DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (174 page)

Thei’a’hu settled back even farther at the continuing blunt, bordering on heretical, declarations of Yatol Bohl. That was it, was it not? Either they believed that such a creature would be born into their midst, literally as Chezru Douan had said, or they did not. And if they did not, then perhaps they would do well to find a child whose mother would favor Bohl and Thei’a’hu.

“My friend, if such a child is found, then perhaps we should abandon our selection and fall in line with the others,” Bohl went on. “And if not, then what have we lost?”

“If we find a bright child to elevate, there remains the problem of Chezru Douan’s choice of Shepherd Merwan Ma as tutor and mentor for the child,” Yatol Thei’a’hu reminded. “Merwan Ma above all others will help to shape the next Chezru, and he is likely of similar mind and heart as Douan, else he would not have been chosen. That heart is not sympathetic for Eh’thu, I am sure.”

“Merwan Ma is insignificant,” Yatol Bohl insisted. “He will be a minor player in the future of Yatol.”

“Not according to Chezru Douan.”

“Who will be dead and buried,” the other reminded.

Yatol Thei’a’hu narrowed his sleepy eyes at the obvious threat, for Bohl’s tone made it quite clear that he believed he could have Merwan Ma eliminated, if the need arose, and that he would not hesitate to do so.

Y
akim Douan watched it all with a considerable amount of amusement—for he,
too, was in that quiet room in the luxurious northern quarter of Jacintha. Not physically. Physically, Yakim Douan was in Chom Deiru, the Chezru palace in Jacintha, in his meditation room, where none would dare disturb his private communion with Yatol. Little did they know that his true communion on that day, as on many, was with a certain hematite, a magical soul stone. Using that magic, Yakim walked out of his body, his spirit silently making its way along the streets, following troublesome Yatol Bohl to his temporary quarters in the city.

How convenient that Bohl had chosen that very day, the same day as the speech of Transcendence, to further his nefarious plotting with Yatol Thei’a’hu.

It saddened Yakim Douan to learn that Thei’a’hu was in on Bohl’s growing conspiracy. He had always been rather fond of the man, and though he knew that Thei’a’hu harbored some resentment about the loss of his northern reaches, Yakim hadn’t imagined that his decision had put the man so far into Bohl’s dangerous court.

Bohl’s last statement, though, hinting at eliminating Merwan Ma, had not surprised Yakim Douan in the least. He understood Bohl well, had over the centuries seen many men of similar impatience and weakened faith. Indeed, Yakim Douan was one of them!

How could he not sympathize with Bohl? The man, who obviously wasn’t sold on the specific concept of Yatol Paradise, was merely being pragmatic, much as the disillusioned Yakim Douan had acted pragmatically those centuries before when he had discovered his own secret to immortality, one that made logical sense to him.

If he had a body about him at that moment, Yakim Douan would have issued a revealing sigh. In looking at Bohl, so much a younger version of his own first incarnation, Yakim Douan considered, and not for the first time, not even for the hundredth time, that he had the power to offer true immortality to others, a select few, perhaps, friends and lovers who could coast through the centuries beside him. His was not necessarily a lonely existence, for in each incarnation as God-Voice, he was able to surround himself with friends, and certainly the Chezru Chieftain had little trouble in finding the carnal companionship of many, many women.

But what might it be like to walk the centuries with another? With Bohl, perhaps, or Merwan Ma?

It was a passing thought, as always. For taking such a course would surely invite great risk. A companion who knew the truth of the hematite and Transcendence might speak out to a friend, or might allow himself to fall in love and wish to take yet another on the century-walking journey. Or even worse, a companion might harbor ambitions to become the God-Voice, threatening a position that Yakim Douan did not wish to relinquish.

For who but a pragmatic, not overly spiritual man might Yakim Douan convince to follow him on his eternal journey. Only a man like young Yakim, or like Bohl, a man who harbored innermost doubts about Yatol, would desire this journey, and a man such as that, Yakim Douan knew firsthand, could not truly be
trusted. A man without the true belief in Paradise, and thus, without the true fear of Yatol, was a man who desired to make Paradise his own in this life.

Whatever the cost.

His body would have sighed again had it been there, as Yakim Douan realized what he now had to do to eliminate this latest threat, to eliminate Yatol Bohl.

And yes, he realized, Yatol Thei’a’hu, as well.

How might he do that without causing a major disruption in all the church, a ripple that would shake the groundwork he had struggled so hard to put in place? If it was but one man, one caravan, he could order his Chezhou-Lei warriors out, disguised as bandits. Even if the great warriors were recognized by any survivors of that caravan for who they were, no one would believe mere escorts. But two Yatol priests and two caravans?

It would have to be orchestrated carefully and over time.

Over time
. Yakim Douan was biting his lip in frustration even as he reentered his corporeal form back in the palace. He did not want to delay the resolution to this newest problem, did not want to spend the next weeks—even months, perhaps—in executing the deserving Yatols, then waiting for the results to shake out.

“But how might …” he started to say, but he stopped short, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

He went right back out in spiritual form, leaping through the hematite portal, then soaring across the city to the house occupied by Yatol Thei’a’hu. He found the man lying in a bath, surrounded by pretty, scantily clad young attendants, both male and female. Yakim considered the scene with both pity and amusement. It was common knowledge that Thei’a’hu had lost his ability to perform sexually, and so it had been rumored that the man took his pleasures vicariously.

Pitiful wretch.

Ignoring those standing about the Yatol, Yakim Douan’s spirit soared right to the reclining man, and right into the reclining man.

Yatol Thei’a’hu’s eyes popped open wide and he let out a shriek that turned all heads in the room his way. Some of those onlookers started to approach him, but then they all backed off, eyes wide with shock, as Thei’a’hu thrashed about in his tub, splashing soapy water all about the room.

His mouth opened and twisted as if he was trying to spout out some words, some cry for help, and indeed he was.

But he had no control. For Yakim Douan was in there with him, two spirits, two wills, fighting for control over one body. Muscles knotted and twisted from contrasting signals. Eyes bulged and Thei’a’hu’s mouth continued to twist and snap, biting into his lip and tongue.

Do you know me, Yatol Thei’a’hu?
Yakim Douan’s spirit telepathically demanded.

The body stopped thrashing, lying very still in what remained of the bathwater.

Look upon me!
Yakim Douan went on.
Let your heart tell you who has come to visit!

Chezru Chieftain Douan?
Thei’a’hu’s mind silently asked.

That is one incarnation
, came the teasing, cryptic response.

The onlookers in the room, some of them just gathering the nerve to approach the man once again, leaped back as Thei’a’hu’s body jerked in surprise.

Yatol! Yatol! Yatol!
Thei’a’hu’s spirit screamed.

You are a nonbeliever!
Yakim Douan accused.
You disappoint me, Yatol Thei’a’hu
.

No!

You consort with heretics who deny the truth of Yatol!

Thei’a’hu’s call, both telepathic and physical, held the inflections of a whimper then, as he repeated over and over, “Mercy.”

Correct your sacrilege, Yatol Thei’a’hu! This night! Now! You have but one chance to again walk the path to Paradise!
Yakim Douan ended by imparting more specific visual instructions, and then he departed Thei’a’hu’s physical body, his spirit drifting up to the ceiling to observe, and though he was invisible and silent, those others in the room sensed that spirit, or something. Yakim Douan was amused again to watch the looks of confusion and fear upon their faces, to see the hairs standing up on the back of their necks, to see the women hugging themselves as if suddenly chilled. The Chezru Chieftain even went back down among them, a cold ghost brushing close, heightening the fear. More than one of those attendants ran out of the room, screaming.

But the show hadn’t even yet begun, Yakim Douan knew, and so he continued to watch, taking great pleasure as Yatol Thei’a’hu climbed out of the tub, pushing past any attendants who moved to help him, or to try to put a robe about his naked shoulders.

Thei’a’hu did have a blanket wrapped about him as he exited the house, more to ward the chill than out of any modesty, for it was obvious to all looking upon him, Yakim Douan’s spirit included, that the man was suddenly obsessed and single-minded.

That blanket also conveniently hid the tool Thei’a’hu would need to find his way back to Paradise.

The visiting Yatols had all been quartered in the same area, and so Thei’a’hu did not have far to walk to get to the house of Yatol Bohl, pushing right through the two soldiers standing guard at the door and banging on it loudly. When it was opened, by yet another soldier, Yatol Thei’a’hu did not wait to offer an explanation, but just forced his way through, screaming for Yatol Bohl.

The man came down the sweeping staircase at the back of the foyer a moment later, dressed exactly as he had been when Yatol Thei’a’hu had left him three hours earlier.

“Thei’a’hu,” he said, obviously stunned at the man’s appearance. “What is wrong?”

Thei’a’hu stormed up to him, Bohl holding his arms wide, his expression incredulous.

That look grew even more incredulous when Thei’a’hu’s knife jabbed into his
belly.

“Heretic! Unbeliever!” Thei’a’hu cried, pumping his arm repeatedly, and with the strength of a man possessed and with the determination of a man who truly believed that his own salvation was at stake.

By the time Bohl’s stunned soldiers could restrain the intruding Yatol, Yatol Bohl lay curled on the floor, his lifeblood pouring out into a widening puddle that already took in more than half of the foyer.

Hovering above the entryway, the spirit of Yakim Douan watched it all, with a bit of regret, but in truth, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. He considered his voyeurism there and felt a twang of guilt, wondering if he was no better than Thei’a’hu, taking his pleasure vicariously.

It mattered not, he decided, and he retreated back to his waiting corporeal form, preparing himself, for he knew that Yatol Thei’a’hu would soon be paraded before him to answer for the crime of murder.

Yakim Douan decided to play this delicately, and with ultimate contempt for those around him. He would hear Thei’a’hu’s story, then would retreat to consult with Yatol, then would return and proclaim Thei’a’hu a hero of Yatol.

The old Chezru Chieftain was still chuckling at the beautiful irony of it all when Merwan Ma rushed into his meditation room to tell him that he was needed in the audience chamber immediately.

Chapter 9
 

T
HE
P
ATH OF
S
TARLESS
N
IGHT OFFERED A DARKNESS BEYOND ANYTHING THAT
Brynn had ever known, deeper even than the blackness of the peat cave. Walking the tunnels, descending under the mountains beside Juraviel and Cazzira, Brynn began to understand a second element to the darkness, a profound sense of brooding, a quiet so intense that it numbed the ears and made her retreat within herself. She tried to consider the goal ahead, tried to find strength and determination in the realization that this dark path marked the end of her journey home. When they exited the Path of Starless Night, they would look upon To-gai, the grassy steppes of her homeland.

Brynn couldn’t hold the thought against the pounding silence, stifling and seeming almost hungry.

They had lamps, those curious glass-and-wood creations of the Doc’alfar, all glowing bluish white. But even the light seemed uncomfortable there, diminished and out of place. Given the limited range of the glow, it occurred to Brynn that their lamps served to highlight them to predators more than they revealed any predators to them.

The air was warm and still—so still that it settled about them like a heavy blanket, weighing down their steps. The tunnel was broken and uneven, so that even they, two elves and an elven-trained ranger, had to take care with every step not to stub their toes or trip and fall. Similarly, the walls were broken, with jags of stone all about, casting ominous shadows in the dim light.

“How much worse are these shadows in the flickering light of a flaming torch,” Cazzira said suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness so starkly that both Juraviel and Brynn jumped. “With each flicker, the shadows come to life,” Cazzira went on. “Many died in here in times long past, before we learned the secrets of the fazl pods. Those who traveled these paths became so numbed to any danger from the repeated dancing of the shadows that when real danger presented itself, they were caught unawares.”