Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [180]
“With this sacrifice,” the Hunter pronounced, “I bind you to me.” And with that he heaved the sword up high, over the jagged rock edge of the crater, into the hidden depths beyond. An explosion shook the ground beneath Damien’s feet, so powerfully that he thought the earth might open beneath him. But it quieted, and over the beating of his heart he could hear the sizzle of lava in the distance, the muffled roar of fire. Shaitan had accepted Tarrant’s offering.
Then the adept met his eyes—his alone—and the fear that shone in those pale glittering depths was only matched by their determination. “You must understand, Vryce. I honestly believed that somewhere, somehow, I could find an answer. I believed that in the month remaining to me I could discover a way to break my compact and survive, and ultimately cheat death anew ... and I chose this instead. This sacrifice of life, which is the ultimate altruism. The sacrifice of eternity, made in the very face of Hell.” He held out an arm to Calesta, and it seemed to Damien that he smiled. “Come share it with me, demon!”
And he opened himself up to the full force of Shaitan, the raw, bloody power of Erna’s wildest currents. For an instant Damien could see the world through his eyes, could feel his agony as the fae roared through him, too much force for any one man’s soul to contain ... and he saw the hillside blaze with a heat so terrible that the sight of it could burn out a man’s brain, and he felt the Hunter’s soul catch fire as the man screamed—as he screamed—and through it all he knew that it had worked, that Calesta had absorbed the full force of Tarrant’s altruistic sacrifice, that the terrible gamble had paid off—
Oh, Gerald.
The Hunter’s body lay crumpled and still, and when drops of burning dust fell upon it, it didn’t stir. The swirling colors that had hovered above the crater had gathered over him now, but that didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. The Hunter was dead.
May God be merciful to you, he prayed. May he weigh this day against the others of your life, so that in the balance He finds cause for forgiveness. May He acknowledge in His Heart that every generation born to His people from now on will have a chance to prosper because of your sacrifice—
And then it was suddenly more than he could handle, all of it. He let himself down to the trembling earth, and he put his head between his hands, and he let down the barriers that had protected him for so long, from fear and sorrow both. Never mind if the Iezu saw him cry. Never mind. They would mourn, too, if they understood. Any sane creature would.
In the east, a new dawn was just beginning.
Thirty-seven
Andrys despaired, I’m not going to make it.
They had stopped their march to eat and to feed the horses. The men and women who shared his mission were trying to rest, to renew themselves for the next hour’s march. He couldn’t even pretend. How could you relax when all the demons of Hell were battering at your skull?
For a long time he remained on his horse, and though Zefila and a few others narrowed their eyes as they noticed him there, no one bothered him. But then the Patriarch came over and as usual didn’t say anything—as usual, didn’t have to say anything—and with a hot flush of shame he dismounted at last. The alternative was trying to explain that his gut churned at the mere thought of making contact with the Forest soil, and he couldn’t do that. Flinching as his soles touched the damned earth, he tried not to let his terror show as he walked to the place where rations were being doled