The Undying God (23 page)

“What happened to you?”

The boy quivered and said, “My mother
was taken away for stealing food. We didn’t have anything to eat.”
Nishka winced at the awful idea. She couldn’t blame a mother’s
instinct to feed her son, even in an act born of desperation. The
boy reminded Nishka of herself when she lost her mother.

“I know what it feels like to have lost
a loved one,” she said. Adrian looked solemnly into her eyes. “We
can help you. Do you have other family?” The child’s apprehension
waned in the kind woman’s presence.

“They live in the city-state of
Eternitas.” An idea occurred to Nishka.

“Come with us and we’ll take you
there.” She extended her hand. Adrian studied her, trying to decide
if she was a friend or foe. At last, he reached out and his hand
nearly clasped hers.

Suddenly, his breath caught in his
throat as three guards swooped into the alley, their hands hovering
over the swords. Fear overcame the boy. Images in his head
assaulted him, those of guards bursting into his house, kicking
down the door in the middle of the night and seizing his
mother.

Adrian almost let out a scream. He
could still hear his mother’s shrieks as she was dragged into the
streets. He bolted like an animal, tripping over barrels and
pushing a merchant out of the way.

Nishka cried out in alarm and nearly
broke into a run. The boy had already disappeared down another
street like a ghost. She stared helplessly into the distance as a
hole welled in her chest. Arxu stood idly by, observing Nishka
without compassion or concern. He bore the same expression he
displayed when she revealed the loss of her mother.

She couldn’t believe his coldness. At
this point, she didn’t care whether he had emotions or not, it was
completely inhuman. Nishka abruptly ran away.

“Nishka!” Arxu called after her. He
couldn’t understand why she was upset with him.

Hrioshango spun toward Arxu and said in
a scolding tone, “Women are very emotional creatures. They feel
compassion, kindness, honesty, and love; very unmanly things. True
men don’t feel them.”

Arxu ignored him and fled down the
street. He only hoped he found her before something horrible
transpired.

* * *

Nishka collapsed to the streets, too
exhausted to continue her escape. She gulped in deep breaths. She
longed to fall asleep and forget the images in her head; a man
fighting to stay alive in an alley, a cleric whose spirit had been
broken, and a boy robbed of his mother. So many emotions fluttered
in her stomach, ranging from anger to pity. Was she the only one
who cared?

In that moment, she could feel
someone’s shadow hovering above her. She peeked out from under her
long, wavy hair and looked into the face of a female statue. Among
all the carvings in the city, this maiden of frozen stone was
gifted with a kind face.

Nishka’s breath came out in shallow
stabs as tears began to coalesce in her eyes. Seeing the boy’s
situation reminded her so vividly of her mother. She wished she
could have expressed how much she loved her before...

She huddled closer to the statue and
hugged her arms against the chill of night. So many evenings had
been spent clinging to memories even if they inflicted more
loneliness.

Her mother had always been someone she
could trust when life proved too difficult to bear. When sorrow
engulfed her days, her mother would dry her tears and offer an
answer. Now no one was there to help her.

Nishka understood the child’s hurt more
than anyone in the city and she still failed to aid him. Arxu
didn’t even attempt to diffuse the situation. He simply watched,
detached from the world.

At the end of a lonely street, Arxu
came into view. The sound of her sobs reached his ears. Nishka
noticed his arrival but pity quelled her anger for him. She
sympathized for the emotionless man without the ability to
comprehend anything beyond practicality.

“Why don’t you feel anything?” she
voiced with pain in her eyes. Arxu tried to reply but her words
stabbed through his heart. She viewed him as a stranger, someone
she didn’t recognize anymore. Frozen in the streets, he wanted to
be with her, yet he couldn’t bring himself to approach.

At last, he turned away. Each step he
placed between himself and Nishka seemed like an eternity as he
retreated into his own world, into his emotionless mind. His form
faded from view until only night embraced Nishka.

She did not begin to cry until after he
left.

* * *

Hrioshango wandered the Gaelithean
streets alone, ensconced in the umbra of night. Straying further
still without destination, he allowed the chaos of his impulses to
drive him in whichever direction seemed the choicest. The darkness
sufficed to conceal his presence as he drifted from one street to
the next. He knew the city guards had forbidden civilians from
walking the streets at night, yet their laws scarcely concerned
him.

He stopped near a building and
considered the thoughts that possessed him all day. He couldn’t
deny the opportunities that had been laid out before him. He had
never felt this
obsessed
before.

He considered Nishka and Arxu’s mission
to stop the mass murderer from becoming a demigod. How would his
companions react if they knew he wanted Margzor to
succeed?

He laughed at their naïveté. However,
Hrioshango did not harbor any ill will toward the religion. A smile
plied across his thin lips. If this man was to achieve his goal,
Hrioshango would possess an extraordinary chance for greatness. He
secretly wanted to slay Margzor to become a demigod. He grinned
insidiously. The idea of commanding divine power excited
him.

His impulses told him to turn left and
he did so without a thought. He had faith his path would deliver
him to a far better place than Gaelithea.

* * *

Nishka rubbed her eyes to clear her
vision of tears, feeling sleepy. She was ready to retreat to the
inn when she noticed someone walking toward her. She was struck by
surprise when Arxu stopped short of her.

He extended his hand and she considered
the pale fingers that beckoned her. She accepted and he gently
lifted her to her feet. His voice merged with the silence of
night.

“Shall we leave?”

Nishka nodded. Suddenly, she found
herself hugging Arxu, for the pity in her heart and the comfort of
his arms. He did not embrace her in return, but she didn’t care.
All that mattered in that moment was he had returned.

Chapter 23

Margzor approached the forest in a
trance. His nerves nearly tingled with apprehension. Repressed
memories were slowly being coaxed out of a deep sleep after he left
Gaelithea. He lingered upon the threshold of the forest, pondering
his childhood. Peering into the obscurity evoked something
unnatural within him. It evoked a feeling of vulnerability, a sense
of dreadful excitement.

How clearly he remembered the first
time he entered the realm of wilderness, an unforgiving place for a
child. Never could he have imagined spending his lonely childhood
in a forest. He always had a visceral sense that something was
wrong with him as a boy, but he had no way of knowing it would
blossom into something so dangerous.

Childhood was a blur, a thousand
obscure memories strung together only by...
anger
. Anger
that seemed to originate from nowhere in particular, a source
inside him he couldn’t identify. Perhaps he knew what triggered
this hatred, but his mind repressed the truth. That animosity
inevitably grew like a tumorous disease entering the final
stages.

During his youth, he experienced
strange feelings in his body, and a voice foreign to him was ever
present in his head. He wanted to tell someone, but the voice
latched onto his mind and whispered,
I am a
friend.

He felt pleasantly calm listening to
the voice.
Please keep me a secret
, it begged. Margzor
concealed his friend from others. His mind was engaged in a
two-party conversation as he wandered the village. He grew to trust
the voice within him, sharing his feelings with this foreign
presence.

It did not judge him; it listened to
what he had to say. Margzor couldn’t help but feel more secure when
the voice agreed with him.

Days passed before it gained full
control of Margzor’s confidence. Without warning, the demon
possessed his will. Suddenly, his legs were carrying him faster
into the forest, blood streaming down his limbs, thorns stinging
his skin like angry wasps. Mud sluiced over his bare feet,
swallowing his body as if to claim him for the forest.

As every shred of his humanity was
stripped away by yet another fall, he left behind the child he once
was. Isolated from society, he learned to quickly adapt to the
wilderness or suffer. He was a human with the mannerisms of an
animal, scavenging from the kills of beasts and scampering into
hiding when something wild passed through. Survival was his highest
priority. Gradually, his timid nature would fade as he fought to
stay alive.

The demon equated weakness with
failure, and it soon devised ways to develop what he lacked in
strength, endurance, and speed. The demon achieved high pain
tolerance in its host by subjecting Margzor to intense exertion and
physical suffering. He derived endurance from the pain and a new
level of strength.

Margzor shook away the memories of
childhood. He entered a dark grove in the forest, wanderlust
compelling him forward. He could not forget the agony he suffered
all those years.

He spied something gleaming in the
shadows across the glen. An immense web bejeweled with dew. He
walked upon the grass, nearing the mystical pattern that glowed
like a crystal labyrinth. It was amazing how something so beautiful
served a deadly purpose. Beauty and fatality complemented each
other so naturally. He could imagine the prey that entered this web
writhing for escape. Trapped.

His trembling fingers touched the
web.

Suddenly, he remembered the very hour
of day when he first felt horror.

He could hear the keen melody of fresh
water as he waded between the trees, the gentle leaves brushing
against his naked skin. Margzor emerged from the forest and
breathed in rejuvenating air. He had attempted several times to
capture fish within the river but his agility was not adequate. He
vowed the fish would not escape him today. How inviting the waters
looked in his eyes, as clear as ice in the coldest
winter.

He approached the river and bent down
to take a drink. Its cool taste was exhilarating and he drank
deeply. He almost envied the fish that spent their lives in these
magnificent waters, drifting at leisure with the current. Such a
peaceful existence, never having to worry about making friends,
feeling alone, or finding food. Their scales shimmered below like
an ever moving trail of colored leaves. They would never suspect
him. Margzor watched a small fish swim innocently to the shore,
poking its head under rocks, playing hide-and-seek. Margzor’s hands
posed to seize his naïve prey.

Suddenly, a warning assaulted his brain
and he lurched forward. His head crashed below the surface of the
water with a splash that resembled flying shards of glass.
Margzor’s mind screamed to rise, but his body would not obey. The
demon refused to let him emerge from his prison. It possessed his
will, forcing him deeper underwater. He slipped from the shore,
submerging in a frenzy of thrashing limbs.

His legs fought as though tangled in a
web. He twisted on his side and swerved toward the surface of
distorted sky. He could see the dark forms of the fish lancing
through the water, darting past him. In his panic stricken mind,
they looked like dark souls falling into a cold, oceanic
hell.

His eyes widened as the writhing shapes
became larger and more malformed. He was not sure anymore what he
was seeing within the river. They began to float lazily above him,
their deadened, black eyes staring at him.

Margzor finally burst from the water,
his head breaking the surface in an explosion. He gasped for
breath, his lungs scorching with pain. He clawed through the water
and crawled to shore.

The haunting memory released Margzor
like icy tendrils. His isolation was more suffocating than any cold
river. He retracted his fingers from the web devoid of a
predator.

He softly shut his eyes, disconnecting.
He never wanted to feel this way. Why wasn’t anyone there for
him?

* * *

The first step outside of Gaelithea
lifted an immense weight off Nishka’s shoulders. Even the air
tasted sweeter on her lips as she skipped down the road. A
bewildered Hrioshango watched her prance away.

“Humans…” he murmured.

Caravans followed them beyond
Gaelithea, winding down the road with wagons full of medicine,
silk, spices, wine, and silver. Several bodyguards followed the
merchants, looking far less extraordinary than Arxu. Bandits would
have to be suicidal to attack them now.