Heretic
Part Two
Chapter 17
The Unbound Goddess Awlta’s voice echoed through the strange space Isaand hung in, an overwhelming pressure pushing into his brain. By the time her second sentence faded away Isaand’s head was pounding, his bones aching as though he’d struck each one against a hard surface, his muscles weak and lethargic. He gasped out a breath, and a response.
“It’s all been you, hasn’t it?” Isaand asked. “Hahmn is the Lsendra’s master. He’s the one preying on the people of the lake. He spilled his blood, thick with the curse you placed on him, to stain the altar at the village, poisoning Ulm-Etha with each sacrifice. He played me for a fool.”
And how did you come to such a conclusion, little priest?
“It’s the simplest solution. A Sendra has to have a Lector for a master. Hahmn and I are the only Lectors in the area, unless there was one hidden. But why look for a mystery villain when there has been one at hand all along? The name Awlta is often paired with an abominable descriptor: the Tormentor, the Queen of Death-”
“The Plague Shaper, Mother of Corpses, Lady Genocide, the Bringer of Ends,” yes. Awlta’s voice shook Isaand as it purred with appreciation. I am always curious to see what appellations they will invent next. It inspires me, encourages me to keep my methods shifting. Were I to stick to tried-and-true methods they would surely grow used to me, and cease to fear.
“Why? You are a God, Unbound and free to wield immense power however you wish. What purpose could you possibly have to waste all this energy torturing and murdering?” Isaand demanded.
Look to your own god, puppet. Does the world he created not please you? All that this existence has to offer comes at his design. I am but a player on the stage, acting out the script that has been handed to me. Though I, at least, enjoy my role.
“Lies. The Fifth World was created by all the gods of the Pact, of which Szet is absent.”
The little fish swims around the borders of the tiny puddle he calls home, and thinks he knows the world. Awlta’s mockery grated on Isaand’s mind, and he ground his teeth as the pain edged towards a migraine. This is getting me nowhere, and costing me, he thought. His breathing was harder now, and he could sense things moving below and behind him, shadows in the dark, bringing with them a foul and noxious stench. Whispers, low moans began to rise out of the darkness, familiar sounds of suffering and hopelessness. Isaand shivered as the sounds brought him back to those days among his tribe, watching the Bleached slowly wither away in the shade.
Something wet and clammy brushed against his bare foot, shocking him. Looking down, Isaand saw dozens, no, hundreds more bodies below, feebly reaching, eyes filled with pain and terrible knowledge. They were coiled together as if forming some immense rope, with arms and legs straining out, feeling through the darkness. Blood covered them from head-to-toe, and here and there pieces had been torn away and left to weep, but no matter how awful their wounds appeared they still lived. The stories said Awlta kept her playthings for centuries, forever denied the rebirth following the Churn. The weight of Ylla bore harder on him. Had he given her a second chance at life only to doom her to eternal torment?
“Why would Hahmn… want…” Speaking was becoming more difficult as Isaand’s thoughts turned to mush. Awlta seemed to understand, though.
Destroy this placid community? You say Hahmn played you for a fool, and you’re right of course, but that’s made all the more pathetic by his own nature. Hahmn is an empty-headed lout, desperate for approval, still that same lonely child telling stories to make the others value him. All it took was a few flattering visions, the pretense of admiration, and he didn’t think to ask the obvious questions. You’d call him the master of the Lsetha, but it is Hahmn that is the true subordinate. The Lsetha feeds where and when it wills, and my loyal Lector turns his head from the truth he does not wish to acknowledge. I have assured him that these tragedies will lead to healing, like taking off a rotting limb. And I do not lie. When Ulm-etha dies and his stones fall, all his pitiful people will be forced out into the world, to live or die by their own merits, relying on no gods to protect them. Many will fail, but those that survive will be forged anew, into survivors.
“You’d have me believe… you do this to help these people?”
Awlta’s laughter slammed against Isaand from all sides, spinning him wildly around in his prison like a whirlpool. His stomach churned and Isaand tasted bile in his throat, choking him.
Oh, no. I do not care what happens to any of you insects the Bound have the temerity to call their children. Humans were a mistake, no less than this whole world, and the only way in which they bring me joy is in watching the sad drama that unfolds when all is taken from them. Still, I serve a valuable role, do I not? Just as the forest would stagnate and die without lightning and fire, humanity would only wallow in mediocrity without a disaster to inspire them competence. I do more for your kind than a hundred timid Ulm-Ethas.
The more he heard her speak, the more certain Isaand became that something was wrong. Her tone had the air of banter about it, meaningless justification that she did not care if he believed. Something she had said earlier rang true, amongst the lies. “I am but a player on the stage, acting out the script that has been handed to me.”
“This isn’t… what you truly want… is it?”
The feeling in Awlta’s lair changed. The tormented creatures all around Isaand shifted, their expressions turning to ravenous fury, biting and snapping towards him, drawing ever closer. The huge red eye before him narrowed, blood bursting from the bodies that formed it as they were swiftly crushed together. The goddess’ anger seemed to bubble up from below, rising like water over Isaand’s head.
None of us gets what we want, puppet. Not in this world.
The goddess went silent, and her victims were all around Isaand now, reaching, climbing over him. He felt teeth bite into his legs and feet as they climbed higher, and he gasped out at the pain. There was only one thing that could possibly save him now, he knew. Pushing away the pain as well as he could, Isaand reached deep inside him and prayed for help, shouting a name.
“Szet!”
Air rushed out of Isaand’s lungs as the pain ceased. Awlta’s oppressive darkness became dim, with a vague sense of distance replacing the oppressive emptiness. A low dull roar echoed on the edge of his hearing, like an unseen waterfall gushing somewhere behind. The stench of blood and decay and viscera was swept away by clean dry air. A great, massive presence coiled around Isaand, and just behind him he could hear a soft voice whispering.
I am here, my servant.
Then came a sharp slash through the world around him and Awlta appeared once more, her minions rushing at him with bared fangs, her scream of rage vibrating in his bones. The creatures were seconds away, then-
The cool cave returned, shadows dancing on the wall before him. Isaand sank to his knees, covered in sweat, laying Ylla down at his feet. Before him, through the stone wall of Szet’s cave, he could see the space where Awlta still waited, but a pale light was shining down on her as she snarled, revealing a massive form of hundreds-of-thousands of squirming bodies, arranged in the shape of a hideous, angry woman with a single eye and a long, hanging tongue that slammed against the wall of Szet’s light, trying to reach him.
Traitor! Liar! You have no right to come here, to deny me vengeance now!
Awlta’s voice was as potent a weapon as ever, but Szet’s familiar power was within Isaand now, suffusing his body and destroying the pain as it came, leaving only a comfortable ache like that which came after a good stretch. Awlta started to scream something more, but Szet’s power lashed almost lazily across the space between them and her voice became a distant rumble, too small to register as anything more than a light pressure.
The Goddess of Suffering speaks in pain, Isaand. Her words are meant only to hurt, not to communicate. Listening to them will do you no good.
As before, Isaand could feel Szet’s presence around him, behind him, reflected on the space before him, and he knew he should not turn and look upon his nature. Instead, he prostrated himself, kneeling over Ylla and placing his head to the cool stone of the cave floor, shaking with relief.
“Thank you, Lord. I did not… I didn’t know-”
If I would come for you? This unsanctified pool is unclaimed by any Bound god, a true deific wilderness. Where one Unbound can travel, so can I. Though Awlta’s traps and defenses seek to hold me back. Even as we speak, I am locked in battle with her. Our war will not go unnoticed by the other gods. The eyes of all the heavens will soon be focused on this pool.
“You’ve put yourself in danger?” Isaand asked.
What sort of god would I be, to ignore my follower in danger? You are tired, I can see. You will need your strength, when you leave this pool. Your enemies wait outside.
Isaand felt a light touch on his back, and jerked up as energy flooded into him, eliciting a wild laughter. He felt five years old again, wild and free, his aches and numbness gone entirely, miraculous power filling him so much he felt he might burst if he did not let it out soon.
And while I am here, there is another who needs my help. What is her name, this girl you’ve held back from death?
“Ylla. I did something wrong. She’s damaged. She’s not herself. Can you-”
Ylla has had her soul split and tangled in the ghosts of others dead. She is a ragged thread now, pieces fraying and torn. I cannot restore her to what she was… but I can weave her anew, use the pieces to make a new, stronger whole. I need only her permission.
“She can’t answer,” Isaand said, despairing.
No need. She hears me. And I hear her. This won’t take long, young one.
Light shone, and Ylla shuddered under Isaand’s hands. She gasped, her eyes flying open wide. Where once her eyes had been light brown, almost orange in sunlight, they now shifted and wavered from color to color, grey, black, brown, blue, white, green, violet, hazel, gold, every color of eye of those who walked the Fifth World. A myriad of emotions flashed across her face as swiftly as a sudden storm, settling into a calm, accepting smile. Isaand put a hand under her neck and helped her sit up, meeting her eyes in concern.
“Isaand,” Ylla said. Her voice was strange. It was a little girl’s, still, but it seemed somehow older, more mature. Isaand felt like there were echoes of the woman Ratha in it, and even the ancient steady tones of his former master Teraandis. “Thank you.”
“You’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m well. The people in my head, they’re better now. They’re still there, but now they’re me.” She hesitated, eyes searching as though reading a book he could not see, then the smile returned. “I know how to swim.”
“That’s good?” Isaand said. Ylla helped herself to her feet, glancing around them at the dim cave. Szet’s shadow no longer danced on the wall before them, Isaand realized. His presence behind them was gone. When he turned, he saw only a long dark tunnel with a hint of light at the end.
“Where are we?” Ylla asked.
“I’m not sure I know the answer to that. But we have to leave. Ratha is in danger. The whole lake is in danger. I wish I could leave you here, where you’ll be safe, but-”
“You can’t,” Ylla said, smiling. “So there’s no point in worrying about it.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Isaand frowned. Ylla stood there, quietly smiling, holding his hand and waiting for him to act. She’d said she was better now, and he’d felt Szet’s power touch her, but something seemed wrong. She acted wrong, like she wasn’t a child at all.
“What are we waiting for?” Ylla asked, her eyes shifting to a quizzical blue. Isaand sighed.
“What indeed?” The girl trailing behind him, he strode down the cave towards the surface.
Heretic 