Chapter 29: The Lair of the Demiurge

Jenna stood by the dias on which there lay the spectral body of Telliam Bindaved. The little princess knit her brows. Why did the man look so sad? Why did he seem only half there? She could see the dias through his ghost?like body. Well, she would fix that! Melchizedek had shown her how.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the flowers of the King's Heart. Gently, as if laying them on the grave of a dear friend, the small girl placed the flowers on the chest of the sleeping soldier.

Instantly, the man opened his eyes and looked about him.

Then with a heart-rending expression he opened his lips and seemed to shout. However, Jenna could hear nothing. Then after the man was already again lying still, she heard the words, "I have been deceived!"

After that, light infused the body of the sleeping man, for the briefest instant he appeared to be wholly present in the chamber of the Maybe Mountains, and then he was gone.

Jenna had not long to wonder about the fate of the man, for in the next moment the whole chamber of the mountain seemed to be melting around her. The star looked like a watercolour painting that has been left in the rain. The silver ran down in streaks all around her, and over her head the mists of the land of dreams again appeared around her. Hardly had Jenna become visible - as visible as anything becomes in that land - when the mighty Cloud Dancer landed beside her.

He immediately walked to her and nudged her with his nose. From out of the mists above her head Jenna again heard the sound of Loridan's heart, it was the Dove singing in creative majesty. Cloud Dancer, like her younger brother Sky, stooped down to let the Jewel of Majesty board her. Now with a mighty leap the horse shot into the mists, following the marvellous luminescence of the Dove.

~ ~ ~

Jaomin walked over to the toad and the small stone crystal. Was this really the mighty Targa Gamarad? Or was this instead some toad that had just happened to be sitting on this jetty in the place where Gamarad vanished? Who could ever answer such questions? Certain it is that whereas a monstrous creature of mammoth dimensions had rested on the stone moments before, now a small harmless toad sat.

A moment later, the toad hopped away. I have never thought that toads could carry pearls in their heads, nor do I think that they could carry memories of great or terrible things - assuming they could ever do great or terrible things. So, whether this particular toad had been Gamarad or not, I do know that a small untroubled creature hopped off to do whatever toads are likely to do when they are not troubled by fallen angels.

But the crystal still lay on the pavement. And from out of its depths leered an ominous eye: the eye of the Demiurge. Is this a safe thing for anyone to pick up? Jaomin stood looking down at it. The eyes of the dark one gazed back at him in strange hypnotic power. Out of crystals in many worlds those mesmerising eyes have stared. How many captives have they taken? How many do they hold now?

"You are the Man from the East?" he asked softly

"I am."

"You hold my brother in your power?"

"I do," the words fell like bolts of doom. "Come to me, young one. Together we will rule all worlds."

To rule. The words shone before him like stars of promise, stars shining from the Dark One's eyes. To rule. Like destiny it beckoned. Was this not why the horse had come to him? Was this not why he had the sword? Had not Virikria prostrated himself in his presence? Was he not meant to rule?

The past unfolded before Jaomin's eyes. He saw a rider thundering through the night, clutching to his chest the sleeping form of a small child. He knew, for the Demiurge told him, that the child was the rightful heir, the Prince of Grenwilde. He knew that the child was being taken from the clutches of the usurping King, Caliphanus the Magnificent - the builder of the Wall. The man who re-wrote history. Jaomin saw his agents torturing men and torching manuscripts. He saw his scribes re-writing the books, changing the knowledge of the past.

Jaomin quivered before the vision, before the knowledge.

"Your brother knows. Telliam has seen," the voice whispered like velvet moving over glass.

Jaomin considered the peril. The eyes beckoned him, wisdom forbad. Yet, in a sudden realization, he stretched forth his hand. He stretched forth his hand! He seized the crystal.

"Come to me!" the Dark Lord beckoned to the White Rider. Jaomin stood holding the crystal in his hands. Into the pathways of his mind knowledge crept. He saw the lair of the Demiurge, saw his fortress in the mountains to the south, and saw the lair and its owner standing in mystic silver half-light.

Behind him Sky whickered uneasily. Something, the horse felt, was wrong.

Jaomin turned to the horse. "Kneel, boy."

The horse gazed intently at Jaomin, his wisdom at war with his obedient nature. Slowly and uncertainly the great horse knelt. A moment later, Jaomin and Sky were rocketing across the darkening evening skies of the Lands of Desolation, while far to the west - at the same moment - the Death Nygrath demanded the lives of the sons of Jessef Bindaved.

~ ~ ~

Evening was closing in across the valley. Jessef, as was his custom, had gone out to meditate and pray beneath the twilight sky. All of his life the evenings had been a comfort to his soul.

The crop was beginning to come in and Jessef was pleased. There are no guarantees in a farmer's existence, but the soil here was excellent and the young plants were growing strong. He could use some more rain, though.

By the look of the horizon he should get some, the sky was almost blood red tonight, so... He stopped.

Between the hills at the west end of the valley and the place where he stood, he could clearly see a woman walking, coming towards the farmhouse. To see any person, man or woman, coming across that isolated valley would have been perplexing. But immediately there was something electric, for his soul knew her before his mind could accept the knowledge. Indeed, for a second his mind provided an answer, insisting that it must be Regine. And yet he knew it wasn't. He had been hearing her all this while in the house, humming, as she tended to do.

The way a person walks is almost as distinct as her fingerprint. And while a man would not recognize his wife's fingerprint, he would always know her walk.

Without knowing it he had stopped breathing. He could neither dare to believe what his eyes saw, nor dare to speak lest his words should break whatever enchantment had brought him his...

"Nalitha!" the word did not dismiss the miracle, but rather made it so.

Suddenly he was running; all caution discarded with his pipe. They met and embraced. They stood a full minute holding one another, not speaking a single word while communicating much that words cannot.

~ ~ ~

The cooking fires and banners where everywhere in the vicinity, so that it had not required much effort to find the armies' encampments. However, to simply get there in the first place had made all three young people - and their horses - very tired. Yason had been surprised to see the banners of Virikria present, and in greater abundance than those of Grenwilde. But they hadn't the time to wonder about it, for they felt a great urgency to get to Telliam.

As chance would have it, they literally ran into Lieutenant Adran Philomen, only seconds after entering the camp. He had just left his tent, when he collided with Yason's horse.

"Soldier! Watch where you're going. This is a camp, not a road..." Adran stopped, suddenly beaming. He recognized that the soldier he was addressing was an old and close friend. "Oh...Yason! and Maric! I'm so glad to see you." Yet as quickly as the light caused by recognition had come into his face it vanished beneath a cloud of obvious gloom.

The change was so marked that it demanded comment, which Yason supplied. "What's wrong, Adran?"

"Telliam, he's been terribly injured. It happened this morning and he's been unconscious all this day."

"Where is he?" Maric interjected.

"In Ganarth's tent, with Ganarth, Orun and Sethrim. I was just going back to check on him."

"Where's Jaomin?" It was Caylene who had spoken.

Adran, who had noticed the girl but didn't know her, looked at her respectfully then bowed slightly.

"Oh, Caylene, I'm sorry. Caylene, this is Adran - Adran, Caylene."

"Hello," Caylene said quickly and casting a fleeting smile. "Where's Jaomin?"

Adran hesitated a moment, "No one's really sure right now - to tell you the truth. Telliam, uh...Yason, I'm not sure how to say this."

"You want to tell us that Telliam has been transformed into some sort of huge creature and that he's destroyed the Great Wall. Is that it?" Yason said directly.

You could probably have knocked Adran over with a feather; he was so shocked. "Yes, but how did you know?"

"I haven't time to explain, Adran, but I will tell you later. Please, where's my brother?"

"Of course," Adran said quickly, "Come with me."

A minute later the boys and Caylene had been ushered into Ganarth's tent. Adran didn't come immediately, for he stayed behind to see to the horses.

There was joy in this meeting, but it was subdued beneath a shadow of grief and uncertainty. Telliam lay on Ganarth's cot, not moving and appearing hardly to breathe. He was, it seemed, in some twilight existence, neither alive nor dead.

"He's been like this for hours," Ganarth said.

"Ten hours," Orun said flatly.

"What happened?" Yason asked.

Ganarth took quite some time to explain what had happened to Telliam. They were shocked at the things he related concerning Akinwrath. No one could say how much of it was Telliam's delusion and how much truth. He told them also of Jaomin, his triumph and their present fears for his safety. The story was both fascinating and appalling; the ending was perhaps its bleakest feature.

"We have no idea where Jaomin is. He may not even be alive. As for Telliam..." Ganarth concluded by shaking his head.

It was then that Taril came to the tent. He had been reluctant to intrude upon the grief of these boys. Their concern for their eldest brother was natural and Telliam - as Taril had good reason to know - abundantly deserved their admiration, respect and love. But Taril knew the truth, and he had to tell it to them. For they did not yet realize who they were, or who their brother was.

"Sons of Jessef Bindaved, when this day breathes its last, so will your brother," his words dropped on them with a finality. There was no hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Ganarth looked at him. He knew that Taril had released his brother, but only by grievously injuring him. This he had not yet been able to forgive. How could he now so calmly announce Telliam's death?

"How do you know this?" Ganarth asked coldly.

"This day concludes the day of his sacrifice. In one day we both died, but were forbidden a pathway into death by the Dark One. He chose death; the pathway he chose is now open."

"You look remarkably healthy," Ganarth sneered, obviously wishing it were otherwise. "Why does this day not end your life? And what do you mean he chose death? He was betrayed! What do you know about it anyway?"

"Ganarth, I rode with your brother when he went to his death. I would have prevented his dying if it had been possible to do so."

Ganarth knew this. Telliam, in his altered state had said as much. But then, Telliam had said many strange things. How was anyone to know which of them were true? When he did not comment, Taril continued.

"Your brother was the soul of bravery and honour. This is why the Dark One lured him. For the heart of a king beat in Telliam. His heart, his history and his blood all agreed."

"What do you mean, his 'history'?" Ganarth responded.

Taril looked at each of the boys in turn, "I spent many hours discussing each and all of you with your mother, Nalitha."

At the mention of their mother's name, the boy's were amazed. Their mother was alive? She had spoken to this strange knight? When their amazement subsided, Taril continued.

"Your brother will die this night. When he does, Grenwilde will have lost more than a hero, she will have lost her rightful prince."

~ ~ ~

Through the darkness of the night the great horse's wings beat a steady line towards the south and the Lair of the Demiurge.

Again, the Demiurge had been wrong. He had revealed his whereabouts to the White Rider, thinking that he had succumbed to the temptation of rule. He had read all the right signs in the boy's eyes. How the deceiver had been deceived!

Truly, Jaomin had been tempted. The story of his heritage, the lure of power, and the subtly of the tempter where strong powers. But a greater power had shielded his soul. The power of his mother's prayer.

Jaomin had realized that it had been a God directed act to destroy the toad. For this crystal, he knew, would put within his possession a knowledge of the Dark One's stronghold. It would lead him directly to its master's thought. He knew that the only way he could release his brother was to destroy his dark master.

As the night wore on the Dark Lord realized his mistake. No message that he sent to the Rider was answered. No temptation was listened to. He knew that the White Rider was coming like a blood hood on his trail, following the living thoughts of his own temptations and suggestions. Why was this youngster proof against him?

The answer to this question baffled him. He was used to going where he wanted and twisting whom he pleased. Perhaps he did not need to understand as long as he could destroy the boy. He was confident that he could, but he greatly feared the horse.

Towards dawn, he despatched his three vulgraths - the one that had not been destroyed in the massacre of his thoughts and the two he had awakened since. These could not kill the winged menace, but this they might not need to do.

If the vulgraths could kill the boy before he arrived in the lair then the Dark Lord need not worry about the problem of an immortal horse. Without his master to trace the crystal to its source, the cursed animal would never discover his whereabouts.

As the first grey lines of morning striped the horizon, and as the Death Nygrath took his stand below Western Hills, the vulgraths struck.

They were cannier than they had been in the earlier encounter. For, as always, the Demiurge learned. No longer would they be lured into destroying each other. Long minutes did the winged horse try to lure them into doing so, but using a wide spread formation of three - working a coordinated attack - they were able to avoid the trap.

Finally, in perfect synchronization, two bathed their young foe in flames, while the third vulgrath dove upon the smoke-blinded youngster. At the last possible second, the two vulgraths withheld their flame. The third vulgrath hurtled into the void where only a second earlier the horse and rider had been. They were gone.

The Demiurge had again failed to reckon on two things. First, the flames of the vulgrath healed the boy's broken limbs instantly. This was in accordance with the prophecy of Ambro the Seer, but a matter hidden to the Dark One. Now Sky would be free to truly soar. Secondly, he had reckoned without the extraordinary powers of anticipation possessed by Sky-rider. In the fraction of a second during which the flame stopped and before the winged death could strike. Sky rocketed upwards in a nearly vertical climb. Leaving the three vulgraths utterly mystified as to his location.

But Jaomin could see them.

In three seconds, all it took for Logos to send three beams of light, the vulgraths were no more.

Now, more quickly than ever, Sky shot towards the lair as Jaomin directed him. Presently, ahead in the rock they could see the aperture leading into the lair of the Demiurge. Crouching in the saddle, Jaomin pointed Sky to the opening in the solid rock face. Slackening his speed slightly, the invulnerable horse dove.

~ ~ ~

Jessef woke early with light pouring through the window of his room, of Nalitha's room. Bird song filled the air but not half so full as joy filled his heart.

She still slept. This was fine with Jessef; he could look at her for hours.

For the longest time he lay there gazing at her beautiful face. He had almost been afraid to sleep - afraid she would be gone when he woke up. Now as he looked at her, he realized she was just as he remembered her. He knew, as well, that he was not as she remembered him. He looked every day of his fifty years. But who - in his wildest estimate - would have fixed her age at forty-five? Yet she must be all of that, he knew.

As he lay there, looking at her, her eyes opened.

"Hello, husband," she said, smiling her rare smile.

"Hello," he said almost shyly. How could he be shy with Nalitha?

"What are you thinking?"

"That I'm old."

Her smile disappeared, "Is that all?"

"No."

"What else?"

"That you're not."

Nalitha sat up, "Well, that can't be helped - yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She wore her I-know-something-you-don't-know look, "You'll see!"

He froze there looking at her. Every expression of her face, he knew. Yet her reality surpassed his memory, like the sun excelled the moon. He had her every feature printed on his mind, but the animation of her face was inimitable.

She looked at him curiously, "On the other hand, maybe you won't see. You look like you're in a trance."

He only shook his head, kissed her between the eyes and got dressed. It was then that he noticed the sword. It was lying on the floor, on Nalitha's side of the bed.

"What!" he said. "Jaomin's sword! How did it come to be here?"

Nalitha laughed, "You put it there!"

"I did?" He vaguely remembered it. He had been so intent on noticing Nalitha last night, that he hadn't noticed much else.

"It isn't the same sword, husband," Nalitha said, "but it comes from the same country. It belongs to Meda, a friend of mine."

Jessef looked at her quizzically. The subject of her country had always been a forbidden one.

"Come," Nalitha said, "Let's go for a walk, before the sweetest grandchild in the world wakes up. I need to talk to you."

"Humph!" Jessef snorted, "You a grandmother!"

She smiled coyly, "Well, you're venerable enough for both of us. Now, come on. I need to talk to you and I don't want to wake Regine or Chion."

The two wandered around the perimeter of the valley for many hours. They talked of everything. Worlds, years and plans were pressed into that discussion. Regine had awakened and, smiling in joyful amusement, watched them from the window for a time. It was long after Chion had risen, breakfasted and was thinking loudly about lunch, when the couple returned.

"Regine," Jessef said upon entering. "We're going to have to get ready to travel."

"Where?" the young mother asked in curiosity.

"Oh, up a to the top of a mountain in the extreme northern parts of Grenwilde. It shouldn't take us more than an hour," he looked at Nalitha, "according to your mother-in-law!"

Nalitha only smiled and shook her head.

~ ~ ~

The destruction of the vulgraths burned in the brain of the Demiurge, but he struggled to master his pain. He must be ready. Two thousand years of planning! He must be ready and strong. He gazed towards the opening and composed his hideous features into a brazen smile.

They roared through the aperture. There, directly before them loomed the gigantic, smilingly confident figure of the Demiurge. Even to an immortal, such as Sky, his dark face of stone and flesh was frightening to behold. The Demiurge pointed with his rod.

Suddenly, Sky pulled up sharply, cupping his wings and clapping them forward in three rapid strokes. A wall of Crystal! Sky's last second manoeuvre was not enough. He crashed into the transparent barrier and Jaomin was thrown forcefully from the saddle.

In his hand the boy gripped Logos.

For the moment, the Demiurge ignored the rider. He must maintain the crystal against the horse. He must imprison it. The great horse reared up and struck against the crystal cylinder that completely encircled him. He struck with deadly force. The Demiurge struggled to maintain the cylinder, marshalling the energy of the mother crystal into his being. Sky could not break through, but then the Demiurge seemed unable to draw the trap any tighter abound his immortal and implacable foe.

Jaomin had been thrown clear of the trap. The boy was stunned by the fall but staggered to his feet. The Demiurge, wary of him, seized his cloak from around his neck. In one swift motion he swung the Cloak of Annihilation, and tried to snuff the boy like a candle. The darkness of oblivion rolled towards Jaomin in waves. The prince of the blood threw himself backwards and struck his head against the wall.

Sky threw all his weight against the crystal, drawing the momentary attention of the Demiurge. But the prison held. Nihilos turned his fearsome gaze towards the boy, raised his cloak and...

~ ~ ~

...the Death Nygrath brought his tremendous blade down upon the knight...

~ ~ ~

Shock waves rolled through the life of the crystal. The Demiurge froze where he stood unable to move, still holding the winged horse at bay with his rod of power.

~ ~ ~

...The Knight of the Wounds held up his hands towards the creature. Searing light shot from the wounds in his palms, the wounds from which his name derived...

~ ~ ~

"No!" the Demiurge screamed, "NOOOOOO!" He staggered towards the Mother Crystal, lodged in the wall of the lair. He must hide from the Wounds; the blood burned him again. He staggered towards the source of his life, his immortality.

Jaomin stood, prayed, and pointed the sword into the heart of the crystal. The Mother awoke and shook the loathsome parasite from her breast.

Where the Demiurge had stood, a shower of rock crystals fell to the floor, and a curtain of incinerated flesh rose in smoke. The unholy immortality was broken, its prisoner freed to judgment and the Fallen Star tumbled into the abyss.