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| Chapter 61. Justifications | |
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og called out for Lyssa. She had gone from him and he was alone, faced with an aching chasm of emptiness and despair. Like a child he pleaded for her to return, unable to face the nothingness of the ethers. He would go mad, he would fade away into the mists. She answered him, her voice calling to him as if over a great distance. His body felt heavy, cold and leaden, as he staggered toward the faint outlines of arches and columns. Once more the perfect structures emerged from nothingness, shadows of things no longer in the world, the longed for vista of Ascalon in her glory. “Stay with me, Beloved, do not die,” she called to him and he made an inchoate roar of longing. He saw her at last within the temple’s holiest center, her tall figure standing before the golden statue of the twin goddesses with arms spread wide to receive him. She was clad in midnight damask sparkling with a fine mist of diamonds. “O Lady of Shadows, Guardian of the Midnight Path,” he croaked, nearly in tears as he knelt at her bejeweled feet. Her moon pale mask gleamed in the dim candle light as she gathered him into her arms and held him like a child against her breast. “I am here, Beloved, and I shall not abandon you.” “Nor I you,” he wept, but he doubted she could hear him. His throat was parched and his head rang like the inside of a great bell. She rocked him gently, kissing his brow and clasping his hand. “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded softly in his ear. Fear left him and he relaxed into the warmth of her body. She gave him sweet water to drink and the pain faded away. He surrendered at last to the renewing slumber of the living. When he stirred to wakefulness again, Mog expected to see the interior of the sanctum. Instead, he was lying on his side and a cushion was propped under his head. The chattering hiss of the ether well had been replaced with the shrill of insects and the faint murmur of voices beyond the dim confines of canvas walls. It was unnerving, for he had no idea how long he had lain there nor how someone had gotten past the sanctum door to find him. Weak though he was, he shrugged free of the blankets and blinked the sleep from his eyes. Silk cord was neatly wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Panic knifed through him and he momentarily jerked against the bonds, discovering that a short length of cord joined wrist and ankle, explaining why he lay curled on his side. Now he knew where he was at least, he just was not sure whether he was held by Maziba or Akemi. He swore angrily, being both too weak and nauseous to put up much of a fight. It explained why he was so simply restrained and unattended. Whoever had done this knew he would not get very far if he attempted to escape. Still, he had to try. He struggled to sit up and take in his surroundings. Judging by the sticky warmth and drone of insects it was late afternoon. The leaf-dappled light danced over the dun roof of the tent, casting the makeshift chamber into perpetual gloom. The shelter was perhaps five paces square with a central post holding aloft the roof. He had been laid out on one side of the tent while a tidy collection of bedding was spread out on the opposite side. There were packs piled up in the far corner, and with any luck, a knife of some kind was stashed inside them. The interior of the tent was notably devoid of sharp implements. There was no knot within reach his teeth or fingers. He decided it was Akemi’s handiwork. He slid along on his behind in a decidedly undignified fashion until he reached the packs. It was at that moment the tent flap behind him stirred and he sensed that he was no longer alone. “I might have guessed your first thought would be escape,” came Akemi’s voice, clipped and yet mocking. “You have no right to do this,” Mog croaked, the venom of rage lifting his voice above a whisper. “Who said anything about rights? Where yours are concerned, you have none. There is no knife in the packs. Do you honestly think I’d be that stupid?” “Do you want me to answer that?” Mog growled. “I just came to check on you. Do you need anything?” “A knife?” Akemi laughed coldly. “I’ll fetch water.” “What do you want with me?” he demanded as she turned to leave. Mog squirmed around to face her, noticing that his old clothes had been replaced with a loose shift and pantaloons. Mog wondered how long he had been unconscious. “You will know in due time.” “I want to know now.” “Then prepare for disappointment.” When Akemi returned, he was sitting on his bedding, resigned to the fact that, for now, he was not going anywhere. He glared at her as she set down a stoneware jug of water and poured some into a small bowl. Mog was thirsty and he did not refuse the offering as she held it to his lips. “Why are you doing this?” he asked her as she put the bowl away and prepared to leave. “Do you ever get tired of feeling powerless?” she asked him, setting aside the jug and facing him, her legs folded beneath her. “No one does. Would you please just answer my question?” “You had it good at the temple,” she said, shrugging off his question, “Sure, you hated your actual job, but you got to lie with a goddess whenever you pleased. I was jealous, of course. I think everyone was.” “Fine, I’m sorry you were jealous. Now will you untie me and stop this nonsense?” “But we’re not really powerless, are we?” she continued with an almost wistful sound in her voice, ignoring his demand, “You and I together have powers unimagined. Open a portal to anyone, step through, and slaughter them in their sleep.” Mog did not like where this conversation was going. A queasy feeling clenched his gut. “I’m well aware…” “Not aware enough,” Akemi snapped, angry now, “How has life been for you since the Searing, Mog? Have you enjoyed living in filth and squalor, playing a pathetic clown and drunkard while begging for scraps? The joke of a nation that was Kryta is now the last hope for our civilization and it is being ruled by heretics. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “I don’t like the White Mantle any more than you,” Mog said, “but if we abuse our powers, we are little better than them.” “You blind son of a fool,” Akemi shouted at him, “This is war. If people like us stand down, then the next generation will be under their yoke. Do you want Ascalon to pass from memory reviled?” “Of course not,” Mog replied coldly, “but I also know it’s not like you to do acts of charity. This is not the first time I’ve heard you speak like this. It is the goddess alone who chooses those we must destroy. It is not for us to choose.” A crooked grin replaced the intensity of her anger. “Good, I’m glad we can agree on that. Rest now, you will need your strength for the coming task.” “What do you mean?” he demanded but she had already risen to her feet and was headed outside. He shouted her name but there was no reply. |
