A lich in time liches ge.., p.26
A Lich in Time: Liches Get Stitches 5, page 26
Of course. “Although vocalising is pleasing too. From time to time. And easier to modulate.” A feathered tendril drifts towards Jenkins, tickling behind his ears. Jenkins sits up and leans into the caress. What a nice piece of elemental magic, little brother.
Jenkins, clearly proud at the role he has played in this little adventure, and done with it all, tucks his paws beneath himself, eyes closing into pleased slits.
The great monster and I float opposite each other in the nothingness of the void, glimmers of gold catching the dim starlight when he moves. I have a lot of questions for the entity formerly known as beastie, Elding and Tora, and they all fight my tongue to come out at once in an incoherent jumble.
“How did you-what happened to—”
“How did I end up with my soul split into three parts? A sorry tale, parts of which you already know.”
The tendrils and tentacles furl and unfurl in all their dusky dark and feathery glory, gesturing towards the dust cloud that is all that remains of the parasitical realm.
“My most recent abode. No, no, don’t worry, you did everyone a favour by destroying it. There was nothing good remaining. Only more evil could spill from that place, and enough lives have been stolen as it is. I will carry the memory of happier times in my mind’s eye.”
“Speaking of which, why the obsession with eyes?”
Perhaps I am too bold to ask. I do not really know this creature, or his capabilities. My position on my broom is yet precarious, but by all that is unholy, I have been dragged backwards through the cosmic bushes of unconsenting socialisation, and I will revert to my natural state of grouchy bog witch.
Excellent, says Astraios. I always did enjoy that aspect of you. Bottling up feelings is unhealthy. Well. Eyes. Yes. All of the gold flecked eyeballs on his shell roll themselves. I am a fan, yes. A collector, as you know. Why? Slightly more complicated. So. Where to start? Nucleosynthesis! The urge to create! To be! Cosmic inflation stops, and what do you have? Matter and light! And of course my favourite, probably, after eyes… darkness! Alright, alright too soon. Hmm. A beginning that makes sense? AHA.
There were four of us Ascended, creatures you would call Gods. I am all that remains, now that Mallo is gone.
“Mallo?”
Mallo was the pitiful creature who ended my life as your ‘beastie’ and ‘Elding’.
“That thing?”
She was not always thus. Her survival, even in that form, was a surprise to me. I hope nothing of her consciousness survived the torment of all those years. Although, I assume if she was conscious, then she was driven to madness aeons ago. I am glad she now has peace.
Astraios pauses for a long moment, the tendrils still, before continuing.
But as to my tale. Long have the ‘scientists’ of this pitiful outpost sought to clone the Ascendant’s DNA, to splice our genes, to make more biddable versions of us all, not understanding that true power can only be found through discipline and enlightenment.
I look at him blankly. “Clone?”
They sought to copy us, he amends. To make new, biddable beings that they could control, docile but with our powers. They wanted what we could do, but never earned the right. They wanted to travel the stars, not to experience or to learn, but to conquer. They were greedy. They knew not with what they meddled. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
You saw the results of their experiments. The voice turns bleak. The giant nautilus turns towards me, the eyes observing me in a way that scours my very soul. You would not exist without their experiments. But by the time we discovered them, it was too late. They could not be contained.
“They created the parasites?”
Yes. Not on purpose, but the roads to madness are lined with the corpses of well intentioned beings… or something. One of my fellow Ascended was blessed with the power of perception. It was they who first discovered the “experiments”. In anger, Oriel accosted the perpetrators, but in doing so were themselves infected. Their corrupted body was directly responsible for the deaths of most of the planet. Only those who use echolocation or—
“What now?”
Other means of perceiving, besides sight. Those beings without eyes. Oriel used other’s eyes to examine the universe. A habit I have adopted because… well, more is better!
The myriad eyes crease up at the corners, then spin round and round. The sight makes me a little queasy.
Sorry. Anyway, after Oriel became infected by the pestilent abominations, they roamed the planet—ahem, the world, or realm, as you would call it—seeking prey. Around this time, I became aware of what was occurring and returned from your planet. I killed Oriel myself, and I have no regrets for that action… though it weakened me dreadfully. Your goddess of doorways, Lillian, had already escaped… I only learned of her ability to traverse space and time later… when it was already too late…
Here the golden starry nautilus stops moving, the stillness reminiscent of my old beastie, and I feel a brief pang of misery at the loss of my simple friend. I shut it away. The beastie was a fragment. That fragment is still here, just… more. Much more. And this is what he always wanted. He is better now. This is better, I just have to get to know this new being. Perhaps we can be friends still, although starting again from the beginning feels daunting.
A horrible thought occurs to me: the beastie was bound to me through the powers of necromancy and parasitical lich magic. Perhaps we were never friends.
Of course we were friends, says Astraios, but shut up and listen to the rest of my story, it’s good and I’m not finished yet. No need to be so maudlin. He laughs inside my head, a merry chortle before sinking once more into mercurial seriousness. We all had different affinities. I feel most comfortable travelling amongst the stars. The particular attribute they craved was my ability to make portals.
“It is useful,” I murmur.
So it is. The Ascendant that bonded with your Whisperer was sensitive to sound—
“The silver! His magic…”
Indeed. Your… people were lucky to discover that early on. It helped contain the menace. But yes, eyes. An interesting evolution. Arguably a weakness. The power of observation, but the need to borrow the tools. Eyes usually, but occasionally water or mirrors or camera optics. The parasites that remain are not so sophisticated that they can use reflective surfaces, thank the stars, but that is why I insisted you remove yours. Even in my soul-fractured state, I remembered this was important. You do not need eyes to see, but any creature that does dooms itself. The parasites attack through the eye cavity and head straight for the meat of the brain—
A thought occurs to me. “If that’s true, why did the Blind Queen’s Acolytes fail? They all remove their eyes in ritual, but those sent through the door came back infected?”
“Do they now?” says Astraios aloud.
For a moment I think Astraios has not followed my train of thought, because how would he know who the Blind Queen is? But then, I’m only following half of his babble, so it really only seems fair.
The tendrils wriggle in agitation. You fought off more than just those who wish to be seen, different parasites bonded with different Ascendant. Sight, sound, touch. All but meeeee…
He sounds smug, but there is clearly something on his mind.
Your Goddess of Doorways was neutralised…
There is a hint of question to the statement.
“She was.” I picture the tomb in my mind’s eye. That disturbing corpse stuck through with so many blades, pinning her desecrated body to the ground.
A portal erupts in the darkness, startling me.
Jenkins yawns, stretches, and sits up on his haunches. This portal is the most perfect I have ever seen. Completely stable. A mesmerising, star spangled whorl of incandescent blue, spiralling into a gate. Through it, I can see the tomb and the cave from which we arrived.
Your passage home, Maud, says Astraios. Jenkins. A dusky, soft feathered tendril pops up to caress my cheek, and then Jenkins’ chin for the briefest of moments. The touch is so soft, it feels like duckling down. I will see you again, before the end.
“You are not coming with us?”
“I have something to take care of,” he says. “Someone I need to find. Urgently. But take care, both of you, and make good use of the time that is available to you. You have my undying gratitude and my profound admiration.”
A second portal snaps open, this one the size of a barn. It shines like a small star. Astraios surges through it before I can respond. I catch a glimpse of a sunlit meadow before it spins into nothing.
Checking that Jenkins is holding tight, I urge the broom through our portal, afraid that it will close on us if I linger any longer.
Zooming through, we bid farewell to the endless void, the stars, and the uncanny stillness, before collapsing onto the firm cave floor in an ecstasy of released tension. I get one last glance at the stars before that portal too, snaps shut.
Jenkins sighs and then stretches out his haunches on the dust covered floor in a long, luxurious stretch. I am treated to a fine view of his elongated canines.
“I’m glad to be back too.” I pick myself up and dust off my skirts so vigorously the silver jangles.
Part of me had not expected to survive this long, and yet here we are. Now I must confront the Whisperer. There is nothing left to be done. Well, first I must find a way out of this tomb. I had half expected to find the Green Lady here, awaiting my return, and am slightly disappointed not to find her here. It would be nice to tell someone of my adventures. But she is a goddess. She probably has hobbies of her own to attend to.
It feels strange to be without the beastie, and Elding and Tora. I hope Astraios comes back, although I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.
I look down at my bag, at my bandoliers. Only a single unexploded soul-bomb remains. Perhaps I should have tossed it into the void, but maybe I can use it against Him? Amongst my other treasures, and my eyes (which I pop back in), is also the seed the Green Lady gifted me. This feels like something I should add to my will. I cannot imagine how a seed would be useful in battle, unless it grows really, really fast.
I stare at it for a few minutes, trying to deduce its purpose, then tuck it back away again with a sigh. Time to go. There must be a pedestrian way out, or perhaps we need to test portals? I open one, foolishly hoping to see Downing Forest. A mighty, foul smelling wind blows through it, blinding me with grit and sand. I slam the door shut. Nope. Perhaps there is a passageway.
I thread my way through the doors and windows, poking and seeking. The empty cavern is lit only by the cracked portals and the dim glow of the silver swords piercing the dead goddess’s corpse. I stop by her for a moment, pondering her form.
Now that I have seen the other parasites, I can see the resemblance to the atrocious oozing monster that fought the beastie. There are truly fates worse than death. The goddess of the visions reminded me of the Fairhaven Girls when I met them; carefree and full of life, never suspecting they could put a foot wrong, and filled with joy.
“I’m sorry, Lillian,” I say to her broken body. And I mean it.
Jenkins chirrups from the other side of the room. He has found a passage. I turn to go, then whirl back around sharply as something moves in the stillness.
“Help meeeee… Killllllllll meeeeeeeee,” rasps the corpse behind me. “Pleassssssse…”
Chapter 38
Dead Gods and Onions/The Parable of the Mad Woman
I approach the impaled corpse with caution. Nothing remains here that speaks of humanity, Lillian, or of the goddess she used to be. Before she invited disaster with her guileless idiocy. Was it divine hubris? Or mere, lingering mortal discontent? I too, know what it is to be lonely, although I have never brought about the end of a civilisation over it. Not yet, anyway.
Jenkins winds around my ankles, his tail forming a question mark. I reach down absently to pat him. The silver swords gleam softly as we watch the tomb together, our gaze shifting between the portals. Did something crawl through one of them? After a while, I begin to think I hallucinated the words, but then I see the flesh of the dead god shift.
Black ichor drips with the movement. The twitching muscle becomes a distinct motion, and somewhere, deep within the rolls of decomposing tissue, a mouth forms.
Ennnnd it, Maud, she says. End my suffering.
“I thought you were dead,” I say, not moving any closer.
The flesh moves again. Not much—like uncomfortable muscles shifting, or earth settling, so tremendous is the spread of cracked chitin and rotting meat. A score or so dark, onion-sized bulges ripple to the surface on an exposed fleshy expanse. They struggle around a silver blade, like knobbly, elderly travellers, before bursting through the pockmarked skin to peer blearily at me through the darkness. One veiny eyeball appears to burst with the strain. Gobs and strings of mucus-like thread drip down the wound.
An unfamiliar emotion fills my bones. Is it pity?
“We are both dead,” says the mouth, tiny, a whisper. It is human sized, which looks ridiculously out of proportion. The lips, off-puttingly human, crack, spilling dark blood across the rim. It is lost in the dull folds. The remaining eyes stare at me. “But myyyyy existencsssse is an eternal torment. End it. End it, end it. Pleassse.”
“I am not touching those swords,” I say, sharply. “Lillian, if you are still in there. I know what you are capable of.”
The corpse laughs then. At least, I think it is laughing. It’s hard to tell beneath the great jelly mountains of rumbling, oozing, blubbery flesh. Or is it sobbing? A plate of chitin slides off the mound and onto the floor, only to be swept back up into the mass with surprising speed by bulging protrusions. The eyes turn, retreating, and roll back into the soft bits of the body. Shutting themselves to the world. The holes they made in the skin do not close over, leaving behind gaping, bleeding wounds. There is no healing here.
“ENNNNND IT, I BEG YOU.”
“How? Kill you? It seems like the gods did the best they could, when they… er… put you here.” I eye the glowing swords warily. “Why did they not end it?” It has been a long time since I viewed the gods as infallible, but I am unwilling to dabble in this mummer’s farce any more than necessary. “Why do they continue to keep you alive?”
A gob of black ichor drops to the ground, adding its stain to the rock.
“They could not kill me. The… modifications I underwent do not allow it… My body cannibalises itself… over and over and over and over and over… and anyone else who comes too close.” The mouth snaps shut. Grins. Then lets out a piercing scream that bounces off the rock. The scream continues for a long, long time.
Minutes pass.
I do not move.
Jenkins leans against my calf, blue eyes blazing in the dark as we share this vigil. At last the corpse speaks once more. “The silver stops me moving far, stops me feeding, stops me spreading, stops me regenerating. The paaaain… paaain, so much pain…. Keepssss me in this state. The pain… it stings… always always always paaaaaaain. They harvest my blood for travel… Harvest me… I don’t want… I don’t want to be… here anymore! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease help me.”
“How?”
“To make portalsss.”
I think uncomfortably of the precious portal candle. The stub of one still remains in my pocket. She sobs again, everything straining and wobbling. To my alarm, the swords shift and one falls, clattering to the floor.
“No, I mean, how do I kill you?”
Everything stops.
Sometimes I miss breathing just because it is nice to have something to do during awkward moments.
“Take my soul,” says the dead goddess.
“Take it?”
“Take it. Now.”
“Why does the Green Lady allow this? This… keeping you… half dead?”
“She believes I can be redeemed. She loves me.”
“Can you be redeemed?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Pustules burst one after the other, fountains of thick, black blood streaming from the wounds. Her screaming reaches a fever pitch, shaking the walls of the cavern. I clutch my hands to the sides of my head, trying to block out the sound. Jenkins claws at his ears, yowling.
“Kill me, kill me now, Maud! Do it now, take my soul, make the pain stop nowwwwww! Do it, please please make it stop, I want to die please let me die now now now—”
This was not in my plan, but some opportunities are worth gambling for. I had wanted to use the portal candle to stop and pick up a fresh dress and some new head gear, but sacrifices must be made in the name of deicide. What will be will be.
Jenkins and I exchange a look, and he flicks his tail and licks one paw casually. He is ready for anything. As am I.
I divest myself of silver as Jenkins claws his bell from his collar. I take the black stub of portal candle out of my pocket, hiding it in the palm of my hand. Using it in front of the dead goddess seems crass. But if the Whisperer comes howling at me from out of the void, I would be a fool not to have an exit prepared. The time for our confrontation is close, but I have already chosen our battlefield, and it is not here in this stinking underground tomb.
Worst case scenario, we could dive through a doorway. I eye them suspiciously as the dead goddess continues to writhe and shriek, and pick one nearby that seems to open onto some kind of forest. It would be better to create my own portal if possible. But where would be a safe place? If anywhere is safe from a vengeful mad god? Perhaps the elven city of Caelestis? The castle at its centre is built of silver, it is defended by singing hoards of magical creatures… And yet I do not want to bring danger to those peaceful folk if I can help it. They are the last of their kind, a literal oasis in the sand of the Whisperer’s desert.
Aha, I know! The Blind Queen’s temple in Barrowmere. I would not mind throwing her under the doom-laden cartwheels. And I doubt there are any Acolytes left—and if there are, well, they should know better than to worship such an uptight cow. I have only seen her temple in the distance, but I remember the silver bell tower rising several storey’s high to host the most enormous silver bell I have ever seen in any of my lives. If he could destroy those towers, he would have done so already.
