Heretic Part Two Chapter Eighteen

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 18

Isaand emerged from the godspool to find clouds overhead with the scent of rain in the air. Bright golden light shone down from overhead, illuminating the island and over-saturating everything so that colors became faded and shadows became black as pitch. A deep rolling roar like thunder echoed across the glassy lake, the familiar growl of Vehx’s released form. The white-and-gold giant serpent floated overhead, his long body coiled protectively around the godspool, translucent enough that Isaand could see through it.

Two figures stood on the shore. Ratha was the first to draw Isaand’s eye. She stood with her shoulders slumped, a short hunting spear held in one fist, her eyes lost in shadow. She was turned half-towards Vehx, muscles coiled as though ready to dodge, and half towards the other figure.

Hahmn stood as tall and wide and solid as he had when Isaand had first seen him, here on this island. His eyes were open no more than a slit, his hands were clasped peacefully behind him. He’d lost his vest, and stood with his chest bare, but ugly red lines stood out across trunk and arms, like deep cuts at the start of infection. Awlta’s red energy glowed within them, staining the sand around him in a bright pattern. When he opened his eyes wide at Isaand’s arrival, they too glowed scarlet.

“Is the Lsetha here?” Isaand asked, quietly, tilting his head to direct his attention to Ylla. The girl stared, eyes trailing across the island, and she nodded.

“Yes. It’s here, all around the island, coiled many times. Its head is sticking up right there, ready to strike.” She pointed a finger at the space about twenty feet above Hahmn, never breaking her eerie smile, as her eyes shifted from blue to green. Isaand quietly cursed himself again for not having the skill to utilize his Godseye. He would have to rely on her, regardless of his wishes.

“I could have told you that,” Vehx growled, his voice booming in Isaand’s head. “If you look, you’ll notice he’s already taken a few bites out of me. The bastard is strong. Something tells me his goddess didn’t take quite so much care to ensure that his power was limited.”

“Stronger than you?” Isaand asked.

“Of course not. I’d have had this all cleared up by now if you hadn’t ordered me not to kill. Still… some assistance would not go unappreciated.”

That gave Isaand a chill. If Vehx, as arrogant as he was, needed help it certainly meant that he was concerned he couldn’t defeat the Lsetha himself.

“I still hope that won’t be necessary. Hold for a moment, unless one of them attacks.”

Isaand walked forward, taking a breath as he passed through the shimmering form of Vehx’s body, its energy crackling against his. Hahmn stood about twenty feet away, the small fire Ratha had built crackling behind him, his shadow flickering on the walls of the little cave.

Hahmn’s eyes blinked repeatedly as he met Isaand’s gaze. Though he stood as still as ever, there was a distinct tension in his posture that hadn’t been there before. If that meant what Isaand hoped, then maybe this wouldn’t come to bloodshed. If it didn’t… maybe it meant he would have more of a chance.

“So you’ve gone from telling horror stories to creating them, is that the way of it?” Isaand asked, his voice ringing out across the distance between them.

“Only in service of the greater good.” Hahmn’s voice did not betray him, and in fact as soon as he began to speak his body relaxed, his eyes slipping into his usual half-lidded look. Something about that bothered Isaand. He realized he’d seen that look before, on the faces of the sick and injured, when the effects of the medicine given to them took hold, the cessation of pain a powerful drug all its own. “I told you before that Awlta strives to free us from bondage and tear away lies. Our gods hold us to their lands, corralled like cattle waiting to be milked. The gods lie to us with every breath, through their cowardly clerics. I should know. I was a cleric for many years, and spoke the meaningless platitudes and assurances the Child of the Shore passed my way, when they bothered to do so. More often, I made my own lies, whatever I felt would serve the community, would make them happy. Never did I pause to consider that they might desire the truth.”

“How does death and torment serve these people, Hahmn? What greater good does Awlta claim to be planting here?”

“The people of this lake have lived here for centuries, living quiet, dull lives with no purpose or stimulation. Any who choose to leave are harshly punished by the outside world, apostates without the protection of a god. Ratha made it out in the world, and returned, and now she is shunned and spat on by her own family and friends who remained loyal to their own gods.” Hahmn raised an arm in Ratha’s direction. Isaand saw a harsh nod as she confirmed his words. “Ulm-etha provides nothing for them except the stones on which they build their huts, and yet has the temerity to demand they give up their own lifeblood to fill his gluttonous gullet. Mother Maesa cares only for her lake. She tolerates the men and women who fish in it, but otherwise pays them no heed. I think she’d prefer if they were gone entirely. Awlta says she never did agree with the need for us.

A life lost to sickness or violence is a tragedy, but a life lost at the end of a long, empty existence is worse. A waste. This entire community is a dead limb, slowly rotting away to nothing. Alwta would give them a purpose, and in doing so, chip away at the tyranny of the Hranis gods. You yourself stood against Amauro and Tzamet, so do not claim to find their like faultless.”

“So you’d have me believe that when the stones fall they’ll be better off? What of the ones who won’t survive the chaos, the ones who’ve already been killed by your Sendra?”

The certainty in Hahmn’s eyes faltered, and he looked away. “I don’t enjoy any killings. But some sacrifice is always necessary to make a change. And the number here will be tiny, compared to the great shift that is coming. You don’t know Awlta’s plans, what she’s told me… I’m only a part of this… I need only to do as she tells me, and the others will do their part-” Hahmn shook his head, pulling himself together. “I told the Lsetha we should only hurt a few people, perhaps a killing here and there, just enough to put the fear into them. Awlta said that if we drive them away from Ulm-etha they’ll only run into Maesa’s arms, so we must also destroy their faith in her as well. But the Lsetha has done this before. He knows what needs to be done. I told him to handle it as he sees fit. I did not know how many had been killed… but I cannot change that now. If I stop here, then would good have I done?”

“What good have you done?” Isaand asked. “It sounds like you’re only doing what she orders you to do because you don’t want to admit you’re being used. You’ve heard all the stories of Awlta, Lady of Lies, Mother of Genocide, you admitted it. You’ve seen firsthand that at least some of what is said is true, you’ve helped to make it happen. What have you seen to make you think there will be any good to come of this? Did Awlta even tell you what the ultimate goal of all of this is?”

“She’s told me enough. She’s told me how to do what I need to do. That’s more than the Child ever taught me, more than Ulm-Etha or Maesa bothers to impart to their clerics. Awlta speaks to me, values me. She cares, she’s made that clear,” Hahmn said.

“As an executioner cares for his blade. You told me before that you had no clear plans for the future, that you hoped you might journey with me from this place. Awlta has given you no idea of your future because she has none for you. You’re a disposal tool. Open your damn eyes Hahmn, think!”

The uncertainty grew clearer on Hahmn’s face… until the red light of his wounds and eyes began to shine brighter. Then once more he became the image of satisfaction, a manic smile spreading across his face, too wide, like a rictus grin.

“I’ve always had weak faith. Worries have eaten away at my mind since I was a boy, but Awlta helped me put a stop to that. Her power… you have no idea how it feels. She’s made it all clear, yes, I can hear her now. Yes, Lady, I do. I know-”

He’s raving, Isaand thought, saddened. It was not only Awlta’s godly power within him, granting him miracles. She’d given him all the things he’d never had before in his life: purpose, certainty, validation, the bone-deep feeling that he was someone special, that he could change the world. I felt the same, when Szet gave me my mission. What good was logic against such gifts? He’d have a better chance arguing with a mirror. Once more, Isaand felt the heaviness of exhaustion pulling at him from within, and all he wanted to do was turn away and let Hamhn get on with his misdeeds. The people of this lake had treated him no better. They didn’t want his help, would not care if he gave his life to save them.

Isaand felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a deep pit, but something swelled up from within his heart, saving him from despair. He felt his hands curl into fists, his teeth bared as he gritted them together. Anger filled up the empty spaces within him.

“I don’t really care why you’re doing this,” Isaand spat at Hahmn. “Your excuses are worse than your goddess’ and she didn’t even try to justify herself. Szet was right about just how broken this world is, but he’s sent me to do something about it. Are you going to get out of my way, or are you going to keep being part of the problem?”

Hahmn’s eyes widened at his change in tone. “Well, it seems the healer has some backbone after all. What are you going to do? Szet the Indolent is a known coward and bystander, not one with the spine needed to arm his servant with the power truly needed in this world, the power to defend or destroy. You yourself confessed to me that if we faced the Lsetha, you would leave the combat to me.”

“You gave me a message, when you came out of the godspool this morning. ‘ The wound cannot heal until the bad blood has been drained,’ that’s what you said,” Isaand answered, leveling a finger at the Lector. “The fool I was, I read wisdom into it, thinking she was advising me to put aside my anger so that I could accept the world for what it was. But there is truth to it. You and your goddess and your Sendra are a sickness in this land. And I’m the one to cure it.”

Taking one more step forward, he slipped his foot under the bonewood staff he’d left on the edge of the godspool and flipped it up into his hands, leveling it like a spear at Hahmn’s heart. The Lector only laughed, but Ratha rushed towards him, breaking her silence.

“Don’t do this, Isaand! You’re throwing your life away, you’ve seen the things he can do.” Her expression was twisted with myriad emotions. Isaand glared at her.

“Afraid for the life of your conspirator? You’ve been in on this all along, haven’t you?”

“It’s not like that,” Ratha said, stomping at the sand. “The Free sent me, since I knew the area, because they knew one of the Unbound was active here. But my goal was to observe. There are still people here I care about, but I serve a higher purpose now. When you arrived, and talked with Hahmn, I hoped…”

“That everything would end peacefully? Why help us hunt the Lsetha then? Why try to convince me to come with you? You said it before, right here, that it was easier to trick a man than to trust him with the truth. You’ve just been using me… and Hahmn is well. I think I see now. Your Free wanted to know what happened when two Unbound crash up against each other. Well you’re about to find out.”

“A trick is not a lie,” Ratha insisted. “There was plenty of truth in what I said. I want you to come with me to Kelylla still. There are people there you should meet, so many things you could learn. Things about your god, things you’ll never hear from his divine lips. We can still go. Leave now, Hahmn will let you go if you don’t try to stop him. What happens here… if you’d chosen to go somewhere else, you’d never know about any of this. It wouldn’t be your responsibility. It’s not your responsibility. Just walk away, and you don’t have to die.”

“Listen to the woman, Isaand,” Hahmn said evenly. “I like you. I’d rather not murder you. That’s the truth.”

“What about Ylla?” Ratha asked, pointing past Isaand to where the girl waited. Against his judgment, Isaand glanced back. The girl stood on the edge of the godspool, bathed in the golden light of Vehx, a meaningless smile wide on her face. She looked entirely calm, nothing like the swirling vortex of emotion roiling in Isaand’s gut. “If you die here, what happens to here? You saved her life, twice now. Don’t throw it away for nothing.”

“Shut up,” Isaand snarled. The energy Szet had given him still filled him, electric, urging him to act. He took a deep breath, felt it flow through his body, violence uncoiling and ready to act. It felt good, like how powerful he’d felt when he’d unleashed Vehx on Ulm-kanet and watched that sanctimonious cleric’s face turn to horror at what her stubbornness had wrought. It made him feel certain. This was not his end. “You say you’re here to observe, nothing more. If you aren’t going to pick a side, stand back and make sure you don’t get caught in the fire. And when you get back to your ignorant ‘Free,’ tell them that Isaand Laeson, the Lector of Szet the Peaceful, does not stand by and let others die in his sight.”

“It’s coming!” Ylla’s shrill voice cried out, and Vehx roared overhead. Isaand saw a flash of light on the invisible scales of the Lsetha, and then light blinded him as Vehx leaped forward.

The two massive Sendra collided with a sound like an avalanche, and sand erupted in a geyser from the spot five feet in front of Isaand, almost throwing him off his feet. He teetered, then felt the energy Szet had given him rush through his body and turned his momentum into a sideways dash, rushing around the body of Vehx towards Hahmn on the opposite side of the island, shouting a command as he went.

“Keep the Lsetha off me!” Isaand knew if Vehx struck at the Lector and was disabled by the Lsetha in the process, Isaand would have no chance facing them both. All he could hope for is that he would be able to stop Hahmn on his own. No, not on my own, he told himself. My god is with me.

Across the short beach, Hahmn had a knife in one hand, and he swiftly sliced it across his forearm, baring it open from elbow to wrist. Blood spurted out, and began to shape in the air around his arm, a massive bladed tendril that could slice Isaand in two with one blow.

Part Two: Chapter Nineteen