The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (73 page)

Then the creature’s groin followed, and the belly and thighs
were pulled after. As its chest was drawn down the atatusk let out a despairing
bark and tried to pull itself out, but nothing could prevail over the
dimensionless glove. Within seconds the atatusk had been sucked inside it and
disassembled as though it had never existed.

The glove swung from Nish’s hand, hot and heavy now, and he
could feel it yearning towards his thigh as though the urge to consume him was
irresistible. He hastily jerked it away and pointed it towards the remaining
atatusk, who had frozen, staring at it.

They were brave creatures and did not fear death, but the
uncanny dissolution of their comrade had unnerved them. The other phalanxes had
kept coming, though. They were too far away to have seen.

A second atatusk stepped forwards, a giant at least two and-a-half
spans tall, hefting a double-edged war axe. He was watching Nish carefully,
sniffing the air all the while. Suddenly he swung, so fast that Nish could
barely see the axe head. Unable to raise the sword in time, he flung his gloved
hand into the path of the blade.

It struck the glove with a shocking impact, and Nish
expected it to shear right through his hand, but with a shrill shriek the axe’s
dimensions were stripped from it and it vanished. The giant, who had not let go
in time, was drawn in after it.

The glove was far heavier now, and so hot that it was
glowing, though Nish’s hand was barely warm. All the atatusk stood frozen,
staring at it.

From the corner of his eye he saw a lyrinx run to the
javelard, smash one of its timber uprights with his fist and bound back to the
opening with it. He jammed the jagged end into the floor and forced the smooth
end into the gap. The top of the gap snapped down, but the prop held and the
remaining lyrinx began to squeeze through.

The other paths were almost close enough to join with the main
track, and a troop of atatusk stood at the front of each path, making ready to
leap the gap and seize the prize and the glory for themselves.

‘Together!’ said the leading atatusk on the track, and the
front rank of its troop went for Nish.

Nish hurled the dimensionless glove at the leader’s smooth
grey belly and ran without waiting to see what happened.
Slap!
The dimensionless glove wailed again as it did its work and
grew brighter; Nish could feel its smouldering heat behind him.

‘Well done, everyone,’ he gasped, and scrambled through the
opening onto the rope, taking a firm grip of a loop.

Clech was hanging from another loop on the other side of the
rope, waiting anxiously. The last lyrinx followed, and everyone moved down the
loops, one after another. Only Aimee was outside now.

The five paths joined into one broad track; fifty atatusk
ran at them. Aimee scrambled through, one-handed, holding the unstoppered flask
ready to seal the gap, but slipped and nearly fell.

‘I don’t think you’re going to need that, little one,’ said
Clech, catching her in an arm as muscled as Nish’s thigh.

‘I’m making sure!’ Aimee snapped.

She smeared fire across both edges of the gap and, as the
enemy lunged with a wall of spear points, Clech punched out the prop. The gap snapped
closed and vanished as though it had never been.

And let’s hope Stilkeen can’t make another one, Nish thought
as he rotated on the line to look for the sky-galleon.

 
FORTY-EIGHT

‘You were close to Kandor once,’ said Yggur, ‘were you
not?’

Yalkara looked haggard now, and defeated. Clearly, after
losing everything, life had become unbearable for her and she wanted it to end.
Maelys felt a trace of pity for her; though only a trace.

‘Before we escaped from the void we were the best of
friends,’ said Yalkara, ‘but on Santhenar Kandor changed, and we became ever
more estranged.’

‘Could he have seen you find the chthonic fire?’

‘It’s possible. That was thousands of years ago, in the dark
days when we were trying to survive in the void,
and failing
. Clever, powerful and tenacious as we Charon are, our
competitors were more cunning and more ruthless, and our numbers were
dwindling. The best and most brilliant among us sought a way out of the void,
and – despite what the tales say – I was the first to do so.

‘I saw Stilkeen hide its chthonic fire in the core of a
burnt-out comet and, while it prepared to move to another set of dimensions, I
snatched the fire and fled. Fire is a marvellous and subtle force, capable of
opening the passage between dimensions for us just as easily as it makes a
humble portal, if we know how to use it. I found a way out of the void and we
took Aachan.’

‘And Kandor?’ pressed Yggur.

‘He might have seen me take it. Or,’ Yalkara mused, ‘he
might have discovered chthonic fire much later, after it had begun to work its
evil on us. It rendered most of us sterile, and then drew molten magma up from
deep in Aachan’s core to ruin the planet in ten thousand eruptions.’

‘Could he have taken the true fire and hidden it during the
Clysm, leaving you with the corrupt version?’

‘He might have,’ said Yalkara. ‘Despite all that has been
said about him, Kandor was more principled than I, and always looking to make
amends.’

‘Did you know he was my father?’ said Yggur, who still
seemed bemused by this revelation.

‘I did not, though it does not astonish me to hear it.
Clearly, he protected the secret of your identity with his life.’

‘Kandor made the taphloid for
you
,’ said Maelys, looking at Yggur and thinking aloud. ‘He put the
lost lessons into it and fashioned a shield
to
protect you
. The taphloid has to be the key. And it … it’s always been a
mystery to me.’

‘How so?’ said Yggur.

‘I’ve never understood how it works. Even after we took
Father’s little crystal out, the taphloid still concealed my aura. How could it
do that without a source of power?’

‘There may be another crystal inside it,’ said Yggur,
‘hidden there long ago.’

No one spoke for ages. Maelys thought about that, but for
some reason she could not fathom, she was sure there wasn’t another crystal
inside the taphloid. Yet if that was the case, what did power it?

‘What if it isn’t a crystal?’ she said suddenly. ‘Could
chthonic fire be its hidden power? What if Kandor hid fire inside a corundite
compartment so it would be ready for Yggur once he’d learned his lessons?’

‘That would be ironic indeed,’ said Yggur thoughtfully.
‘Yet, many people have checked the taphloid, I among them, and no hidden
compartment has been found.’

Yalkara stood up straight. ‘Ah, but you don’t know how Charon
think, nor the cunning way we design our most precious devices. And for such a
vital purpose, Kandor would have designed the taphloid
most
cunningly.’

She held out her hand and Maelys gave her the taphloid.

Yalkara clenched her hands around it, shook it, then held
its ends and curves to her ear, and her brow. ‘Kandor was a clever maker of
such devices, but I was a brilliant one, and I think I see what he has done.’

She passed her hands over the smooth, shining metal, tapped,
twisted, and pulled, and it separated into two halves. Inside the smaller half,
where there should have been solid metal, sat a tiny bottle made of
sapphire-coloured crystal.

Maelys let out a great sigh. ‘Is that –?’

‘Corundite,’ said Yalkara. ‘And there’s fire inside; I can
see it.’ She held up the bottle. ‘It has died to the tiniest flicker, incapable
of growing by itself, but I can tell from its glistening platinum whiteness,
jewel-like and perfect, that this is the true fire I found in the core of the
comet.’

‘Now I understand,’ said Yggur, his craggy features lit up
as though by a newly risen sun. ‘This tiny fire must have been the source of my
great and mysterious power all along.
That’s
why my power did not fade when the nodes were destroyed and almost everyone
else lost their Arts.
That’s
why I’ve
lived so long, my life force protected by the everlasting fire. And that’s
how
I came to do the impossible and
shoot that blast across the Way between the Worlds long ago, to save Maigraith.
Pure chthonic fire dissolves the barriers between the worlds and nothing can
stand in its way, save corundite; it’s how Stilkeen could roam the eleven
dimensions of space and time for half an eternity.’

‘And will do again after it destroys Santhenar,’ said Flydd,
‘if we can’t stop it. So how do we stop it?’

‘The fire is almost dead,’ said Yalkara. ‘It must be fed
before it can be used, by Stilkeen or anyone else.’

‘We … we wouldn’t want to use it,’ said Maelys. ‘Not after
what happened when Flydd had it.’

‘I’ve a feeling you might have to use it,’ said Yalkara.

‘But if it’s fed in our world it’ll become corrupt like all
the other fire, won’t it?’ said Maelys.

‘It will if you feed it like any normal fire, with
material
fuel.’

‘How else can it be fed?’

‘Pure fire was the binding force between the physical and
spirit aspects of Stilkeen,’ said Yalkara, ‘and it can only remain pure if it’s
fed on another spirit – someone’s life force.’

Her eye was fixed on Maelys as if planning to feed the fire
on her. Maelys edged away.

Yalkara smiled thinly. ‘Have no fear, little one. I wouldn’t
feed it on
your
spirit.’

Whose, then? Maelys thought. Flydd’s? Yggur’s?

‘I was meant to keep watch for Stilkeen,’ said Yggur. ‘It’s
the only connection I have with my father, and you can’t imagine how much that
matters after all this time. I’ve lived long enough for any man; I’m prepared
to make the sacrifice, if it’s the only way.’

‘We don’t know that it is,’ said Flydd, who had been
unaccountably quiet, ‘and we can’t take the risk. If Stilkeen gets the true
fire and rejoins with its revenants, it’ll be a hundred times as powerful and
no longer in pain. It will be invincible, and Santhenar will be doomed.’

‘If we do need to use the true fire, as Yalkara has hinted,’
said Yggur, extending his hand, ‘first we have to feed it.’

After a momentary hesitation, Yalkara held out the corundite
bottle.

‘No,’ said Tulitine, struggling to her feet. ‘I’m dying, and
the pain is unendurable. I’ll gladly feed the fire with my spirit.’

‘Stilkeen,
here
!’
shouted a woman from high above Yalkara.

Maelys, recognising the voice, looked up. It was the
Numinator and she was standing at the edge of the third level of Morrelune,
pointing down at them.

‘There she is, Stilkeen!’ cried the Numinator. ‘It’s
Yalkara, the Charon who stole your chthonic fire. She knows where the true fire
lies, and she’s kept it from you just to torment you.’

Claws scraped on marble, then Stilkeen came lurching out
between the flame-covered columns onto the open edge of the tower’s third
level, and looked down. It was shaking and shuddering with pain, moving
forwards then jerking back as if being so exposed to the real world was more
than it could bear, but it had to have the fire.

As Tulitine’s fingers touched the corundite bottle, Yalkara
whipped it away from her. Was she planning to betray them all? Maelys groped
for her knife, but did not draw it, for that was not what Yalkara was up to. On
the contrary.

‘There must be a reckoning,’ she said. ‘The time is long
overdue.’

Flicking out the stopper with her thumb, Yalkara tilted the
bottle, allowed the little tongues of fire to slide into her mouth, and
swallowed. Within seconds, platinum fire exploded out from her middle and grew
into a conflagration all around her as it began to feed on her life force.

‘This –’ Yalkara gasped, bent double but forced
herself upright, clearly determined to meet her end with dignity, ‘this will be
my atonement,’ she said over the brittle hiss of the flames, ‘for all that my
folly has cost the Three Worlds, and my own, Charon, kind. I will have peace at
last.’

Taking a small flat package from her gown, she passed it
back and forth through the true fire enveloping her. She groaned, stifled it
and hid the pain, then tossed the package to Maelys. ‘A gift for – the
grandchild I will – will never see. We Charon, once so great, are finally
– extinct.’

‘What is it?’ said Maelys, catching the package absently and
stuffing it in her pocket.

‘A little treasure made long ago – now cleansed by
pure fire.’

Yalkara fell to the floor, writhing, and the chthonic fire
rose ever higher as it consumed her fleeing life force. Maelys walked away,
unable to watch her death agonies.

High above, Stilkeen had wrapped itself in webs of flame,
the only protection it could make against the pain of exposure to the material
world, and was staring down at the white fire, hungering for it. Why didn’t it
jump? Was it waiting for the true fire to reach up to the third level, while
enduring the pain as best it could?

Maelys kept walking, and was facing the main entrance to
Morrelune when the gateway to the shadow realm reappeared halfway down the
broad hall, and Vivimord was standing just inside the black gate, enchanted
sabre in hand. To one side, the revenants were drifting in a red-and
black-streaked circle.

Had Vivimord decided that remaining in the shadow realm was
too great a price, even to save the world he loved? He must have – he
must be planning to come back from death.

Maelys ran for the gate, knowing that there was but a minute
to lure the revenants out, and after that it would be too late. Once Stilkeen
held the fire, it could rejoin with them at its leisure and they could not be
harmed. But how
were
the revenants to
be attacked?