Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [81]
God, when I first took my vows, I said that I would be willing to give my life to serve You. I meant it. He breathed in deeply, shaking. But don’t let that sacrifice be in vain. I beg of You. Use me however You will, take my life if it pleases You to do so, but help me free this planet from Calesta’s grasp. I beg You, God.
“I have to try,” he whispered.
For a long moment the demon just looked at him. Could he read into his heart, see all the doubts that were there? Tarrant had said the Iezu had that kind of power. “The path we have to take,” he warned Damien, “lies through the substance of the Hunter’s own fear. Are you ready for that?”
It seemed to him that the blackness was closer now. A foul odor rose up from its surface, a stink of blood and carrion ... and worse. “He feared sunlight. Heat. Healing. All the things that life is made of.”
“Don’t be naive, Reverend Vryce.”
The blackness was extending an oily finger now, that oozed slowly toward him. If he stayed where he was it would soon make contact. “Death,” he said sharply. “He feared that more than anything.” How could he face death without dying himself? Karril must know some special trick, or he wouldn’t have brought him here.
“Not death,” the demon said.
Startled, he looked at Karril. The Iezu’s eyes were dark, unreadable.
“Death isn’t a thing or a place,” Karril told him. “It’s a transition. A doorway, not a destination. Think,” he urged. “You know the answer.”
And he did, suddenly. He knew it, and grew weak at the thought. Was that what lay ahead of them? No wonder Karril didn’t want to get involved.
“Hell,” he whispered. “He feared Hell.”
“His own perception of it.” Could this Iezu experience gut-wrenching fear, or was that not part of his aspect? Some people mix passion and terror, he thought. So the emotion should be in his repertoire. “You still mean to follow him?”
“There’s no other choice for me.” Damien drew in a deep breath, exhaled it slowly. “You know that.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know.”
He shut his eyes for a moment, and tried to still the rising tide of terror in his soul. Damn you, Tarrant! Damn you for making me go through this, just to save your murderous hide. But in the face of such a journey his accustomed curse was rendered powerless, even ludicrous. Tarrant was in Hell already, or someplace beyond it. And he was going there to save him.
He drew in a deep breath, and didn’t look down at his feet. He could feel how close the evil stuff was to him without needing to look, could feel its hunger sucking at his legs with growing force. Instead he looked to the demon, and tried to steady his voice long enough to manage two words without sounding as afraid as he felt.
“You coming?”
The demon hesitated. And sighed. And then, to his great relief, nodded. “Can’t let you go in there alone, can I?”
He offered his hand. After a moment, Damien grasped it. And then, with only the briefest grimace, the priest stepped forward. Onto the path that Tarrant’s soul-blood had marked. Into the blackness that waited there.
Damn you, Calesta.
Eighteen
MORDRETH: Police have confirmed reports that forty-three men were killed last night by a pack of animals that came out of the region known as the Forbidden Forest. The men, who had established temporary residence just outside Jahanna’s borders, were taken by surprise shortly after midnight when the Forest beasts stormed their camp without warning. Although a few men managed to arm themselves before being struck down, the sheer ferocity of the assault quickly overwhelmed their defenses. Less than an hour after the pack’s arrival, every man inside the camp was dead.
Lestar Vannik, who was returning to the area when the attack took place, managed to flee the camp before the animals caught his scent. According to a press release from Darvish Sanitorium, he described them as “white monsters, with hands instead of real paws, and eyes that glowed bright blood red.” The beasts were