Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (25 page)

“Except . . .” Utu interrupted, “for what lies behind that door.”

“You can sense it?” said Henepola, his voice eager.

“Can he sense it?” Kusala said irritably. “Even
I
can sense it. It’s as if there’s a furnace ablaze in the room beyond.”

The king’s eyes glowed as intensely as his staff. “Yes, chieftain. And if you’ll come closer and place your hands against the wall, you’ll find that the stone is quite warm, even though it is five cubits thick.”

“Show them, Father,” Madiraa said. “There is no need for further delay.”

“Very well,” Henepola said, approaching the door. The nearer the king came to it, the more apprehensive Kusala became. Like the crystal basin in the royal chambers of Nagara, whatever it was behind the door emitted energy that Kusala found threatening.

The door had no visible latch or handle, but when Henepola pressed the head of his staff against the black stone, the portal swung soundlessly inward. Instantly, a blaring white light sprang from the inner chamber, followed by a gust of stale air.

Kusala gasped and shielded his eyes, as did all but Utu, who stood still as stone, unblinking. After a time, the intensity of the glare became tolerable for the others, and they followed the king into the room, Kusala last of all and the most reluctant.

In the middle of the smaller chamber was a crude stone table. Upon its square top rested a circular plate of solid diamond perhaps a span in diameter. On the plate lay a huge black ring, roughly hewn, from which all the light and heat emanated.

“It is very old,” Henepola said in a respectful tone.

“How old?” Kusala said. “And more importantly, what is it?”

“According to the texts, the keepers of Nissaya discovered it more than ten millennia ago. Yet, ten millennia is just the tiniest fraction of its existence. As for
what
it is, that depends on your perspective.
You
would believe it to be a circular object nature had wrought.
I
believe it to be the very ring of God, born during The Creation and placed in the bowels of Nissaya for his disciples to discover. Either way, there is one thing about it that none of us can deny . . . it is
pure
Maōi
, uncorrupted by any other substance. That is why it is kept on the diamond plate. It would melt through ordinary stone, and over time, even black granite. Only the diamond, which itself is pure, can abide it.

“Our historians believe that the ring was first discovered encased in a ball of diamond the size of Yama-Utu’s fist. It has been kept in this room ever since and warded only by kings, queens, and trusted advisors.”

“Why the secrecy?” Kusala said. “I understand that it’s valuable, but considering the wealth of Nissaya, that is not so unusual.”

“Do you remember the effect the crystal basin had on you?” Henepola said. “You held it just a short time, chieftain, and still you desired it. Yet that basin contained only a few grains of pure
Maōi
.”

“So you’re saying that this ring would have a similar effect on me?”

“Similar? Not necessarily, for the sorcery of Invictus had tainted the basin,” Madiraa said. “But its effect would be significant. This is just the third time Father has allowed me to see it, and yet it has weighed on my mind since I first laid eyes on it.”

“I have seen it a dozen times in my lifetime,” Henepola said. “My love for it has become so great, I was able to resist revealing its existence to the sorcerer even while under his sway.”

“Have you ever touched it?” said Kusala, who was finding it increasingly difficult to look away from the ring.

“I am not physically able to touch it,” the king said. “It would burn through my flesh and incinerate my bones. Only the great among the great could manage such a feat. But even if I could touch it, I would not—for anyone who could bear it would become its slave.”

“Then why are we here?” Kusala shouted. “This is just one more distraction. We should be on Balak, preparing for battle. Or if not there, then at least attempting to get some rest. Instead, we’re wasting our time in the presence of this evil thing.”

“Did I say it was evil?” Henepola said. “I did not use that word. I said it was
pure
. Purity is the enslaver.”

Kusala continued to argue. Anger seemed to be the only thing that distracted his mind from the ring.

Then Utu spoke, quieting them all. “I know why we are here,” the snow giant proclaimed. And then he said to the king: “Leave me.”

“Are you certain?” Henepola said. “Do you truly understand?”

“I do . . .”

“Understand what?” Kusala said. “Please do me the favor of explaining all this to the lone idiot in the room.”

Henepola reached up and placed both his hands on Kusala’s muscular shoulders.

“I brought the snow giant here to give him a choice. I did not do so before because I believed he would refuse. But now that Utu has seen, with his own eyes, the power that Mala wields through Invictus, he recognizes what must be done.”

“Leave me,” the snow giant repeated.

When Kusala looked into Utu’s eyes, it became apparent that further protest would be futile.

YAMA-UTU WITNESSED their departure from the inner chamber. Kusala seemed the most hesitant, as if determined to rescue the snow giant from a terrible fate.

“Did I say it was evil?” Henepola had said to the chieftain. “I did not use that word. I said it was
pure
. Purity is the enslaver.”

Utu walked over to the stone table. Earlier that evening, he had told Kusala how he was able to sense the presence of magic like an ordinary person feels heat. That was not entirely accurate, but it was close enough. When Utu stared down at the ring, the magic that it emitted seared his face. Yet it also offered hope. To match the strength of his ruined brother, Yama-Utu would need a weapon that rivaled those Mala wielded.

But this ring would exact a terrible price.

Once on his finger, it would meld with his flesh and mind.

Once on his finger . . . he could not turn back.

Still, was that such a great loss?

There had been no turning back since the day he had left Okkanti.

Utu stared at the ring for what seemed like a very long time. How lovely it was. How perfect. He stroked it with the tip of his right index finger, then gasped and pulled away. It burned. Doubt entered his mind. If it hurt so much just to touch it, could he bear the pain of wearing it?

Could he bear the pain of
not
wearing it?

“I said it was
pure
.”

As pure as clarity.

As emptiness.

As an end to all things. And a beginning.

The ring was large, even by the snow giant’s standards. Utu admired its rippled surface and silken glow. He touched it again—and this time held the tip of his finger there a little longer.

The snow giant didn’t realize he was howling until he heard the echoes of his own cries within the chamber. A small patch of brutally charred flesh flared with pain long after he removed his fingertip. He started toward the door, prepared to tell Henepola and the others that putting on the ring was an impossible task, even for him. But then he stopped and returned to the table. When it came to Yama-Deva, Utu’s love and loyalty knew no bounds. His efforts to end his brother’s misery should be the same. If he gave up now, he might as well flee the fortress and return to Okkanti.

Utu slid the tip of the middle finger of his right hand into the ring. The agony erupted again, focused in that specific area. This time, Utu didn’t withdraw. Instead, he grasped the ring with his left hand and shoved it past the middle knuckle to the base of the finger. Instantly the ring glowed ferociously, searing his flesh all the way to the bone. It was tenfold the worst pain he had ever experienced. He clutched the
Maōi
with his right hand and tried to tear it off. It clung to his finger as if permanently adhered.

Utu screamed. Sobbed. Begged. Whimpered. He collapsed to his knees and banged his thick forehead on the stone floor. He stood, picked up the diamond plate, and crashed it down on the
Maōi
like the head of an axe. In the resultant collision, only the diamond was damaged, cleaving in two.

The pain intensified. Surely the ring would burn through the bone and amputate his finger. Utu would have welcomed this with tears of euphoria, but it did not occur. His finger remained intact, as did the torment.

Somewhere during this hideous cacophony, the snow giant swooned. When he opened his eyes, he was uncertain how long he had been unconscious. It could have been a moment or a day. Since he remained alone in the chamber, he guessed that it must have been just a short time.

Meanwhile, the pain remained as intense as ever, but his perception of it had changed. He began to see it as just another sensation, huge beyond comprehension but without the power to cause him true harm. The purity of the
Maōi
was at work. In some ways, he already had begun to return to his former self, unconcerned with the pettiness of violence and vengeance.

“Purity is the enslaver,” Henepola had said.

The
Maōi
wasn’t just cleansing his mind, it was healing it. In a relatively short time, Yama-Utu’s desire to destroy Mala would vanish, and his former pacifism would replace it.
Santapadam
(the Path of Peace) once again beckoned him.

At first, Utu was enraged. How foolish he had been to put on the ring. But he dared to see the irony in it. The very magic that endangered his quest also gave him hope. Brute force could not defeat Mala, but what if the ring could infect his brother’s ruined mind? If he could get close enough to touch him with the pure Maōi . . . press it against the golden chain . . .

Utu swung open the door and stepped into the larger chamber. His friends were waiting for him at the top of the stairs. The snow giant realized, at that moment, how much he loved them. Soon, love would be the only emotion that remained, the only one that mattered. He would have to defeat Mala before it possessed him completely.

IN HIS LONG life, Bhayatupa had ruled kingdoms and wreaked vengeance on his enemies. For tens of thousands of years, he had been the supreme force on all of Triken. He was
Mahaasupanna
, mightiest of all.

Until now.

Invictus had defeated him again—with absurd ease. But this time, unbeknown to anyone but himself, Bhayatupa had been prepared. Not even Vedana was aware of his duplicity. In fact, the dragon had used the demon’s ignorance—and arrogance—to authenticate his deception. Fooling the grandmother had made it possible to fool the grandson.

This had nothing to do with brute force or magic. Bhayatupa’s continued survival now depended on his ability to pretend. If the sorcerer believed that all but his most basic memories had been erased, it gave Bhayatupa one last chance to regain his proper standing in the world.

Bhayatupa had been perched on the rooftop of Uccheda for seven days. During that time, he had not moved. As long as he stayed still, the magical chain that looped around his neck remained cool enough to make the agony bearable.

Since disappearing into the tower, Invictus had rarely visited. The few times the Sun God reappeared, Bhayatupa had remained motionless, eyes glazed but heart pounding. The sorcerer stared at him, studied him, even touched him—without suspicion, as far as Bhayatupa could discern. Instead, Invictus’ expression seemed to contain a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Bhayatupa clung to one hope: that Invictus would become bored.

Boredom led to carelessness.

Carelessness to failure.

Bhayatupa’s eyes were glazed, but his mind burned with possibilities.