Shadow's Edge - Brent Weeks [159]
Now, as he sat with his back propped against the stalagmite that would someday flow over his body and entomb him for eternity, he wished for simpler things. He missed sunlight. He missed the smell of grass, of fresh rain, of a woman. He missed Serah Drake and all her trivialities. He missed his wife. Jenine was so young, so smart, so pretty. She had been a diamond found and then lost forever. He missed Kylar, his best friend. Another diamond stripped away, found, and lost.
Logan wished for love and children and the running of his estates. A simple life, a big family, a few close friends. That would give him all the immortality he needed.
For a while, he prayed to the old gods. There was nothing else to do, and Gnasher wasn’t much for conversation, but the old gods had nothing to say. He even prayed to Count Drake’s One God. He wasn’t sure how one was supposed to pray to the god of all things. Why would He care? Logan gave it up.
Mostly, he tried to ignore the pain.
He was about to close his eyes to try to die again—or sleep, whichever—when Gnasher started howling. It was a high, piercing, irritating sound unlike anything Logan had ever heard.
The vent belched acrid smoke, and the figure Logan glimpsed for an instant was devoured in the thick cloud and darkness. Then, as the cloud dissipated, a demon strode out of it.
For the first time Logan had ever seen, Gnasher showed fear. He retreated to Logan’s side and crouched, whimpering, but that was as far as he would retreat. The simple man’s loyalty knew no bounds.
The demon walked forward slowly, its glowing blue eyes fixed on Logan. Was this a howler? Or was this Death, finally come to claim him? Logan wasn’t afraid.
“Well, shit, man,” Death said with a familiar voice. “I thought I was going to have to climb all the way up the Hole to find you.”
“What are you?” Logan croaked.
The demon’s face shimmered and melted off of Kylar’s face. Logan was sure he’d finally gone crazy.
“Sorry, I forgot about the face,” Kylar said. He was half-grinning his crazy smirk to cover his concern. “You, ah, look like the south end of a northbound horse.” It was one of Logan’s old lines—gods!—from back when he barely knew a tenth of the curses he’d learned in the Hole. Kylar smirked again. “Is, ah, the big guy here going to be all right?”
Gnash was trembling all over, and even Logan couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. “Gnash,” Logan said, “he’s a friend. He’s here to help.” Gnasher’s expression didn’t change, but he didn’t move to attack. “It really is you, isn’t it?” Logan asked.
“Here to save the day,” Kylar said. When Logan failed to respond, he came over and checked Logan’s body. The expression on his face was grim. “Well, what’s one more miracle, huh? You’re still kicking,” he said to himself.
Logan felt himself drifting away from consciousness as Kylar helped him to his feet. Kylar was speaking, and part of Logan realized that he was just trying to keep Logan with him. He did his best to listen to Kylar’s voice and ignore the voices of pain and death calling to him.
“… because it’s damn near impossible to get into the Maw now. Not like the old days… they say someone or something has taken up residence. I mean, ‘residence,’ like the Maw’s a palace or something.”
“Khali,” Logan whispered.
Kylar was taking them deeper into the Hole. Logan stumbled again, and when he opened his eyes, he found he was lashed to Kylar’s back. That couldn’t be right. Even with all the weight Logan had lost, Kylar shouldn’t have been able to carry him this easily. But the sensation didn’t fade. Kylar was picking his way farther and farther down. There was no path and no luminous moss down here, but Kylar moved surely, and kept talking, his voice itself warding off Logan’s terror of the dark.
“… was in the Stacks once, and I remembered how the pipes seemed to go down into the very center of the earth. I figured that the Maw goes down and the stacks’ pipes go down and they’re right next to each other.