For a long time Karril was silent. Damien waited him out, though his hands were shaking from impatience. At last the demon said, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, “Where Gerald Tarrant has gone, no living man can follow.”
Damien breathed in sharply. “Where?”
“To be judged.” As the demon turned back to him, Damien saw that now even his jewelry was black. “By those whom he feared the most.”
“The Unnamed?”
He hesitated only a moment, then nodded. “There’s nothing you can do, Reverend Vryce. You have to believe that. His own word gives them the power to judge him, his own blood makes him vulnerable——”
“How do I get there?” he demanded. His heart was like ice as he heard his own words, as he felt the power of his own commitment. “Tell me!”
The demon shut his eyes as if in pain. “Through the nightmare of his own fears. That’s the only path left, now that he’s in their hands. But no fleshborn being can travel that road safely. Even my kind—”
He stopped, but not soon enough.
“You can go there.”
He hesitated.
“Karril. Please."
“I can go there,” he admitted. “I can also die there. I’m not willing to risk that.”
“Gerald told me that no Iezu has ever died.”
“Because we don’t take chances! Because we’re selfish spirits, who trade illusions for food in our neat little houses and mind our own business when meaner demons come calling!”
“Is that what Calesta’s doing?” he demanded. “Minding his own business?”
The demon winced. “I don’t ... leave him out of this.”
“He can’t be out of it! He’s part and parcel of this whole mess, and you know it!” He took a step closer to the demon, into what would have been his personal territory had he been truly human. “Or don’t you care if he has his way? Don’t you care if the whole human species is remade to suit his taste, bred and winnowed like animals until all they can do is eat and sleep and suffer. Is that what you want, Karril? Is that what any of the Iezu want? Where will you find your worshipers then?”
“I’ll survive,” he muttered. “But some of the others ...” He shook his head and whispered hoarsely, “I can’t get involved. It’s simply not allowed. The penalty—”
“Is worse than what I just described?” he demanded. “All right, so I was wrong. Maybe you and Calesta aren’t so different after all.” He made his tone as venomous as he could, hoping scorn might stir the demon where loyalty and compassion had failed. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
A shudder seemed to pass through the demon’s body. “That way is pain, and worse,” he whispered. His voice was strained, barely audible. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t endure it. Even if I wanted to, even if I were willing to risk her displeasure ... I’m not human. I can’t absorb emotions which run counter to my aspect. No Iezu could survive such an assault.”
“So I’ll masturbate for you,” he said harshly. “Is that good enough? In the midst of Tarrant’s nightmares I’ll dream acts of pleasure, so you can stay on your feet. Hell, it worked for him, it should damn well work for you.”
The demon turned away. “I’m not human,” he whispered. The hanging tapestries had all turned black; even the wine in the fountain was dark. “The rules for us are ... different.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Rage and despair churned in his gut at the thought of this, too, being a dead end. Where else was there to turn? He forced himself to turn away, while adding bitterly, “Sony to bother you.”
He began to walk away from the demon, assuming the illusion surrounding him would fade when he tried to leave. It didn’t.
“Even if you survived the journey,” Karril pressed, “what would you do once you got there? Do battle with the Unnamed? Try to reason with it? It’s too powerful for the former, and far too unstable for the latter. And it might make things even worse for Gerald Tarrant, that a man of your stature cared enough to try to save him. Have you thought about that?”
“I’ve thought about everything,” he said sharply. “Most of all about what this world will be like if
Calesta goes unopposed, and how little chance I have of stopping him without Tarrant’s help. As for the rest ...” He shrugged stiffly; despair was a cold knot within him. “I guess it doesn’t matter much, does it?” And he snapped, “Hope the new order works out for you.”
He turned to leave then, and the tapestries did fade. The amorous couples were visible once more, but thinly, like ghosts. The half-clad priests and priestesses fluttered like wraiths about the borders of his vision.
“Reverend Vryce.”
He didn’t turn back, but he did stop walking. The entire room seemed frozen in time, as if the very walls were waiting.
“True night falls for an hour tomorrow.” The demon’s voice was low and even; there was only the faintest tremor of fear in it. “Eat well and drink well before that, and rest with a pitcher of water by your side. In a secure room,” he added quickly, “so that no one disturbs your flesh.” He whispered, “It can’t make the journey.”
And then the tapestries were gone and the demon also, and the warm smell of the temple filled his nostrils and his head. “Can I help you?” a priestess asked, approaching him. He shook his head and waved her away. His legs felt weak beneath him. What had just happened? Did Karril mean to help him, or merely point him on his way and say good-bye? Either way—
Either way I have to go, he thought grimly. Because there is no other option. May God have mercy on my soul.
Then he thought of the risk that Karril had already taken, of the rules the Iezu had broken just to talk to him-of the pain that he might yet endure, in order to betray his own brother—and he added, May God have mercy on us both.
16
The Patriarch dreamed:
Armies on a plain, arrayed in Church regalia. Beyond them lies the Forbidden Forest, whose trees even now cast blackened shadows before the setting sun. He lifts his hand to bless them and the armies start forward, into that haunted darkness....
... and the Forest is alive, it tears them apart, it strews their blood upon the ground to nurture its foul growth....
Armies on a plain. He lifts his hand to bless them and a chosen few start forward, armored with sigils of fire——
... and the Forest swallows them whole, so that not even the light of their Worked weapons shines forth, so that not even their fellow soldiers can find them....
Armies on a plain. He lifts his hand to bless their purpose and a few men move forward with firebrands, setting them against the nearest trees....
... and rain lashes down from the heavens in fury, sun-bright lightning striking in the midst of their encampment with thunderous fury while the downpour douses their flames... .
Armies on a plain. He lifts his hand to bless them and one man rides forward, accoutred in the Prophet’s glory. . ..
. . . and the Forest parts before him. Tall he rides in the saddle, and proud, and his armor glints in the dying light like molten gold. He is an image out of mural splendor, this brave soldier, with the coronet of Merentha holding back his golden hair, and the armor of that doomed neocounty glittering upon his chest and limbs. He is the living image of the Prophet himself, and as he approaches the twisted trees of the Forest, they give way before him, thinking him their master. Safely he rides into its depths, making a path where none have been able to before.
The Patriarch lifts his hand in blessing and the troops begin to follow. Riding in the wake of the false Neocount, they encounter no opposition, but make their way toward the heart of the Forest with a prayer upon their lips and the song of the One God loud within their hearts. The Forest thinks that they belong to him, its master, and it makes no move against them. Wave after wave moves into the preternatural darkness, as the spear of the Church is leveled against the Hunter’s throne....