Dark God (44 page)

"No."
Lyriasharin smiled. "A nice thought
, though. The best you can do is cast aside the evil and
become neutral. You will lose much of your power, but not all. You
will be able to use the blue fire, and you can take up the dark
power again at any time."

He considered. "Earlier you said
that the dark power loathes ugliness, yet Arkonen used it to create
monsters."

"Yes, the dark power can be used
to create ugliness, since it obeys its master and the ugliness is
his creation, but it enhances its user."

Silence fell while Bane digested
this, sipping the ambrosia that still filled his cup to the
brim.

Lyriasharin studied him, finding
the presence of this powerful young dark god in her realm exciting
and alarming. Kayos would not have approved of bringing him here,
and, by doing so, giving him an open invitation to return, which
was dangerous. If he chose to keep the dark power and became
corrupted, he could now invade her realm easily, but then, she
reflected, if he did turn to the darkness, he would have little
trouble opening the World Gate.

On the other hand, he was a
powerful ally, and, should a time come when a dark god threatened
her domain from the God Realm beyond, he would be able to help her.
Far better to befriend him now, while he was young and
impressionable. The temptation to seduce him remained strong, for
he would make an excellent partner, despite his youth. In her
realm's brilliance his skin glowed, his eyes blazed, and his hair
shimmered with a blue patina. Regrettably, his love for the mortal
girl was too strong, and any attempt on her part to entice him
would be futile.

Putting aside
her cup, she stood. "Come,
My
Lord, let me show you the city of Eternity, where the blessed dead
dwell."

Bane looked surprised, but rose
and followed her along a path to a place where the land dropped
away in a high cliff. Far below, a vast city nestled in the radiant
clouds, the distant streets lined with shining trees and sparkling
flowers. The graceful buildings flowed upwards in shimmering
mother-of-pearl towers and diamond minarets, a delicate filigree of
pathways connecting them. Ghostly figures wandered the streets,
some gathering to talk or walk together.

"What do they do?" Bane
asked.

"Much the same as they did when
they were alive, except they have no need to work. They do not
hunger or thirst, and they lack the urge to indulge in the
pleasures of the flesh, since they have none. Most ponder their
former lives and prepare for their next one."

"Do you walk amongst them?"

"Sometimes. Mostly I watch the
Overworld. It is more interesting."

Bane gazed at the city for some
time, then they returned to the gazebo. When he had settled upon
the couch, she sat opposite and held out her hands.

"It is time I
gave you your gift,
My Lord.
A small thing, but the only thing that is within my power. Give me
your hands."

Bane hesitated, then placed his
hands in hers, and she studied the illusion that hid the scars.
"Remove this, and withdraw your shields."

The illusion vanished, revealing
his mutilated fingers, and she grasped them. A flash of white light
engulfed his hands, and a strange, sharp sensation accompanied it.
He flinched, closing his eyes as he snatched his hands away. Black
spots danced in his eyes when he opened them again, and he
squinted. The Lady settled back on her couch with a smile. Bane
studied his hands, finding the scars gone and the missing flesh
restored.

"Thank you."

"There may
come a time when I will ask for your help,
My Lord. I hope I can count on it?"

He inclined his head, his eyes
narrowing. "If it is within my power."

"There is little that is not
within your power now."

The Goddess picked up her
ambrosia, and Bane relaxed on his couch. The conversation turned to
other matters, and continued for many hours. The passing of time
went unmarked in Eternity, where there was no night, and, with
ambrosia to sip, no hunger or thirst. Bane soon grew to understand
how gods could while away aeons without noticing their passing.
Time was meaningless to them. The brightness gave him a headache,
however, and when the Lady asked if he wished to return to the
Overworld, he nodded.

Lyriasharin laced her fingers,
and they reappeared on a grassy hillside overlooking a red sea. A
huge crimson sun sank into the waves as boats sailed in with their
haul of fish, their sails pink in the ruddy light. Below them, a
town bustled with evening traffic as people hurried home from their
work, calling greetings to friends and neighbours. The distant
sounds of braying donkeys, barking dogs, shouting people and
rattling carts drifted on the breeze. A haze of smoke rose as wives
lighted hearth fires and stoves for the evening meal. Candles
appeared in windows, throwing soft radiance onto the streets, where
occasional lamps formed pools of yellow light.

The Lady turned from her perusal
of the peaceful town. "So, a day has passed whilst we talked, and
your ordeal is finally over. The world is safe from the Black Lord,
Arkonen, trapped forever now in his evil misery, a man of goodness
and light who turned to the darkness. Saved by Bane, Demon Lord, a
dark god with a good heart, filled with hatred and evil, now
returned to the light. How strange life is."

She sighed, staring out across
the bloody sea again. "And, of course, gentle Mirra, an innocent
thrown to two dark gods who fought over her, one trying to kill
her, the other to torture her, when all she wanted was to help. My
special child, who brought redemption to the blackest of innocent
souls, and helped cast down the greatest evil in the land, all
unknowing."

The Goddess turned to him and
smiled, raising a hand to caress his cheek, blue fire riming her
fingertips where they brushed his skin. "She saw an angel in you. A
fallen angel, twisted and filled with pain, but the light of your
innocence shone in your eyes, the windows to your soul. Those eyes,
Bane, told her of a gentle soul steeped in evil, yet untarnished at
its core.

"There is work for you still.
Two hundred and fifty-three demons have remained in the Overworld,
above the wards. For now, they are hidden, but, in time, they will
reveal themselves as tormentors and tricksters. They cannot be
banished now that the wards are restored, so they must be
destroyed. And, of course, there is him."

Lyriasharin's
eyes focus
sed on something
behind Bane, and he swung around. The demon steed stood there, its
glowing silver eyes fixed upon the Goddess. Its fiery mane and tail
leapt and tossed, and it snorted fire, pawing the ground. Bane
frowned at it, realising that he had forgotten to banish it before
he had set the wards, primarily because the Lady's sudden
appearance had distracted him.

"Orriss." She
smiled at it. "How long have you been below?" She cocked her head,
listening to the
demon
steed's silent answer, then nodded. "Perhaps your punishment has
been enough."

Orriss reared, arching its
blazing neck, then dropped to all fours and bowed to her.

The Goddess made simple gesture
and said, in a musical tone, "Syr fellya sha."

The
demon steed's fire died, and its
blazing flanks turned white. Falls of silken hair replaced its
fiery mane and tail. It gazed at her with soft brown eyes, then
shrank to a point of brilliant white light that shot upwards like a
comet, streaking into the darkening sky to vanish amongst the
glimmering stars.

The Lady
turned to Bane. "I suppose you thought he was an elemental, like
the demons. Not so. Orriss was a mortal horse once. But he was
ill-treated, and became a rogue. He killed his master and seven
other people before they hunted him down and shot him. It is rare
that an animal's soul is sent to the Underworld, but he and the
other
demon steeds are just
that, the condemned souls of mortal horses, being punished just as
people are. Orriss has been below for eight hundred years. I think
his term was up, and he was trapped here, since you forgot to
banish him before you restored the wards."

Bane averted his eyes,
embarrassed by the oversight, and Lyriasharin's smile widened. "A
trifling matter. Now it is time I left. Find your father, he needs
your help. Farewell, Demon Lord, until we meet again."

Bane nodded. "Until then, my
lady."

The Goddess faded to a shimmer
of light, then vanished, and the night closed in as if she had been
holding it at bay with her presence. He gazed across the peaceful,
sleepy land bathed in the sunset's ruddy embers. Only the barking
of a distant dog broke the hush.

With a swirl of crimson-lined
black cloak, the Demon Lord turned and stepped into the darkness,
to be swallowed up with a last gleam of pale skin. The final dregs
of crimson seeped from the sky, letting the stars flood the world
with their pure light, draining all colour and leaving only shades
of grey.

Chapter
Seventeen

Judgment

Mirra laughed as she
skipped and twirled around the fire the healers had built in the
centre of the inner garden. Grass covered the ground within it and
the land around the temple, as far as the eye could see. The
forests had sprouted new shoots, and faint birdsong drifted from
them during the day. The healers celebrated the Goddess' return
with a feast that used up most of their remaining provisions, since
the vegetable gardens now grew lushly, promising a bounty of food
within the next few days. Baron Martal celebrated with the rest,
his florid face wreathed in smiles. His eyes were alight with
triumph, as if he had defeated the Black Lord and restored the
Overworld himself.

The soldiers danced with
acolytes, drunk with joy at the return of life to the land, their
stomachs full for the first time in weeks. Mirra and Tallis whipped
around the roaring fire, clinging to each other's arms and spinning
until they fell down with dizziness. Ellese watched them with a
sedate smile, the last dregs of her concern washed away by
springtime's return. The Goddess' appearance to one of their own,
and her restoration of the land, made the healers jubilant, filled
with optimism for the future.

Mirra flopped down on the cool
grass, gasping, her cheeks aching from laughing. Tallis sprawled
beside her, panting and giggling as the world spun. When it
stopped, Mirra sat up and gazed at the celebrants who sat on the
grass, eating, singing, or leaning on each other in joyful
camaraderie.

She turned to Tallis, her smile
fading. "I wonder when Bane is coming back."

Tallis shrugged. "He has only
been gone a couple of days, Mir."

"I know, but I miss him. He
should be celebrating with us."

"Maybe it is taking a while to
restore the wards. Or maybe he is not coming back."

"What do you mean? Of course he
is coming back."

Tallis shot her a doubtful
glance. "Think about it, Mir. He is a god. Why would he want to be
with mortals? Perhaps he has gone to find his own domain."

"No, he would not leave without
even saying goodbye." Mirra's heart ached, for Tallis' words made a
lot of sense.

"Oh, Mir, I am sorry." Tallis
hugged her friend.

"He would not just leave. Ellese
says he loves me."

"Did he tell you he did?"

"No." Mirra bowed her head. "But
I hoped it was true."

"Even if it was, he is still a
god."

"A mortal god."

"Do you think that makes a
difference?"

Mirra chewed her lip. "I do not
know."

Bane sat on the edge of the lake
on the Isle of Lume, idly throwing stones into the still water. The
moon's reflection shattered into crescents as the ripples tore it
apart, then reformed. His thoughts troubled him, whirling about in
a wild jig, then slowing to torpid despair. Where did he belong?
What would he do with the rest of his long life? Everyone else had
their place in the world, but where was his? He was a god, yet
mortal. He could be killed with a knife or sword as easily as any
other mortal, yet he had the power to destroy worlds. Now he must
give up that power or be corrupted, and become what? A god with
limited powers, able to command the earth but not to protect
himself if a gang of louts set upon him in a dark alley. He was no
longer needed now that the wards were restored, and, considering
his past, who would want him?

Lyriasharin had spoken of
Mirra's love for him, but could he really make her happy? He found
it hard to believe he could do so just by being himself. His
bitterness ran deep after a lifetime of being tortured, taunted and
goaded by demons and droges, and he knew many of his reactions were
wrong.

Could Mirra ever forget what he
had done to her, even if she had forgiven him? If he gave up the
power, would the demons loose in the Overworld hunt him? If they
did, could he defeat them with the blue fire, once he had learnt
how to use it? Could he protect Mirra? He threw another stone,
watching the moon's reflection shatter again. His upbringing in the
Underworld had not prepared him for life amongst his own kind. He
understood demons better than people. He knew that he was
suspicious and distrustful, as he had been taught to be in the
Underworld.

Innocent questions could ignite
a strange fury in him, even without the dark power whispering its
malevolence in his mind, as if the echoes of its presence lingered.
How much of his true self was left, after four years under its
influence? How many of his reactions were his own, and how many
were remnants of the dark power's evil and his torturous
upbringing? Even now, it mocked his wish to remain in the
Overworld, waiting like a leashed monster for something to spark
his anger and release it from the prison of his will. If he gave it
up, would he be able to change? Or would the taint of evil linger
in him, and one day hurt the only one who loved him? Could he take
that risk?