Yet even as my hand raised the mask to my face, my mother took up the tether that bound me to her. She called my name as if to remind me who I was. “I know your true heart! You do not belong with the Lords!”
I almost spat it back at her. If not in Zhev’Na, then where do I belong?
But no sooner had I voiced the question, than I realized that, for the first time in my life, I knew the answer. I know your true heart… Everything my parents had tried to tell me suddenly made sense. Everything I had learned and felt in the past months settled into place. I belonged in the Bounded, where my broken people were just learning how to live. I was one of them, broken, too. And if this was so, then perhaps, like them, I was not evil.
For that one astonishing moment, this novel possibility quieted my pain and hunger and the enticements of the Lords. Thus, when my father whispered, “Come into me,” I heard his voice. When he said, “My dear and beloved son,” I believed him. And though it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, when he reached out his hand, I took it.
Only after the pain of the fire began to recede did the Lords begin to bargain. They writhed and squirmed within our shared mind like snakes in a kettle, but I drew up power as they themselves had taught me and held them still.
“Young Lord,” wheedled Notole. “I have nurtured you in the ways of power. All this” - I could envision her hand waving across the black velvet landscape revealed by the waning flames - “is but more food for your talent. You will be the greatest of the Lords, feared and worshiped in every world, able to take any soul at your whim, to eat or use as you desire. You will stand with one foot in one world, and one foot in another, and laugh while Parven and Ziddari grovel for your favors. Release me, and I will draw you back to Zhev’Na to take your rightful place.”
We were one - my father, the Lords, and I - a single vessel passing through this midnight realm toward a horizon alive with streams and veils of colored light. Strange that I could see, though I had no eyes, and I could walk… or fly or move somehow… though I had no limbs, no physical substance at all. My senses were all blurred together, so that I tasted the rich darkness and heard the song of the light.
“I will not bargain,” I said. Not if this strange venture would destroy the Lords. Soon, surely, my father would tell me where we were and what we were doing.
“Crush this mortal being who dares contain you,” growled Parven. “No more should a cavern contain the sky, than this pitiful D’Natheil imprison the Destroyer. There is still time to cast him off. Let him pursue dissolution if such is his wish, but the Four of Zhev’Na are at the brink of triumph. We made you what you are - strong and powerful and ruthless - now we call in our debt. You swore an oath never to oppose us. Cast him off! Travel the winds of the world with us.”
“I have no wish for your companionship,” I said. “And I’ve not taken up arms against you. You chose to come at my call. But I am a Soul Weaver, and I control this place where you reside. I yield my father the choice of destination, not you.”
“But you don’t even know where that is, do you, boy?” snarled Ziddari. “Tell him, D’Natheil. Tell your son where he and his futile hopes are bound.”
My father took a long time to answer. He seemed very distant, though I had given him control of our shared mind. “I take him to the only place he can be free of you. I take you where you can no longer destroy what is beautiful.”
His thoughts trailed away. The geysers of colored fire - closer now - shattered at their peak into cascades of music and color that aroused such deep and fundamental longing that every past desire, even my craving for power, paled in comparison. What was this place?
“He’s killed you, young Lord,” said Ziddari, his voice as cool and mocking as it had ever been. “When we pass that barrier, there is no going back. Never again. No wind on your face, no solid horseflesh powering you across the earth, no exploring the wonders of the world at your will. No chance to do those things you’ve never done. You’ve never sailed on the ocean, never scaled a mountain peak. You’ve never even had a woman. Shall I tell you of these things, quickly, before they’re lost forever? Quickly, before your body rots, forfeit to D’Arnath’s revenge? Shall I show you what you’ve chosen to leave behind?”
Into our mind came one vision after another: women, riches, sailing and adventure, wine, food, and every pleasure, commonplace or exotic, that a physical being could enjoy. Each one was replete with sounds and smells, and tastes, and sensations, and it was true, I’d never experienced even a tenth of it. I was only sixteen, and I was dead.
“Now tell me why your father has murdered you. He should have made this journey before you were born. This yearning you feel is his, for he is tired of existing where he doesn’t belong. But you, young Lord, have not even begun to know what is to be found in the world… ”
And then he bombarded me with another round of visions, this time of his own pleasures, corrupt, brilliant, loathsome, depraved, exciting, a world of power and enchantment where I could do anything I wanted - and never to end, for I would be immune from ordinary death.
“Now tell him, D’Natheil. Tell him why he has to die. Tell him why he cannot live forever.”
“Tell me,” I whispered, suddenly confused. My progress toward the barrier of light slowed, and the fading visions of warmth and pleasure left me cold and empty. Alone. Dead. A shudder of terror swept through me. “Father… ”
It took even longer for the answer to come back this time, as if my father had to gather himself up from the shimmering fragments of light that showered down on us.
“Because Gerick is not one of you. He is loved and cherished by uncounted souls, who even now bear him in their hearts with reverence. He does not live for the pain of others, but for their benefit. Despite all you’ve done to him… all I’ve done to him… Gerick owns his soul and has used it to choose his Way. His long journey has led him here… to his freedom.” We moved forward again. Faster now. Upward.
“Words. Lies.” Ziddari’s voice rose. Louder. Tighter. Tinged with fear. “You murder him at the very threshold of manhood, just as you abandoned him to murder on the day of his birth. I am the one who saved him on that day, and I am the one who will save him on this day. The only freedom you offer is oblivion.”
“Ah, but you see, Ziddari, unlike myself, and unlike the Lords of Zhev’Na, my son will not die on this day. For all your wisdom, all your years, all your magics, you have no true power. True power lies in the hands of those like my wife, who has no talent for sorcery yet changes the course of the world with her passionate heart, and Ven’Dar, who witnesses to the glory of history and fate, and my friend Paulo, who cannot even read yet hears the quiet pulse of life and sustains it with his faithfulness. You’ve never understood. While Gerick lives out his future free of you, you will have ample time to consider your lacks.”
Light and shadow traveled on the warm wind that swirled around me. Through me. As we climbed the ridge of light, music took shape around us. Haunting blues and greens, frothing like ocean waves. A swelling wall of purple-and-violet melody, a mountaintop of singing rose and white…
“Betrayer!” bellowed Ziddari. “Weakling!”
The taunts did not touch me. I thought of my mother and Paulo and knew that what my father said about them was true. My whole being smiled as I remembered them.
The Three went wild, then, and I thought my mind would distingrate. Red-hot claws of fury, frustration, and terror rent my mind and soul into shreds of words and images. They lashed me with the fullness of their power, blinding me with pain and hatred, slashing, ripping, tearing at my reason.