TMarkos
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Chapter 121 - The Cracked Pillar
🕑 Added 2023-08-02 14:24:01 +0000 UTCThe divine lies at the core of our existence, yet seldom do we pause to reflect upon what that means. Our thoughts are petty, and gather around the benefit that souls may bring to us in our lives. This remains a worthwhile avenue of reflection, of course.
But a bond marks both sides. Even as we are elevated by divinity, the perfect divine is likewise shackled to our imperfection - yet this is still not an evil, for it is against our rough edges that it may shape itself into something more. Our passion, delight and rage are holy, each step along our path imbuing divinity with purpose.
Imperfection, however, is ultimately still a flaw. Men stray from their paths, pervert and neglect the divine within them - and, in the end, their power cannot survive when time wears away at the solitary, mortal pillar upon which all else is built.
- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687
—
Michael was growing rather accustomed to the image of Gharon laid out before him, but each time he looked its profile took on a different aspect. At first it had been grand and empty, the remnants of a lost empire. Then he had known it as full of hidden, hostile life, then again as the center of a strange compulsion of fear.
Now Gharon was grand and empty once more, and Michael knew it to be the truth. The city had been murdered in quiet, slow steps, until the only one not dead or dying sat in its center.
Waiting for them to pursue. He looked over at Amira, who was quietly observing the city beside him. Saleh stood on her other side, his face uncharacteristically grim.
“I don’t feel as many people as before,” Michael said. “He’s still killing them, although he’s doing it quietly.”
Saleh nodded. “The city has been shining with a terrible light since the heart-eater retreated there,” he said. “I feel it on the edges of my soul. The unique lethality of the Star is - known to us.” He turned to look at Michael. “You were close to him, before, though he seemed to be withholding himself during our prior conflict. The effects of the star-light are subtle at first-”
“He doesn’t want me dead,” Michael sighed. “His ability to take souls is tied to my own. He’s afraid that killing me will leave him with power, but not enough to finish - whatever it is that he thinks he’s doing.” He shook his head, looking back out at the city. “Now maybe he doesn’t care - or he wants to keep me away, and fight you instead. Either of you would be able to resist his soul, as I understand it.”
“Saleh would be fine,” Amira said. Her voice still held an odd caution, as though she was weighing each word before she said it. “It’s unlikely that my own soul would be as-”
“Amira,” Saleh said firmly.
She turned to look at him. “It is unlikely,” she said slowly, deliberately, “that my own soul would be entirely resistant against that type of harm. Potentes that work adjacent to lucigentes develop the normal afflictions, albeit more slowly. These things are science, Saleh, and they are known, and known most by Mendian - so there is little value in dissembling.”
Saleh shook his head, letting out a long sigh. “They are,” he admitted. “We have been understandably interested in learning how Amira’s soul might fare against the Great Light’s power. We had begun to make small tests.”
“Against Leire,” Michael said, realizing the source of Saleh’s reticence. “And you imagine that you’ll have a similar need against me - when all this is over.” He managed a smile. “We’d best choose our next words carefully if we don’t want Sera yelling at us again.”
Saleh laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling; he wiped at them with the back of one hand as the laugh faded into a wet, hacking cough. Michael noted the shiny burns on his fingers, the red, taut skin. “You have a unique way of making my fears seem ridiculous, you know,” Saleh said. “In councils and conferences I hear men talk about Michael Baumgart, the man who might wipe Saf from the map if he were so inclined. Standing here talking to you, I see no inkling of that man - not yet. Maybe not today, maybe not even next year. But you have the potential, waiting for the inclination to present itself - and I find my thoughts dwelling on the time I met that man in the cold city, over there, and I remember how timid he looked then.”
Michael shot Saleh an exasperated look. “You know that he’s afraid of me too,” he said. “Afraid of what he thinks I’ll become. Afraid of what you’ll do in response.” He shrugged. “I understand the concern. It scares me too, sometimes, and there are - indications. Flashes of things from future paths that leave me cold and shivering. But what I see in front of me-”
He pointed to the quiet city laid out before them. “This is real. It’s here, now. Are you afraid I’ll do that, or worse? Because I’ll tell you what spurred him to action, in the beginning. It wasn’t fear of me. It was fear of you. Fear that men like you and my father would burn the world down rather than lose control over it, and I can’t say that he was wrong to be concerned. It was your use of gas on Imes that stripped him of his hope. Your murders, not mine.”
Michael turned to face Saleh; the other man looked back impassively, nothing revealed in his eyes or soul.
“Sera was right to say it doesn’t matter right now,” Michael said. “She’s right. We have monsters in abundance here without pulling them forward from some imagined future, and when I am responsible for a quarter of the destruction you’ve caused then you can name me among them.”
Gently, Amira’s hand settled on top of Saleh’s own. He turned his head slowly to look at her, and she moved his hand to rest upon the raw stump of her maimed arm. Their eyes met for a long moment before Saleh looked away, grinning sheepishly.
“I am a creature of habit,” he said. “And my habit has been to rise to the tests as they come. It’s difficult for me to see you as anything else, because you are a test for me - only, not the sort I am accustomed to facing.” He shook his head, then held out one hand. “There is peace between us, and if that should change it will do so only after ample notice. I’ll say it before a verifex if you wish.”
“He’s not lying,” Sobriquet’s voice buzzed in Michael’s ear. “For whatever that’s worth.”
Michael suppressed a smile as he reached out to clasp Saleh’s hand, feeling the smooth burns under his fingers. “No need,” he replied. “You have my pledge in return, and I intend to hold to it for as long as you’ll let me.” He tightened his grip fractionally, meeting Saleh’s eyes, then let go. “We could end more than Luc’s violence today.”
Saleh gave him a quiet smile. “I think you’ll find that wars are old and canny beasts, who are not so easily dispatched. But - I will not dismiss the idea. The path comes one step at a time, and each one brings a different view.” He nodded back towards the city. “Where I stand now I see a serendipitous alignment; between the three of us, we have a nearly-perfect defense against the heart-eater. Amira to strengthen our bodies, my soul to sap the star-light, and yours to quiet his wailing voices. I will not speak against cooperation today, not when it is so clearly the way we are meant to go forward. Shall we?”
Michael blinked. “Shall we…?”
A grin split Saleh’s face. “Attack. We have our force, and we are poised. Our enemy is an auspex, so we will not surprise him with strategy unless our strategy is also a surprise. We can leave right now.”
Objections occurred to Michael, but none of them were rooted in anything solid. “Sera?” he asked.
Her apparition fuzzed into being beside Michael. “I’m not part of your perfectly-matched trifecta,” she said. “I’ll stay with the men; we’ll try to gain some distance from the city so he can’t try the same trick twice.” She leaned in close, phantom lips buzzing near his cheek. “Be careful. Luc could have kept running. That he didn’t means he’s got some advantage here.”
Michael nodded, watching as her figure straightened up and faded from view. He turned back to Saleh and Amira, who were watching with polite interest.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s end this.”
—
They ran across the outskirts with the sort of speed that Michael had envied earlier in the day. Saleh surprised him by moving nearly as well as Amira, but on reflection it made sense that he was well-practiced at traveling under her power. Michael felt that familiar thrill of vigor in her grip, his strength and speed beyond anything he alone could manage. They were at the city almost before he had truly found his feet.
The streets blurred by as they ran past crumbling buildings - or occasionally through them, sending stone fragments screaming outward. Michael might have worried about the damage before, but there was nobody here to hurt. He felt the stillness all around. The sense of an empty room. Saleh’s face had become fixed in concentration as they drew closer, the air around him dimming as he pushed his soul outward in defiance of the deadly light that had claimed Gharon.
Amira did not run north towards the bridge, choosing instead to leap across the river entirely. Saleh followed without breaking stride; Michael stopped for a moment and hesitated - then leapt after them. He had pushed with all of his might, immediately regretting it as he sailed well beyond where the other two had landed. He wrenched his eyes up just in time to see a rapidly approaching stone wall.
He crashed through it like a trebuchet stone, then fell under a rain of crumbling brick. He felt it pummel him, the dust choking the air - but he was fine. He began to laugh, trapped in his fresh-made cairn, then coughed as the dust choked his lungs.
Batting the bricks aside like so much wadded paper, he stood in time to see Amira jog up, an empty, predatory smile draped on her lips. “Come on,” she breathed. “We’re close.”
The Domus was only a short distance from where he had landed, and the three of them slowed as they approached; at this distance, they could see that a light illuminated the interior, but not the customary blinding radiance that Michael associated with Stellar. This was a deep, rich blue, unlike anything he had ever seen. It lent the old building an ethereal aspect.
Saleh frowned. “He’s improved,” he muttered, reaching his hand out. His fingers twitched, then clenched into a fist. Instantly, all light disappeared from the city. The world fell away until only Stanza’s web was left. It was quiet in the dark, motionless - save for one figure slowly walking towards them from the darkened hall.
“He’s coming out,” Michael warned. “Be ready.”
A terse nod was all the response Saleh offered. Amira gave no acknowledgment she had heard his words; her face was rapt, turned to Luc as he walked closer. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Michael gave her an evaluating look, then shook his head and returned his attention to their shared enemy.
Luc stopped while still some distance away, his eyes on each of them in turn - then settling on Michael. They were surprisingly human, in the end, filled with regret and nervous energy, a barely-suppressed fear. His face bent into a sad smile. “So this is it, yes?” he asked. A thousand voices howled in accompaniment to his words; Michael grit his teeth. He reached his hands out to touch Amira and Saleh lightly on the shoulder, extending Stanza’s protection to them.
“I had hoped that this would be between the two of us, at the end,” Luc said. “It should be, don’t you think? But none of those-” He paused, frowning. “It doesn’t work. A dozen paths beyond the edge of my sight, but all going to different places, places nobody has ever seen. And I don’t know-”
He paused, clenching his fists. “I shouldn’t be the one to choose,” he murmured. “I don’t know if it’s right. But this seems right. It’s the best. The best way for us to end.”
He raised his hand, his palm out towards Michael, fingers splayed, his eyes crinkling in a teary smile. “Goodbye,” he said-
The voices around him exploded in unison, screaming with a force that was almost physical. Michael staggered back, reflexively gripping Stanza tight about them, while Amira shot forward in a spray of dust. The screaming halted as Luc dodged, then dodged again; he sprang back to gain distance, his eyes on Amira, his stance open, beckoning the fight.
Amira tensed, ready to follow, then shivered and jumped back towards Michael and Saleh. Her eyes flicked to Michael, her head inclined fractionally. “Your test,” she said. “We’ll support.”
Michael let his breath out and began walking forward. Luc had stopped moving, his souls screaming out their chorus, but it slid away from Michael like water on glass. He called Stanza; He called Spark. His low souls swelled inside of him, a candle - then a pyre, roaring bright against the darkness.
Against Michael's light, Luc’s malformed soul coalesced around his body, sinking into his skin until Michael found it hard to look at him; it was different from Sobriquet’s apparition - that was a blot of nothing, whereas this was too much packed together, layer upon layer of dark, suppurating miasma, forming half-seen mouths and faces that shifted against Luc’s flesh.
Through it, Michael sought out Luc’s eyes once more. He met them and saw the man he had known - quiet, wry and fearful. He let his memories swell and fill him until he held the arc of their association in his mind. He swept across it, seeking the beginning.
Then Michael took a deep, steadying breath and sought its end.
“Winding, shaking, crumbling, quaking,” he murmured. “Broken paths require breaking.” Sever crept into his words, building around him until Stanza’s lattice took on a perilous aspect, the broken mirrors gaining sharp edges. Luc’s eyes widened as he felt them press close; Michael felt the wailing of his soul ascend to a pitch more horrid than the last. It skittered at the edge of his mind; he saw Amira step close to Saleh, her soul wrapping ironclad around the two of them.
Whether it was to guard against Luc or Michael, he could not say; he could spare nothing more for them. He let himself trust in her soul, and put them from his mind - and focused himself on Luc, on the mote of swirling abhorrence shrinking away from his words. The darkness around him jumped and skittered with flashes of actinic light, but Saleh’s darkness swallowed Luc’s efforts.
“Stop the madness now awaking,” Michael said, and dust shook from the walls of the Domus. A section of the vaulted roof collapsed thunderously. Panic began to show on Luc’s face; he looked up-
Michael saw him about to spring away and slammed his fist into the ground, reducing a span of flagstone and soil to fine sand. Luc stumbled in it, sinking down, Stanza speeding the flow of sand in just the right way to hasten his descent.
“Take one life to end the taking.” Spark seized Luc as he stumbled in the sand, pressing against the defense of his myriad souls; his limbs went rigid, his face slack. A low keening began in his throat. His souls spasmed out, screaming louder still. A beam of light shot out towards Michael, breaking through the darkness to strike-
Saleh’s hand slammed onto his shoulder; the beam fell short of where Michael stood, pulsing and fountaining uselessly into a tide of darkness. Amira’s hand came down on his other shoulder, the two Safid seeking Stanza’s protection against the onslaught even as their own souls wrapped around Michael in turn. He could feel Amira’s iron-hard protection, the ecstatic frenzy of energy funneling into Saleh.
Their presence buoyed Michael, and his words rang out with the force of a cannonade. “Make our peace through this forsaking-” The air crackled and leapt with power, with swirling dust and darkness. Luc’s mouth had joined the others wreathing him in silent screams, and the lattice swung inward to a bright, singular point.
“I SPEAK THE WORDS OF YOUR UNMAKING.”
Michael denied Luc’s works, his mind, his future, and his form. Paths fell away in rivulets of blood; Luc’s screams rang out in truth now. His souls pushed back in their might, but Michael’s leverage with Sever was greater still; the grinding pressure of destruction could not be opposed.
The eyes Michael had sought were no longer there. The face was no longer there. A red ruin in the form of a man screamed and thrashed in bloody sand, flaring a dying sun’s light towards them with mindless rage. The screams were nothing but a hoarse, rattling wheeze now.
It was a horror. But it was Michael’s horror; he refused to turn aside, to clothe it in justification or euphemism. He watched unblinking as he worked to murder his friend.
The screams stopped, and Luc sagged forward; Saleh let out a cry of triumph and struck out with a terrifying blast of heat, seeking to land the finishing blow-
Michael was flung backwards into a stone column, shattering it. Light erupted from the red sand, flashing blood to steam even as Saleh strove to contain it; he was the only one that had not been thrown away by the blast. His face was burnt, pale, in a rictus of concentrated effort as he funneled the energy out, away - but Luc drew it back to him, reinforcing the connection that Saleh had made. Building upon it.
A line of tangled light formed between them. Amira burst from a pile of rubble where she had been thrown, racing towards Saleh. A flash of light froze her face in Michael’s vision, an expression etched with anguish and resignation.
Saleh’s hand came up, bloodied and trembling, its palm towards her. Amira froze halfway in her dash. The light between Luc and Saleh continued to build, casting its glare down onto melting sand. The heat coming off it was so great that Michael could feel it even from his vantage; Saleh held a fold of his robe up to shield his face.
It was dimmer near him, a tight orb of darkness that shaded the three of them from the worst of the radiance, wrapped around Saleh.
“Amira!” he yelled. “Get clear, leave the city!” A fresh blast of heat made him wince, his head turning to the side; half his face was already red and blistered. “I can’t-”
His words were lost as the near wall of the Domus collapsed behind where Luc stood, the grand building toppling in on itself. Only one squarish corner stood half-standing, a teetering pile of scorched brick. Saleh turned to look at it, then wrenched his head back to Amira.
Belatedly, Michael ventured forth his souls, only to immediately recoil as he tasted the raw destruction growing between the two. It was incandescent, tearing everything apart by the sheer scale of its power. He was doubly grateful for Saleh’s shield; it was so bright that even the reflections from nearby buildings were unbearable to look at. Yet it was the burgeoning light between them that held Michael’s attention, for now he knew why Saleh had told them to run.
The energy was held there in contest between the two souls, and constrained by their power. If either of them let go, then it would release - and Luc continued to feed into it, leaching Gharon’s heat into a single brilliant point.
“Amira,” Saleh said. “Please.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned to Michael. Their eyes met. There was nothing to feel from within him, nothing that could pass by the overwhelming radiance of his soul, but his eyes closed, and his head inclined towards Michael, lowering until his face was fully downward-
Amira thundered into Michael, her arm looping around his waist and pulling him against her. She leapt up, screaming in brief agony as they left the protective shade of Saleh’s shelter; Michael felt a flash of pain from his hand that was exposed behind her. His boots were on fire again.
Then they were farther away, bounding across rooftops, Michael pinned against Amira’s chest in an undignified carry. Her face was blank, blackened where tears had not streaked down through the soot. He twisted to look behind them at the old city center; against the blinding field of white he saw a glowing figure leap upward, sailing high, high-
The light that followed was beyond light, beyond brightness. Amira cried out once again, and Michael joined her; an immense pain stabbed at every part of him that was not shielded by Amira’s body. Yet still he saw, because his sight was not tied to anything so fragile as eyes.
He saw the light burn away Stanza’s lattice, leaving behind a disorderly skein that bucked and twisted, luminous death radiating forward and back through chaotic paths. He saw the city of Gharon die. Flame and wind scoured down to its ancient bedrock, tearing away the last vestige of an empire.
He watched through the bounding arcs of Amira’s course until they reached a knoll beyond the outskirts, where she released him to sprawl into the grass. She crumpled down, curling inward; her clothing had burnt away in the back, her skin flayed down to charred muscle.
Yet she stood again, rounding on the city. The light had died away into an angry red glow underneath a flat-topped column of smoke that billowed inward at its perimeter. She screamed at it, tearing the sound from her throat until she collapsed, coughing, to the ground.
Michael heaved himself upright, stumbling over to her; she struggled to her feet once more.
“Stupid old man!” she screamed into the inferno, what remained of her hair whipping behind her in the furnace wind. “I told you! You listened! You listened, you knew, you-” She screamed wordlessly once more, kicking great furrows in the dirt.
Sobriquet materialized beside him, floating close. “What the fuck, Michael! The city! Your face! Are you okay?”
He frowned, then turned his sight on himself; it was not a pleasant view. His hair was burnt away save for a few singed tufts on the back of his head. The upper part of his face was raw and blistered, streaked with crimson; underneath that welling blood his eyes were a milky white.
“Ah,” he said, feeling his heart speed. “I should probably see an anatomens.” The thought struck him as absurd even before he had finished it, and he dissolved into giggles. He felt lightheaded, distant. “An anatomens. But I’m right here, I can-”
He paused as he flooded his body with Stanza’s restorative power, his mind clearing at once. “One moment.” He took that moment to steady himself once more, then began to work his soul as best he could. He wasn’t skilled, but when he was done his skin looked less of a horror. His hair was still gone, though, and his eyes still pale and blank.
Amira let loose another choked sob; Michael decided to stand clear of her for a while longer. He turned to Sobriquet. “Saleh and Luc are dead.”
“I’d fucking say so,” she muttered, turning towards the destroyed city. “What was that? I couldn’t see anything close to the city after Luc opened his mouth.”
Michael shook his head. “Light,” he said. “Held between Luc and Saleh until one of the two couldn’t bear it.”
“Idiot,” Amira mumbled, wavering where she knelt upon the grass. “Idiot. Couldn’t just be saved. Had to be you.” She collapsed to the side, her arms trembling. “Had to be you.”
Sobriquet gave her a wary look, then returned her attention to Michael. “You’re bearing up better than I expected,” she said.
Michael gave her an odd look, trying to tease out the intent of her words. “Oh,” he said, realizing. “The souls-”
The souls. A sick jolt of adrenaline coursed through him as he turned his gaze inward, already knowing what he’d find. There was nothing more than there had been, no bright lights to herald Smoke and Stellar.
Slowly, he turned back towards the embers of Gharon. The cloud overhead had billowed into a great tree, its crown reaching out to obscure the sky above. Yet the crown warped, twisting; the column of smoke at the center constricted inward. The wind whipped past, no longer blowing outward - but, steadily, circling around the edge of the wreckage.
And in Gharon’s molten center, shimmering through the haze, Michael saw a star flare into brilliance. That terrible light pulsed once - and winked out, replaced by a blot of utter darkness. The wind pulled, shuddered, the world was drawn inward by the spiraling wind. Grit pelted the side of Michael’s face as the gale intensified.
The star dawned once more.
Comments
TMarkos
Interesting - "gritted" actually sounds wrong to me when I read it. I'm positive I've seen both forms marked as proper, which probably means that "gritted" is formally correct but "grit" is a consequence of regularization (or irregularization?) for a fairly uncommon verb, bringing it in line with the unmodified past tense for similar monosyllabic t-ending words like "hit." Ngram agrees with you, though, so I'll make a note to go through and scrub the text for instances of it, since I'm sure I've made that error more than a few times in the book thus far. Good spot! Thanks for the quibble.
Chris Phoenix
Minor grammar quibble: The past tense of "grit" is "gritted." Several authors on Royal Road with otherwise excellent proofreading say things like "he drew a breath and grit his teeth." (Similarly, the past tense of "pet" is "petted" - I don't remember if you've made that mistake, but I know I've seen it in my Patreon feed.) With editing (and storytelling!!) as good as yours, the last few mistakes stand out. Thanks for listening...
TMarkos
He's the subject of the title, the epigraph and the chapter! For this chapter, he's the main character - which ended up not being so great for him in the end, but at least he got to have his fun.
mrt
Appreciate that the chapter of Saleh's folly starts with him musing about human imperfection... This is such a fitting end for him
