hand, and the two Necrow slumped face-first into the dirt. “They confirmed Belshazzar still resides in his fortress with his army. It is much the same as when we fled.”

  “Are there still living prisoners?” Keren asked.

  “Aye. Not half the tribes have been captured, yet.”

  “Let’s hurry, then. Can we storm the keep by nightfall?”

  “Aye. That would be the best time. They will be less suspecting of an attack at day’s end.”

  So they made their way along the road, Keren trotting on the horse at a brisk pace, Akar jogging beside her. They met no more scouts along the way. Keren felt an insti
nctive fear rising in her as they approached the fortress – she had no desire to enter that place of death ever again. Nevertheless…if she could free those who still suffered within…her own fear was worth the price.

  The fortress loomed at the top of several treacherous switchbacks, the black gash in the mountain-face forebodingly familiar. Keren looked to the highest tower where the drop of blood had been poised the day they fled, but did not see it. The mountain wind howled around them, whipping their cloaks into a frenzy. Even in springtime this place was barren of life, sucked dry by the packs of Necrow that passed by. The sun was setting over the western plains, casting a bloody light over the rugged peaks.

  They had almost surmounted the final switchback when a tidal wave hammered at their core. Grasping, roaring, burning; the force of a hundred minds bearing down on them. The horse screamed and collapsed, Keren clinging tightly to its neck, trying to defend herself against the mental onslaught. It was worse than the time Akar had done it, worse than every torment in the dungeons put together; a host of a thousand souls wailing inside her mind.

  Sobbing, almost paralyzed with pain, Keren craned her head around, trying to see Akar. The noise inside her mind was too great – she could no longer feel his presence. The Necrow’s eyes were bulging, glaring up at the parapets above. His skin was shriveling, his hand contorting as it sought to grasp the sword at his side. He fell to his knees with a choked cry, rage and agony twisting his features.

  The gates opened and a host of Necrow marched out, swords at the ready, their blank masks crimson in the light of the dying sun. They surrounded Akar and brought their blades up in salute.

  Hail, brother. They spoke as one, a hundred voices slurring together, overriding all thought. Keren huddled into a ball, trying to flatten her mental presence before the crushing wave obliterated her. She couldn’t understand. She couldn’t even think. Why couldn’t Akar overcome them?