The Verdict

Sequel to 'The Fine Spinning Thread'

I don't get it, he thought hazily.

The blackness was all around him, pressing in and sucking him dry. It felt cool and oppressive against his skin, completely different from the agonized shredding that had assailed him before.

Zarathustra saw the visions of God…

But what he didn't understand was why he was feeling anything at all. He was dead. Gone. He'd felt his heart tear from his chest at the look on Elika's face, and moments after that felt it physically rend for real. He winced briefly at the memory of the catastrophic, unbelievable pain and tried to sit up. It took a while to get every muscle coordinating again. Eventually, he managed to raise himself weakly to his elbows, and then to his shaking wrists. He stayed like that for a while, recovering from the exertion. Unseen in the dark and his blindness behind closed lids, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. Funny. Two months ago he'd been skidding down rails, sliding down walls, and gracefully fighting monsters spawned from the deepest level of Hell itself.

Right now he felt like he could barely move. But move he did. There was something strange going on. The spindly text on the stone had been cracked and faded, and a few of the words had been unclear. But he'd sworn that the right translation of yanmobeh had not been just 'sacrifice' but 'utterly destroy'.

Zarathustra saw the God, Ahura Mazda.

And although he felt as weak as a newborn mule, he hardly felt utterly destroyed.

At that realization, a cold shred of fear stirred in his gut. What if he'd failed? What if he'd been the wrong guy? Then again, a soul can't get much tainted than mine.

What if… what if it hadn't been the last part of the prophecy?

No.

It was that thought, and that thought alone that made him open his eyes. And when he did, another terror that he would never acknowledge awoke in his chest. Because instead of seeing nothing or nonexistence, he saw something he recognized all too well.

Zarathustra saw Ormazd.

He was on yet another stone platform, but unlike any he'd seen before, it hung motionless in space over an unfathomable abyss without any support. It extended about thirty feet, a crooked rock disc in the air, and then narrowed out to a precipice. And from there, the columns and arch forming the entrance to a bridge shrouded in mist stood like the entry to a cemetery, solemn and still.

Waiting.

Zarathustra saw Ahriman.

The Prince started to laugh.

It was not a happy laugh, or even an ironic one. Instead, it skirted the edge of hysteria, thinning out his breath to the boundary of nothingness. This was it. The universe's final joke on him. And boy, was it the worst punchline he'd ever dreamt of.

He staggered to his feet. His strength was still nonexistent, but something else was plucking at him now, drawing him forwards. If he remembered correctly, someone or… something, awaited him on the other end of the structure, and it was suddenly vital that he reach them. Because even though he recognized this place, had seen it ancient carvings of it so many times it was probably impressed on his eyeballs, it still didn't answer the most burning question in his chest.

Had it worked?

Zarathustra saw the deadly battle in the cosmos and in humankind's soul…

Whoever or whatever was there, they surely couldn't begrudge him one last question. So his most immediate problem was getting there. At that, the barely suppressed shape of a physical grimace twisted his face as he looked down and noted his leg was still bad, and then seconds later lifted his eyes to the bridge itself, spanning the Gods knew how far, and standing only seven inches across.

"What is this?" he demanded. "A hand-eye coordination test for the undead?"

Zarathustra saw that after life, every soul would alight on a bridge…

As expected, nobody answered. Scowling, he began to limp his way towards the bridge. It would have been nothing to him two months ago. Heck, he could have probably handsprung over the entire thing. Of course, it wasn't as if he couldn't hold himself anymore.

He and Elika had dealt the killing blow together.

The bridge spanned over Hell. The dead soul would walk it…

He closed his eyes briefly in memory and then moved forwards. Dust tripped from underneath the tread of his boots, and he walked across it as confidently as any man could across a beam directly above the maw of Hell. Gradually, the mist parted and flowed around him, leaving tiny drops of perspiration dancing across his skin. It shrouded his view of the depths below, and for that he was grateful. I mean, I'm good with heights. But really…

Actually, that was a lie. The Prince chewed the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on moving one foot in front of the other without overbalancing and plunging to a premature damnation. He'd never really been afraid of heights. That would have been rather crippling in a man of his profession. But after he'd met Elika…

After he'd flown with an angel and fallen, knowing that she'd always catch him, he'd never had to be afraid of heights.

Of course, she wasn't here with him now.

His jaw tightened and he limped faster. Across the horizon of his vision, he saw the slim reach of stone widen out once more, and his breath caught. Almost there. Almost there. And if the grave frescoes hadn't been wrong, then something else was almost about to happen…

And at the end of that bridge would stand a woman.

She materialized in front of him, and for a moment he couldn't see her. The fog pulled in thick around the air, and for long seconds it shrouded her face and her hair as he limped closer. But then when he did, he froze.

The soul destined for Heaven for their good deeds would see a beautiful girl. She would reach forwards and touch his forehead, then his heart, and he would be carried to heaven.

Same brown eyes. Same curved lips. Same gently rippling tresses, and he wanted to laugh through his tears, or cry through his vomit.

The soul destined for Hell for their sins would see a witch. And she would reach forwards and cast them off the bridge.

"Elika."

She didn't say anything, only raised her eyes to meet his. And that was when he realized that it was all wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Because this girl, she looked exactly like the beautiful one he'd left behind, but it wasn't her. It wasn't her, not that same gentle, wild soul, and that made both fear and relief leap into his throat.

And they would fall, fall, fall… until they reached the level of Hell that matched their level of wickedness in life. And there they would wait for the final reckoning…

It wasn't her, but bluish black tendrils of magic snaked around her arms nevertheless. Suddenly, the heart throbbing in his chest began pumping harder. The grave frescoes he'd seen had always shown the beautiful woman. Obviously, they didn't want to allude that the inhabitant of the tomb had been anything but wonderful through their entire life. But that didn't mean that the witch was that much different.

She wasn't her, but she looked so much like her that he ached. "Elika?" he rasped again, and this time it was a question. "Before… before you do anything. Did it work?"

She looked at him blankly, a fallen angel who could not answer his prayers. He felt a cold prickle run down his skin. Okay, he hadn't anticipated this. Her eyes probed into his soul like it was written parchment, as if she could read ink and script where his skin was. The laughter in his throat that had died wanted to bubble up again.

"You know what's ironic, Princess?" he addressed the spectre, not caring that it wasn't actually her, just wanting something to hold onto. "It's fucking perfect, this."

She said nothing, continued to scrutinize him as if she could read his entire life story on his dead body. Which she probably could, in a strange way. Scars danced themselves across his skin, puckering their touch like kisses, and if he tried, he could remember the tales behind them. Just like the leg wanting to buckle beneath him told him the story of being crazy enough to throw himself in front of a blow coming for her.

He shook his head, marveling at the blessed irony. "You standing here, judging me. Deciding my fate," he cast her a decidedly lopsided grin. "And not answering straight a single question I have."

Yes, this definitely was not Elika. It wasn't even a shell. The real girl would have fired something wittily back, the blade of her retort singing a deadly caress against his cheek before driving home. But that in itself posed the question of why his final arbiter had taken this form.

He grimaced inwardly and gazed on her beloved, empty face. Probably because he was a master at the art of self-torture.

Suddenly she straightened, and his heart leapt in response. This was it. The joking and questions faded, replaced by only the slow clutching of fear.

This isn't even exciting. I know exactly where I'm headed.

But that didn't mean he relished the thought of knowing. She reached forwards and he flinched away, instinctively. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment, and then lowered to clasp the other.

But Zarathustra saw that some… some souls were sent to judgement in front of God.

"Pass."

Out of habit, he crooked a startled, incorporeal eyebrow, stepped back, and almost fell off the bridge. Barely catching himself, he swore under his breath. "Say what now?"

The bruised magic of the witch, the beauty of the girl began to fade to nothingness, leaving only her voice drifting in the wind. "Pass, and be judged."

He stared at the space she left behind. Elika… And then he shook himself out of it and remembered her words and dropped his jaw.

Why hadn't they just damned him from the beginning?

Then again, she'd said "Be judged." That doesn't sound good. He wet his lips and walked shakily forwards, trying to cast out the darkness with his roving eye.

"You know," he said aloud, "I'm flattered, really. Special case, huh?" There was no answer, no voice from the endless night around him. "Worthy enough to come in front of the Great One himself."

He knew implicitly that his cockiness sounded flat in the void, but hey, it sure as hell made him feel better. The Prince settled a smirk on his face like an invulnerable shield, and even when the darkness was suddenly broken by an explosion of light, it held on as tight as ever. A throne appeared, kept aloft by a pair of unearthly wings and shining in a column of light. After a year in the near-darkness of a Corrupted world, it hurt his eyes so much he had to shield them. When he finally uncovered his vision, the face of God stared back, and it took every cell within him to keep the smirk plastered firmly on his face.

If he was going to be damned, he was going to show them what they were damning.

"Ormazd, I presume?" he asked lazily. "Or Ahura Mazda? I always did get you two mixed up."

Like the girl beforehand, the pitiful clone of the most beautiful, vibrant woman he had ever known, the God merely stared at him. The Prince felt the scintillating feeling of a million pricks of light sweeping through him, leaving every crevice of him opened, widened. The thought panicked him and stumbled his tongue.

"Anyway, it's great to finally meet you," he rubbed his hands together, palms ironic. "I mean, you've been watching us for so long now. Always liked to return a favour."

He paused for effect, and then hardened his eyes. "Oh wait, there were none."

The God remained silent, searching. For a moment, the Prince wondered whether He'd even heard, and then remembered that Gods were supposed to be pretty bright. Hah.

Although that didn't explain the wait. Adrenaline and sweat trickled along his veins, and his nerves were still taut from the tension of having the fibres of their physical counterparts rent apart. That had to be the only excuse for why he said what he did next.

"Oh for your sake," he settled one hand on his hip, where his sword hilt would have been in life. "Get on with it and damn me already!" Fury stretched his voice thin. "I've been used up like a good little servant, fighting your damn fight. Bet I screwed you over good when I brought her back, huh? Well tough luck! At least I did something afterwards!" That reminded him of his original question, and he scowled over the sudden quailing of his soul. "And wait, did it work?"

Still nothing. More staring, with unearthly eyes that peered into crevices that no mortal could or should ever see. He felt it, and snapped.

"Come on! You owe me this at least. We chased your stupid prophecy for months! The least you can do is give me a straight answer."

White, incorporeal knuckles. Harsh, unneeded breath. "Did it work? Did I make it right? Is she alive?"

Perhaps for his mortal mind's sake, the God had taken on a human form. And finally, finally, it moved into a frown. "I WAS NOT EXPECTING YOU."

Something oddly like relief and a new surge of disorientation hit him. The God's voice rang with a thousand bells, and the Prince cocked his head in an effort to stop the dizziness. "That's not an answer."

The God continued, as if he'd never spoken. "I HAD NOT THOUGHT… I HAD NOT THOUGHT ONE SUCH AS YOU WOULD MAKE ANY SACRIFICE."

His dead heart skipped a beat. "You mean, it worked?"

The God finally seemed to register on him as a person, instead of just the weight of his soul. "AHRIMAN IS GONE, IF THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE ASKING."

Two months ago, he would have thrown dignity to the winds and done a dance, complete with shouting for joy. Now, he merely let a great, glorious grin spread over his face. "You serious? It worked?!"

If an omniscient God could look miffed… "YOU ARE NOT DOING YOUR CASE ANY GOOD, YOU KNOW."

It was the Prince's turn to utterly and thoroughly act as if the other hadn't spoken at all. "How about her?" he demanded, eyes shining. "Elika. Is she okay? Is she happy?"

The God tilted His head to the side. "YOU… ARE A STRANGE ONE."

The Prince felt like throwing his head back and crowing out his joy to the sky. "She's all right, isn't she? Otherwise I'd have been tossed into Hell the moment I showed my face here." The grin died down to a frown, followed quickly by a real, honest smile. "Can't think of any better reason to be instantaneously damned. But then, I wasn't. So she's all right!"

The God stared at him again, but this time it was different. "YOU… YOU HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW, DO YOU?"

The Prince jerked back to reality. Now that he was sure that he hadn't just stupidly ended his life for no reason and left Elika alone in a Godsforsaken, Corrupted world, the very real shadow of the future suddenly loomed over him. He tried to cover it with a laconic shrug. "Oh, I have a vague idea. You're here to decide whether I get sent down to where the naughty kids go or get to have cookies for playing nice, right?"

The God paused, and when He spoke His voice was begrudging. "YOU ARE REALLY NOT PLEADING YOUR CASE VERY WELL."

The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Wait, I have to plead my case? I thought you were just supposed to look into my soul and weigh up the good against the bad. Isn't that what you've been doing for the last few minutes? What were you, spacing out on me?"

The God didn't deign that with an answer. "YOU BUT HAVE TO PLEAD YOUR CASE ON ONE IMPORTANT QUESTION. ONE THAT I CANNOT FATHOM, ALTHOUGH EVERYTHING ELSE IS CLEAR."

The Prince sucked in a breath. There was a perplexed look hovering on the God's face, an uncertainty mixed with frustration, and for the first time he suddenly realized that his damnation might not be predestined after all. And that thought was enough to steep him in caution.

"Ah, before I do that… could you tell me what's clear?" he gave a casual grin. "You know, just to know what kind of odds I've got."

The God pursed His mouth. "YOU HAVE ROBBED TOMBS FOR MOST OF YOUR LIFE," He began without preamble. "YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM INNOCENTS AND LEFT BROKEN HEARTS BEHIND."

The Prince's grin soured. "Yeah, well, I'll just have to remind you that every time I managed to amass a nice sum of gold, something happened and I lost it all again. I'm betting that there was some redistributive justice at the end… not sure if they were exactly what you'd call innocent, though," he shook his head regretfully. Carpets 'this' thick! "Still doesn't that count for anything?"

The God pointedly ignored him. "AND OF COURSE… YOU RELEASE AHRIMAN. YOU SENTENCED TO DEATH HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE. YOU RIPPED APART FAMILIES, DESTROYED VILLAGES, AND BROUGHT GREAT CITIES TO THEIR KNEES BEFORE THE MIGHT OF THE CORRUPTED. YOU KILLED AND ENSLAVED MILLIONS THROUGH YOUR ACTIONS."

Something burned in his throat. "Yeah, and who left Ahriman down there in the first place?" There was a dark guilt, a shame, but he refused to acknowledge it because that just might drive him mad. "I just sacrificed myself to rid the world of him forever. I plead that that balances it out."

The God's eyes flashed. "HOW DO YOU PROPOSE THAT YOU CAN BALANCE OUT SO MUCH BLOOD?"

The Prince clenched his fists. "Because it would have happened anyway, and it would have been much worse," his voice was hard as iron, cold as his whispering blade. "There was what, a single piece of wood protecting the world from him? I'm frankly surprised it took people a couple of thousand years to bust him out."

The God moved as if to speak, but the Prince moved faster. "No. I want you to think about it. Because what would have happened if I hadn't let him out in the first place? He would have been let out by some other stupid schmuck. One that would have had no clue and now way as to how to stop him."

The God's frown deepened. "WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU WERE ANY DIFFERENT?"

Possibility at salvation be damned. The Prince glared at Ormazd, his voice tightening. "Oh don't play precious with me. You sent me there. I know you did. Because no one else was fit for the job."

The God's silence was His answer. The Prince smirked vindictively.

"And most importantly of all, he wouldn't have had Elika. Because she would have been, oh wait, dead."

Ormazd narrowed His eyes. "SO YOU CONTEND THAT MORE WOULD HAVE DIED IF YOU HAD NOT RELEASED AHRIMAN WHEN YOU DID?" At the Prince's nod, His visage darkened. "AND YOU THINK THAT SOMEHOW BALANCES OUT EVERYTHING?!"

The Prince swallowed, but the anger and hidden shame in him overrode the fear. "If it doesn't, tell me what would. Because from where I'm standing, I just went through over a year of excruciating pain trying to figure out how to end it for good with Elika, and that's not even including the part at the end. You know, the part with the sacrifice." At Ormazd's start, he remembered something. "And hey, even you didn't expect that. And you're the all-knowing God of Light, so it has to be something special."

Something that couldn't possibly be hope snatched at his heart as the contempt in Ormazd's eyes faded to contemplation. For a few short seconds, the God thought, and it seemed to span the course of hours. When He spoke again, it held all the gravity of a final question, and the Prince's heart beat faster.

"TELL ME. WHAT WAS THE SACRIFICE THAT YOU MADE?"

The instant reply that leapt to his lips was probably wholly inappropriate given that his fate lay in Ormazd's hands. Uh, were you watching or not? I'm standing here dead, aren't I? All-knowing God of Light my cute ass…

Then again, everything else he'd said had likely been wholly inappropriate, and that hadn't stopped him. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't turn over a new leaf right now, seconds before the ultimate verdict. Besides, as he felt the God's penetrating gaze on him, a sense of what He wanted came out, and the Prince exhaled, seriousness suddenly sweeping over him.

"Look," he stumbled. "I'm… I'm not so good with words." At the God's look, he rushed ahead. "But wait! If you could just, uh…"

He gestured vaguely to his forehead, and to his relief Ormazd nodded. Thank you, he thought without the barest twist of irony, and then he closed his eyes and opened up his mind.

Elika. Elika in the sun. Elika in the light. Elika in the shadows. Elika stalking through darkness, lighting up the world around her with her purity. Elika in a Corrupted world that nonetheless looked determined. And most importantly of all, unbroken.

For a brief moment, the Prince opened his eyes again to check the God was getting all of this. At the impassive nod staring back at him, he quickly closed his eyes again and started hauling into the most painful recesses of his own soul.

The Prince took a breath. Funny. His soul had been searched so many times today. In death, by Elika's vacant clone, and then by Ormazd. In life, first by Elika, then by himself in his stolen moments of heaven as she willingly shared his embrace. His still clenched fists uncurled tenderly at the memory. It… it had burnt like fire and stung like ice, freezing and stoking him that this was what he had, what he could have had if they both hadn't been so blind, so fearful, so angry, so wary. Knowing that he could stay and live in a Corrupted world with a woman he'd damn everything for, and be as happy as anyone could get, but then knowing that she would always be sad. The image of her as he'd last seen her came to his mind, as solid and tremulous as a whisper, and he saw her determined lips, her gorgeous, steely eyes and her flying hair. Those would have been the delight he could have supped on for the rest of his life, but they would have always had had a bitter aftertaste. The image of her in the desert as he'd first seen her came to his mind. Backlit by the sun, gloriously golden. Gloriously alive.

A girl who was never, ever meant to live in darkness.

He could feel Ormazd's gaze still pricking at him, and suddenly felt inordinately empty. Elika laughing. Elika smiling. Elika kissing me, breath on my cheek and lips against mine. Soft. Me holding her, bodies pressed together, fitting like some fairytale gone horribly wrong, and yet perfectly right. Fused. Holding each other against the cold. Finding a place safe enough to light a fire. Making love to her. Her making love to me. Making love together, creating a space of our own slipped and satined by ourselves and our bodies against the real world full of darkness.

He could have gone on forever, but each image slapped him in the face with his own stupidity and crushed his soul under the weight of his guilt and defiance. The Prince opened his eyes with a choked breath, certain that the blurriness in his vision was due to him having squeezed his eyes so long.

Not for any other reason.

Not because of everything he'd lost.

His vision swam painstakingly slowly back into focus, not aided by his adamant refusal to wipe his eyes. When he could finally see, however, he was surprised to see Ormazd gazing at him, a completely unreadable expression on his eyes.

His heart near stopped when the God opened his mouth.

"DOES THAT COMPLETE YOUR CASE?" He asked, his resonant voice oddly gentle.

The Prince swallowed thickly. For a moment, it seemed as if he wouldn't be able to speak past the lump of tears. "Yeah," he said roughly. This is it. It's over. "That's all I got."

Ormazd nodded. "VERY WELL THEN."

And just because he could. Just because he wanted to. Just because he had to, the Prince closed his eyes once more time and summoned up just her. Just Elika, with no strings attached. No outward look of fire or righteousness or love, just the girl that he'd first met who saw only a stranger. The girl whose fire, righteousness and love moved inside her very blood, and who had been enough to completely change his world in the space of a few hours.

The Prince felt, rather than anything else, his tired mouth form into a smile. And with that, he opened his eyes, finally ready for the verdict.

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A/N - You guys are all amazing. Absolutely amazing, d'you hear? I was absolutely swept away by all of the wonderful reviews I received for the last chapter. I'm sorry I haven't replied to them yet, I've just been so boggled, awed and touched. Thanks for your support and words of appreciation. While I admit that after I finished the last one, I was toying with the idea of continuing the story, your reviews were what made me st up, take notice and get proper inspiration for this you again, from the bottom of my heart, for being such wonderful readers, taking the time to share my work with me, and letting me know what you think. :)

That said, please don't lynch me for another cliffhanger type! There will be one more piece to complete this arc, I promise. :) Also, just as a note, the view of the afterlife here is actually modelled upon real Zoroastrian/Persian beliefs, although I have taken some artistic licence. Just thought you might be interested. :P And because I keep forgetting to mention this to my lovely anonymous reviewers whom i can't reply to directly, I unfortunately am a PC gamer and so haven't been able to get a playable copy of the Epilogue, and thus cannot write about it. I hope that these current flights of fancy will be enough to until the sequel.

Again, thank you so much, my dear readers and reviewers. :) I hope you enjoyed this piece, because out of everything I've written, this one was most certainly for you.

Now wish me luck for my exams!:D

- Shadowhawke