The Undying God (36 page)

He would never repent.

He turned away and the staff slipped
from his hands. Umbra flinched as the rod slammed against the
floor, disturbing the dust settled there. The sound echoed in her
ears, an explosion that made her blood run cold.

The exiled Nightwalker disappeared from
the temple with no hope of ever reuniting with her.

Unknown to everyone, his tormentor’s
body did not receive a proper burial. His spirit could not rest
within his tortured body. His flesh did not revert to decay.
Instead, it morphed into something wretched and hideous. He refused
to die in the dark and quiet forest. The sickly creature evolved
into something neither dead nor alive. On its hands and knees, it
crawled through the forest, as though animated purely by hatred.
Its animosity could not be quelled by death, a soul so polluted
with ego and loathing.

It could smell the carrion of others
who perished from disease and age, and it was eerily drawn to the
scent. The creature neared the city and came upon dormant tombs. It
crept into the catacombs where it constructed a lair. It fed on the
dead like a parasite, siphoning strength. And as it nourished on
their decay, it gained their memories, thoughts, and
knowledge.

Several years passed during its growth
stage and no one suspected the abomination lurking in the tombs. At
last, the creature emerged from the necropolis. Images of the
Defiler entered Arxu’s mind.

“I could not remember how I died or
why,” Arxu said. “I remember waking to the remains of the
Nightwalkers’ lunar sanctum blanketed in ash... It slaughtered
everyone.” He solemnly paused. “It killed my mother.” Nishka’s head
turned so fast that Arxu thought she would contract
whiplash.

“Umbra was my mother. She offered me to
a downtrodden woman in the streets of Eternitas. She wanted me to
have a better life than her, free from the oppression of rulers and
public discrimination. Despite her effort to protect me from a life
of social exile, I was still drawn to the Nightwalkers.”

“She thought you would be better off
living in poverty than being raised among Nightwalkers?”

“She never suspected I would spend my
childhood stealing and acting as a courier for criminals. I’ll
never know exactly why she chose to leave me with her. But before I
died, I saw how people treated Nightwalkers. They viewed us as a
sacrificial cult. I’ve seen Nightwalkers tortured and executed in
ways that would make you long for Gaelithea. Perhaps it would have
been safer to remain a beggar than pursue my past.”

“What happened after the Defiler came
to the ruins?”

“My mother didn’t realize she had
exiled her only son until the Defiler spoke to her. She asked why
it had killed everyone at the lunar sanctuary. It explained my past
to her ... and why it wanted to lure me to the forest to witness
the pain of my friends. And when she began to weep for her son, the
Defiler realized who she was.”

Arxu leaned against his staff for
support, and he lowered his head.

“He killed her.” Nishka could hardly
believe the words that departed from his lips. She felt a need to
comfort him even though he never consoled her. “The moment she
died, the binding runes on my skin lost their power. I immediately
felt the change in my body and suspected something was wrong. As I
sought the lunar sanctuary, I realized that I could pass through
the forest freely. Upon reaching the sanctum, I found her body...
The Defiler emerged from the sanctuary and spoke to me. It told me
about my mother... but I can remember no more.”

Nishka looked at the pendant as he
clutched it protectively. Suddenly, she wanted to grab it and throw
it away. She reached for the glossy stone.

Arxu recoiled and clasped the pendant.
Nishka jerked in surprise.

“Arxu, you—you don’t need that pendant
anymore! It’s useless!”

He stared at her in bewildered
shock.

“It’s only a painful reminder of your
past!” She tried to reach for the pendant but Arxu tucked it within
his shirt. “You have to stop clinging to the past!”

Hrioshango leaped out from the
shadows.

“Give to Hrioshango! Hrioshango want to
live again if he dies!”

“It cannot—”

“Arxu—” Nishka grabbed his arm but Arxu
twisted out of her grip and ran. He immediately tripped and threw
out his arms, losing his staff in the process. He scrambled back to
his feet and bolted.

The paved walkway beneath his feet
echoed with every frantic step. He clawed his way out of the maze,
emerging into the streets. Arxu didn’t know where to go from here.
He raced through the streets of Eternitas, repelled from Nishka as
if her very presence hurt him. No one stopped him as he fled the
city gates, reenacting the same escape he took as a child. A lake
greeted him beyond the city, and before he knew it, he plunged into
the waters up to his waist. A distant islet winked below the moon,
beckoning him to its lonely shore.

Arxu struggled through the waters that
pushed back against him. With a ragged breath, he staggered onto
the beach and fell to his knees.

The waters lapped at the shore, hushing
Arxu. He wanted to scream out at the irony of his life. His mother
had entrusted him with a foster parent to protect him from exile,
and in the end, she had branded him an outcast.

Yet, he bore her no anger. He could not
feel anything but emptiness, robbed of his family. And in his
recklessness, he had pushed aside the only person who stood by his
side. Nishka.

Faces he could barely remember surfaced
in his memories, pieces of himself that would never return. He
began to realize his inevitable mortality, and he feared that death
may be better than this life.

He felt nothing, and then a cascade of
tears arose from within. He couldn’t see through the tears. Layers
of emotion crashed down, revealing the vulnerability inside. Arxu
considered his actions, the strangest sensation of telling another
person about his torment. In fact, he was only beginning to come to
terms with the loneliness that plagued him.

Arxu viewed his reflection in the jet
pendant. He was a comatose void of frozen emotions. His body
trembled and he bowed low over his reflection, grieving for the man
he once was. Perhaps it was better to feel nothing than to know
emotion of any kind.

At last, he unclasped the jet pendant
around his neck. He tossed the last piece of his emotional prison
into the cold waters.

* * *

Arxu teased the door open to his room,
reluctant to enter. He couldn’t shake the sting of shame for
running away from Nishka. He walked through the city gardens on his
way to the inn, but she had long since left. He felt strangely
naked without his staff as he returned to his bed.

To his surprise, he spied the
instrument leaning against the wardrobe. He scooped it up to make
sure it was indeed the same staff. For a moment, he thought he had
walked into someone else’s room, and he spun toward the silhouette
lying on his bed. Nishka lay among the blankets, soundly
asleep.

Her face was flushed from crying. Arxu
relaxed, setting down his staff and satchel. He slumped in a chair
across from the bed and watched her.

She looked so gentle in bed, not the
strong and fierce woman she presented to the public. Perhaps that
was the only way she could be taken seriously in a male-dominated
society. Swaddled in blankets, she looked just as emotionally naked
as Arxu, their vulnerabilities on display. They both had their
separate struggles and rarely lowered their guard. To see her like
this made him feel a surprising kinship to her.

Morning light drifted across the room,
gilding the chamber in a veil. Its luminance leaped across the bed
and upon Nishka’s skin. Her tranquil face bore no trace of tears,
her sorrows quenched in dreams. Hours later, she sighed peacefully
and stirred from the refuge of sleep. Arxu stood against the
window, observing the city below.

Nishka’s eyes widened at the sight of
him. She bolted up from bed and approached the silhouetted
figure.

“Arxu…” She stopped within a few
strides of him, realizing he was real and not a dream. “I’m
sorry.”

“You needn’t be. You were right. I was
clinging to my past.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look at
her. “Nishka, I wasn’t completely honest with you about my past.”
She remained silent. “Sometimes, when hate is combined with magick
to kill someone, it can render unpredictable results to the victim,
even in death. I was full of spite when I ended my tormentor’s
life. I’m not sure how to describe it or what happens to the soul
of the victim. Some say this is how monsters enter our dimension:
hatred and the abuse of magick.”

Nishka held his hand to comfort him. As
he turned to her, she noticed the pendant no longer encircled his
throat.

Chapter 36

Ethan leaned against a balcony above
the council chamber. Dozens of priests gathered below to discuss
matters he was obviously not privileged to know. Ethan had a
feeling they weren’t merely speculating about Astalla’s absence. He
wondered what plots hatched from their lips in the far reaches of
the temple.

The idea nauseated him, knowing all too
well they were looking for a scapegoat to sacrifice. It was much
easier to tell the disciples Astalla abandoned them for the sins of
a few followers than to seek the truth. Such spectacles made it all
the easier for the clerics to manipulate them through
guilt.

Ethan shook his head in dismay. They
were no different than the senators who undermined the city with
their selfish agendas. Unlike so many of them, Ethan was not
attracted to his vocation by authority.

However, in light of recent events, he
began to question his allegiance to the temple. Over the past few
days, he watched the tenets of his faith transform into a cult of
moral tyranny. His fellow clerics treated the worshippers as if
they were children who posed imminent danger to
themselves.

Even Invictus seemed to straddle the
border between madness and sanity, obsessed with delusions of
salvation. He had barricaded himself in the scrying chamber for
days, pondering Astalla’s message.

Ethan gritted his teeth as he
considered the broader picture. Invictus didn’t oppose the
evacuation out of concern for the faithful; he was worried about
losing control over the worshippers. There could be no greater
abuse than deforming religion for the purpose of power—to enslave
the innocent with fear.

A shadow fell on Ethan and he felt
someone’s piercing gaze fall on him.

“Elder Invictus has beckoned you to the
upper level.” He turned around to face a guard. “He insists you
come at once.”

“Did he give a reason for summoning
me?”

“Invictus isn’t compelled to provide
you with a reason. He expects you to come
now
.” As much as
Ethan wanted to brush off the request, he complied. The sentry
sounded as if he was on Invictus’ leash as well. What started out
as curiosity morphed into anxiety as Ethan joined his mentor on the
balcony.

The Elder Cleric surveyed the chamber
below, his back turned to Ethan. The guard departed down the
stairs, abandoning them to an awkward silence. Ethan didn’t dare
speak a word.

“You seem to be conspicuously absent
lately,” Invictus croaked. “But I suppose that is to be expected in
a time of crisis; we all have so many things to do. It is not a
simple task attending to the faithful when they are burdened with
fear. They require our attention, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Elder Cleric,” he said, trying to
sound convincing.

“We should gather sometime for prayer,
Ethan. I’m sure we could all use some extra guidance in these
trying times.”

Invictus paced across the balcony,
deliberately avoiding Ethan’s eyes. His mind seemed
elsewhere.

“But perhaps the faithful need our
guidance most of all, and we must provide it to them… But you have
been shirking your duties for days now, leaving me to question your
abilities as a priest. You know you can always come to me if you
have concerns.”

“I understand, Elder Cleric, and I
apologize if I have disappointed you. But I…” At last, Invictus
acknowledged him, his face clouded with suspicion.

“What is absorbing so much of your
time?” The breath coiled in his chest, stuck as if he couldn’t
breathe. He knew Invictus was toying with him, but why?

“Tending my duties.” The cleric eyed
him coldly. He knew Ethan had evacuated the temple, yet he refused
to openly admit it. He had merely summoned him to convey his
displeasure.

He gestured for Ethan to leave, bored
with his pupil. As Invictus slithered away toward the darkened
halls, his expression of contempt contorted hideously. He lowered
his voice to a menacing tone.

“Tend to your duties then.”

Twilight dwindled down to night as
Ethan meditated. He knelt in a small alcove in the prayer hall,
bowing his head before an altar furbished with offerings of
candles. The floor was littered with prayer notes and anonymous
cries for help.