46
How could I have been so blind? How in hell had I not noticed? It was so searingly obvious. So blatant. I had even gotten a good, long look at the Iron Knuckle without her helmet on – and yet, here I was.
Only now did I see that the Inner Council was made up entirely of outerlanders. I was at the mercy of a gang of maniacs and grotesques from Earth.
"Aw, shite. Looks like I owe you those quid, eh chief?" the blonde man known as Darknut said petulantly. The droll, fuggy streets of Liverpool wound beneath his words. He nodded in the direction of Armos, who chuckled blackly. The masked man rubbed his thumb and forefingers together in the universal sign of payment expected.
I shook uncontrollably. Sheik's sure fingertips pressed into the flesh of my shoulder.
Vaati – that steely, besuited shadow of a man – held his palms together as if in triumphant benediction. He spoke with the false cheer of a tour guide. With a voice like oil and cigar smoke, Vaati purred, "We like to think of ourselves as 'Player Characters,' Mister Olsen. The new gods of this imaginary little world.
"Now that the cat's out of the proverbial bag, I suppose that a proper introduction is in order. My name is Irvine Latigo. Formerly of Long Beach, California. Formerly Vice President of Strategic Acquisitions for Hellstromme Industries. Now I serve a greater master. I am known as both Vaati and the Voice of Ganon. My word is his."
For the first time in some minutes, the Iron Knuckle spoke. She rumbled, "You're right, Linus. We're closer cousins to you than any of these Hylian freaks. We're practically family. The only people from the ol' blue marble to survive – and thrive – in this idiotic cesspit."
The corpselike man identified as "Stalfos" muttered something indecipherable. His black, seething eyes scanned the roiling water of the river as if he were searching for something important. Though the rest of the Inner Council stopped to listen to his incomprehensible rambling, I could make out none of it. His words were rasping, painful whispers. Fungus-colored lips poured them forth like the word salad of an incarcerated madman.
"Got that right," Armos eventually said, nodding. Whatever it was that the skeletal guy in the duster had said, the masked man agreed vehemently.
"Of course we're from Earth!" Vaati – a.k.a. Irvine Latigo – suddenly shouted. "Did you really think these fucking savages could organize themselves this well? Did you really believe that all this just happened on its own?"
He hissed, "Ganon recruited us from the one place where the legends of the Triforce were just that – stories. We five were the ideal candidates to gather his forces and spread his gospel. Who better than unbelievers to conquer such a devout people as Hyrule? We all know exactly where Hyrule comes from and where it's going. In addition to our, ah, unique skill-sets, every one of us knows the truth behind the lie – that this place is a plaything. A fictional world full of illusory people. A game – through which we may stride like the titans of old."
"What . . . what is he speaking of?" Sheik murmured hoarsely.
Latigo continued, "Our number hails from across the breadth of the globe. Gerard's a Limey, of course. And I understand that Kenji there is originally from Okinawa. Both Iron Knuckle and I have a . . . complicated ancestry. And God only knows where Armos is from originally – though he's plenty famous in your old neck of the woods."
"You . . . you followed me before I came here. You tracked me . . . and threatened me," I said, gaze drifting to Armos's featureless face. Within his mask's eye-holes, distant orbs shone like dark ponds.
Latigo said smoothly, "Come now, Mister Olsen. It's your destiny to come into conflict with out employer. You don't think that we wouldn't develop a bit of a vested interest in you, do you?"
"Bastard," I muttered, on the verge of tears. The thought of these creatures out on the streets of Los Angeles made me feel nauseous. "Bastard bastard bastard. Fucking bastards!" When I thought about them stalking my friends and loved ones, every fiber of my heart felt like it would explode.
Armos muttered, "Tch. What a fucking punk! You should have let me kill him when I had the chance."
"Simmer down, 'Bishop.' You'll have your turn. We all will," Latigo snapped.
Like a distant chorus, the Iron Knuckle called, "Exactly. Back off, you pathetic creeper. There're plenty of other corpses to fuck tonight."
The masked man tittered, "Oh, but I want this one. I want to cut out his guts, Knuckle. I want him to see his own liver in my hand. I owe him that much. And I want it now!"
"Jesus, man! Puttin' it on a bit thick, don't you think?" Darknut laughed.
"Enough, all of you!" Irvine Latigo barked. "I didn't call you here for a chucklefest. We're still on the clock, so to speak."
Suddenly all business, Latigo spun on his heel and called out to the Iron Knuckle: "We're done here, Mayda. The order has been given to fall back."
A beat of wind-swept silence. "Fall back?" the Iron Knuckle snarled. "Retreat? Hell! We're slaughtering them, Irvine! I could end this all myself. Just give me a few of Gerard's men and I'll –"
Latigo grimaced. "Enough," he snapped. "These orders come from the G-Man himself. He thinks that they've had enough."
"This ain't any kind o' sport, Bright-Eyes." Darknut said. He ashed his cigarette with a disdainful flick of the wrist. His silent mount was so still it might as well have been stuffed. "Might as well get on with the rest of the plan."
A roar like a maddened beast echoed from the Iron Knuckle's helmet. "We could stand atop the ruins of Harkinian Keep tomorrow if we press forward! With the seat of the royal family in our hands, we could break their spirits with a gesture."
Darknut scoffed, words rising on a twisting plume of ash. "And risk all their legions on the Faron Line turnin' around to chop us up? We ain't that well off, girl. We got what we came for. They'll be shittin' themselves stupid every time we even sneeze in their direction for the next few months."
As they argued, Sheik quietly stammered, "Linus . . . please. At the very least pick up your sword . . ."
But it's so far away! I wanted to mewl. It was probably no more than a foot from my body, submerged in water that couldn't be more than three or four inches deep.
Voice like a band-saw, Armos chattered, "You heard the man, Mayda – we got plenty o' opportunities coming our way. All the time in the world to play. Orders is orders. Even you have to play by the rules."
"But –!" the Iron Knuckle chuffed.
Latigo grimaced. His entire face transformed into a constricted mass of rage-lines. He shouted, "But nothing! You've had your fun, Knuckle. Now pack it in and prepare to leave. Lord Ganon commands it."
Sheik was right. Now was the time to act. As the Inner Council bickered, I realized that I had no better opportunity. No other would present itself. I needed to act. I needed to just . . . to just be able to move. All I had to do was reach. The Master Sword shone like salvation in the cool shallows of the Kerneghi.
I stretched out my right hand.
It took every memory – ever moment – every molecule of strength I had accumulated throughout my life. My torso felt like a crumbling concrete statue. My arm was a pylon scabbed with rust. Every joint squealed and shuddered.
A sinuous sluicing sound as something silver hauled up out of the river. The Master Sword rose into view. Had I really done that? Was I . . .?
Yes. I had! My fingers curled tight and bloodless about the blue steel of the sword's pommel.
From another world entirely, a flat voice cooed, "This is where it all gets interesting, isn't it? The point we've all been fuckin' waiting for. And what a night to kick it all off, huh?"
Now: Stand.
Too much. It's too much.
At my side, Sheik whispered something. His rich voice rolled with fear and revulsion. I understood nothing. All I knew was the full, breathless pain in my back and arm.
Do it, the Other Me moaned. It's the only thing you have left. All you can do now is make one last stand.
Elsewhere, someone said, "Oh, yes. And now we need only show off our prize."
I directed every last neuron-worth of my shrinking senses down into my numbed legs. I felt fibers of muscle twitch and spark with a kind of necromantic life. My knees pressed hard into the river mud. My eyes clasped shut and tears squeezed from their edges. Salt and iron sat heavy on my tongue.
Wrenching; groaning; flexing; stretching; creaking; snapping. Every twist of muscle below my waist convulsed and screamed. Breaking, cracking, crumbling – I stood. It was so painful that I cried out. All voices stopped their senseless jabbering.
Oh! It hurt so badly. And yet, as I tottered to my feet – dripping, the Master Sword held limply in one hand –I suddenly felt better than I had in the entirety of my life. I opened my eyes to a wide painting of stunned and incredulous faces.
"We got a live one!" Darknut smiled. His cigarette glowed with an amazed inhalation.
Close at hand, Sheik muttered, "Can you move? We must –"
I ignored him. Instead, I crowed, "Come on! I'll take all y'all bitches on!"
Laughter rose from the Inner Council – these men of Earth come to Hyrule to make war. Snickers and snorts and guffaws. Even the shriveled, grotesque ribs of Stalfos (Kenji, apparently) shuddered with sandpaper giggles. Only the Iron Knuckle stood at the periphery peevishly, looking as if she suddenly had no idea what to do with the giant sword still perched in one hand.
Still chuckling, Irvine Latigo leaned forward. He spoke as one might when addressing a daydreaming child. "Linus man, you couldn't even make a dent in one of us. Granted, my dear sister is a bit of a brick shithouse – after all, being Ganon's chief enforcer has its perks. That said, all of us have been given gifts by our great lord. Not even that long-eared pal of yours could touch us. You wouldn't have a fart's chance in a windstorm."
I panted, "Doesn't . . . matter. So long as you continue to oppress Hyrule and I've, I, I . . ." My vision swam. Both knees threatened to buckle. I said, "So long as I've got breath in my body . . . I'll oppose you."
Another gale of laughter answered my declaration.
"Dude's taking this fucking serious!" Armos said, his heavy chest twitching with breathless chortles. "I love it!"
"I mean . . . every fucking word," I breathed.
"Well then. Let's test that theory!" the masked man erupted.
No other members of the Inner Council had even a moment to react. Armos crouched, earthen tabards flapping with the movement. I heard: a splintering branch. I felt: like I was teetering over the side of a building. I smelled: peeling rubber on a scorching afternoon.
And he vanished.
I blinked gelidly. No more than three seconds passed. And then –
[Ozone; static electricity; acceleration.]
– Armos reappeared. He dashed no more than a yard away from me. His long legs propelled him through the water with monstrous strides. Deep in his mask, mad eyes spun delightedly.
"Boo!"
A huge, heavy cleaver swung in Armos's gloved fist. The sort of instrument one might use to crack beef bones in half. It approached without hesitation or mercy.
I didn't even have time to feel afraid. I sensed Sheik coiling down – attempting fruitlessly to deflect the oncoming attack. Even he was too slow. The masked man's cleaver was a deadly whirlwind.
[Not like this!]
With a jolt of agony, I threw up my right arm. The Master Sword flew like a prayer delivered.
Every bone and organ vibrated with the impact. A cry of distressed steel. I smelled hot blood and realized amid my agony that the wound on my left arm had begun to seep once more.
In less than an instant, that last muster of strength became a sadistic illusion. The blow knocked me back and stole all the power from my legs. I fell – but not far. Strong hands were there in a flash. Sheik caught me, slipping a rough hand beneath my arm.
Out in the firelight, Armos spun and planted a heel between the river rocks. He sputtered in frustration, "How the fuck did you block that?" His entire body shook with wild anger.
Armos's mud-red mask seemed to hover in the gloom-glow. His unkempt brown hair blew and flailed in the wind. From behind the featureless curvature of his false face, Armos growled, "No matter. Took the wind out of your sails, huh? Aw. Look at you. You ain't so tough. I think you got glass bones, nerdlinger. I think you got shit for brains and sand for balls. Next time I come at you, I guarantee you fold like a card table."
Among the startled faces of the Inner Council, the Iron Knuckle had roused from her previous apathy. I watched as she took a tentative step in our direction, only to hesitate. Uncharacteristic. Her armor vibrated with some untappable energy.
Irvine Latigo called out tiredly, "Enough of that, Bishop. Hit the brakes, man. They get the idea."
The masked man straightened. He chuffed and cocked his head to examine me one last time. At my shoulder, Sheik snarled, "Know this, dog of Ganon: Had I my blade, I would end you this night!"
"Right. Just keep on tellin' yourself that, sugar-tits," Armos muttered. "Looks like you two queers get a reprieve tonight. I'll be seein' ya'."
Accompanied by that confusing mélange of shifting sensation (cigarettes; falling; scissor-cuts), the masked man disappeared between breaths. There was no flash – no puff of smoke. He was there one nanosecond, and gone in the next. After a period of no more than a few heartbeats, Armos stood with arms crossed, shoulder to shoulder with his fellows of the Council.
Latigo gazed at the man remonstratively. He warned, "If you do anything like that again, I'll see to it that Ganon personally flays the flesh off your hands. Am I understood?"
"As you wish, Mein Fuhrer. I only wanted to show the little shit who's really in charge around here."
Come on, Linus. Stand back up. You did it before.
[But I can't!]
I wanted to sob, but had apparently already burned through my entire supply of tears. I couldn't even hold myself upright. Sheik was all that was keeping me from dropping back into the water. Sheik's sure hand gently took the Master Sword from my fingers. He slipped the destined blade beneath the folds of his cloak.
"Do not fear," he whispered. "There is hope yet." He moved so that I could lean more comfortably against his muscular shoulder. "Our time is now."
Unseen by me, the Iron Knuckle sniped, "Yeah. Big man. Beating up someone who's mostly dead. Heh – at least he's blonde. Your type, right?"
"Say that to my face, you –" Armos snapped.
Even the base theatrics of the Inner Council's squabbling couldn't distract them from Sheik's preparations for departure. A predatory grin slid back onto Irvine Latigo's face. He offered us his palms and chuckled warmly.
"Guys! Guys. Let's take it down a bit. No need to leave just yet. Our surprise guest has yet to arrive! I'm sure you'll be excited to finally meet him."
"What are they talking about now?" Sheik asked. I only shook my head. Despair prowled about my mind like a slathering beast.
"You really do want to settle down for this one," Latigo continued jocularly. "It's the entire reason why you're here tonight, actually. Why all of us are here. Did you think that Lord Ganon would simply sit this one out? Did you think that he would only send his servants to meet his great and ancient rival? Of course not. Haha. It would only follow that – ah. Ah! I feel it now."
Latigo twisted about and gazed up at to the western slope, where great sheer bluffs of granite jutted like castle walls. About his head were haloed dust and smoke and stars.
"There!" the man in the suit whispered ecstatically. "There!"
The other members of the Inner Council turned smoothly to face west. Beside me, I heard Sheik's breath hitch, pause, and then continue in shallow, sticky gasps.
Every living eye traced upward. Across the scrub bushes and singed tree limbs. Past the overhangs of lichen-smeared stone. Patches of orange firelight scuttled across the cliffs.
A black titan stood atop the rock face.
It moved across the stone with sure, unhurried, earth-rattling footsteps. Caught between star-filled sky and the burning pit of Kerneghi Gorge, it stood as if in conquest of some formless, limbo frontier.
At this distance, it was impossible to properly judge just how tall the figure actually was. Eight – nine – perhaps even ten feet from the tread of its cyclopean boots to the crown of its darkling helm. Numbers didn't really matter. All I knew was that the creature was a literal giant – too tall and wide-shouldered and heavy of foot to be remotely human.
The armor it wore was so dark that it was like the void of space hammered into plates. Across the black suit glimmered jagged designs of gold, indigo, and bloody coral. Its gargantuan gauntlets bore only three fingers apiece. Bronze spikes rose from the half-spheres of its shoulder-plates.
At first, I couldn't identify the long, palely shimmering object the creature held in one hand. When I figured out that it was a trident almost as tall as a telephone pole, I felt a fear as old as childhood.
Above a gold-studded gorget, none of the creature's features were visible. It wore a matte-black great-helm, forged in an angular-but-effective likeness of a snarling boar. Though the monstrous visage was composed of heavy angles, it was detailed to the point of evocation. The beast's bared teeth, black jowls, heavy brow, and sharp ears were fake only in composition – I felt as if the helmet itself could have been the giant's true face. A pair of tusks extended from the boar's curling, graven lips. Each one was easily the length of a cavalry saber. That they were worn with age and fully organic was undeniable.
Herein was the worst part: The tusks jutted from within the helmet – as if they were attached to whoever lay within.
You know who, Linus. I swallowed nothing but the scraping ghosts of drifting embers. It was all I could do to keep myself conscious.
It gazed down upon us with empty eyes, glowing white and pitiless as burning phosphorous. Within the raw iron of its helm, no sign of life moved but for the flicker of that distant, deathly fire.
An infernal figure in every sense of the word.
"Hail the coming of The Old Darkness! Our Savior in Chaos!" Latigo cried.
All the voices of the High Ministers rose in response:
"HAIL GANON!"
I whispered, "No. God. Not now."
Sheik squeezed my shoulder encouragingly, but all the strength seemed to have drained from his fingers. When I glanced his way, I saw that his ruby eyes were so wide that they threatened to tumble from their sockets.
Every member of the Inner Council save Darknut fell to his or her knee in homage. The dark knight atop his horse merely bowed in the saddle, eyes closed, cigarette dangling from his lips like a censer. His mount snorted contemptuously – the first sound the smoky horse had made since it had arrived.
Ganon – the Old Darkness – Cursed of the Goddesses – the Lord and High General of the Protectorate – the eternal enemy of the Hero of the Triforce. He drew toward the edge of the granite bluff. At his approach the ambient vapors of the night danced and swirled into abhorrent geometries. His massive, armored bulk bent over the cliff.
A pale, unpleasant glow seeped from between the plates of Ganon's armor. Its exact color and radiance coruscated as if from an uneven magnesium torch. When a ray of it touched my eyes, I flinched back as if I had just been caressed by the moldy contours of a dead man's hand.
Far below the giant's greaves, the face of the waters seethed like an expanse of dark matter given form and purpose. Wind howled maddeningly through the remains of the gorge's trees. All the hands of the battle's dead seemed to stretch and clutch hopelessly at the shadow of the ascendant dark lord.
Ganon spoke with a voice like a kettle drum. It boomed atonally through the valley – over every surface and against every brow. A voice as powerful and emotionless as thunder.
"GREETINGS. OUTERLANDER. AT LAST, OUR DESTINIES. COMBINE. AT LAST WE GLIMPSE. THEIR TRUE SHAPES."
His was a halting, uneven cadence. The tones of a demigod married to the breathless, stuttering delivery of a clinical asthmatic. Between each stunted semi-sentence, I could hear inhalations like the pumping of a titanic engine.
Silence opened like an empty grave. It took me an unknown quantity of seconds to figure out that this terrible apparition was waiting for me to speak. Even Sheik seemed to be holding his breath.
I fought nausea, terror, delirium, and the slippery sense that I was falling backward from a great height. All to manage: "I've . . . got nothin' . . . to say to you . . . you. You're a joke."
Ganon twisted and leaned atop the precipice, his armor grinding audibly. The chuckle that rumbled from the depths of his helm was flat and dead as a moonscape.
"I COULD CRUSH YOU. LIKE AN ANT. YOU ARE EVER. AT. MY MERCY."
The great trident jabbed in my direction, white as frozen lightning.
"YOU WILL BOW BEFORE ME. OUTERLANDER. YOU WILL. BOW. AT MY FEET. YOU SHALL BE. MY SLAVE."
"That's all you got? I . . . man. I thought you'd be more . . . than this. If you're all I have to defeat . . ." I gasped, ". . . then this is gonna be . . . the easiest heroic destiny ever."
Yellowed, elephantine tusks bobbed with Ganon's toneless laughter.
"YOU REMAIN. DEFIANT! VERY GOOD. I EXPECTED. NOTHING LESS."
What unnerved me more than anything – more than Ganon's monstrous height or his pale trident or the atmosphere of distilled dread that followed his steps – was that none of the Inner Council moved or spoke. Their previously rowdy demeanor had drained away into a quiet so profound that it could only stem from respect. An undying loyalty.
Sheik prodded me listlessly. Dude, cut me some slack.
I hissed, "What the fuck are you, really? Why don't you just show us all what's . . ." I coughed and detected a coppery aftertaste. "Show us . . . what's under that helmet of yours."
The Old Darkness's spiked shoulder-plates twitched and shuddered – whether from pleasure or annoyance, I could not remotely fathom. The figure pronounced, "KNOW, OUTERLANDER. THAT I AM OLD AS CREATION. MY HATRED. SHAPED THIS WORLD. IN MY SHADOW GROW. FIELDS OF BONE. AND FLOW RIVERS. OF BLOOD." The harsh starglow of his eyes – or rather, the lack thereof – burned very bright.
"I AM THE GODDESSES'. ULTIMATE FAILURE. I SEEK TO CORRECT. THE HYPOCRISY. OF LIFE!
"YOU AND. ALL OF YOUR FOREBEARERS. ARE ALL THAT. HAVE EVER STOOD IN MY PATH. THIS TIME. I WILL NOT ATTEMPT TO CRUSH YOU. I NEED ONLY. TO BEND YOU TO MY TRUTH. I MUST BIND YOU. TO MY WILL. AND SERVICE."
Mustering what was perhaps the last of my energy, I said, "What now, then? Are you fuckers gonna . . . drop the hammer? Or am I?"
At last a sound emanated from the gathered Councilmen: A half-suppressed snicker rose from the twitching form of Armos. Bishop Armos. Bishop.
The Bishop?
In my dementia, that gave me pause.
"NOW?" Ganon boomed. "NOW THE PIECES. ARE SET. NOW THE GREAT STRUGGLE. CAN TRULY BEGIN. I WANT YOU TO BE. STRONG. WHEN I BREAK YOU. I WANT ALL THE WORLD TO BE. BETTER THAN IT IS. ONLY THEN. WILL I SMASH YOUR. HOPES. DREAMS. LOVE. JOY. ALL THINGS. YOU WILL CURSE YOUR. GODDESSES' NAMES!
"NOW? I LEAVE YOU. TO PREPARE. KNOW NOW THAT YOU CANNOT. PREVAIL. NOT THIS TIME. SOON I WILL SEE YOU CHAINED. AT MY SIDE."
Abruptly, Irvine Latigo rose from his crouch. He spun about with an expression of dead-eyed bliss. He shouted, "Flee, then! Tell your masters that the sons of Earth have come for their country! All will burn before the might of Ganon and his Protectorate. The children of another world will set foot upon your homelands and drink the blood of your entire race!"
"INDEED. DEAR VAATI. INDEED," the armored giant crooned. Like a roving mountain of dark steel, Ganon turned on and lumbered methodically away from the bluff's edge. He turned the porcine outline of his helm back in my direction. His tusks were silhouetted like twin chasms, cutting apart the stars. "WE WILL MEET AGAIN. OUTERLANDER. SOONER. THAN YOU THINK."
His departure was like watching the retreat of some great thunderhead. A dark outline laden with fell meaning, sinking painfully over the horizon. Flashes of eye-searing light flickered between the plates of his armor. Each boot-step a booming peel. And then he was gone – as abruptly and mysteriously as the Old Darkness had arrived. For a moment, I wondered whether the entire episode had simply been a pain-induced nightmare.
The High Ministers rose slowly, like sleepers awakening at the end of a long journey. Darknut blinked heavily and sighed, "That's it, eh?" He examined his smoke, grimaced, and flicked its vaporous butt out into the river.
"Yeah," Armos chuffed. "Crying goddamn shame."
Stalfos swayed drunkenly. A diseased rictus had spread across his features. I felt an acute repulsion as I realized that the expression was actually a smile.
"Come, gentlemen. Our hour is past. Time to pack our instruments and strike the stage," Latigo announced.
The Iron Knuckle had receded into shadow. Her form was phantasmal and uncertain. Once more she may as well have been a particularly grim sculpture, left in the river as if in warning.
"You're just . . . leaving us?" I asked. I couldn't tell if my astonishment was genuine or a byproduct of physical shock. "Bullshit. There's gotta be a catch."
"Certainly," Latigo smirked. "And that price is this:
"Tonight, we won. You know that we did. No matter how hard you struggled . . . no matter how 'valiantly' you fought . . . you failed. This is your moment of disgrace, Olsen. A moment that's going to gnaw at you for the rest of your pathetic, benighted life. When we next meet, I want to see just how big a hole this night has chewed in you. Why, I'm hoping that it'll be sweet enough that I'll have to take a picture."
"All this . . ." My eyes roved bloodlessly over the devastation smoldering throughout the valley. "All this was just to fuck with me?"
"Sure," Latigo hummed. At last, actual pleasure stole into his features. It produced a wave of rippling tics that crossed his smile like live things. "Why not?"
His all-too-human eyes scanned Sheik and I as if we were guests in need of ejection from a party run too late. He made a brusque shooing motion. "Now: Scamper along, children. It's far past your bedtime."
All of a sudden, the Shiekah's grip tightened on my shoulder. "Linus: If you can still hear me, we are leaving. Know that I have to carry you now. This will likely cause you great pain. "
As the Inner Council watched bemusedly, Sheik hauled me up with all his might. With a grunt and a harried wheeze, the Shiekah pulled my damp body into a fireman's carry.
He was right: It did cause great pain. It felt as if my left arm was about to rip apart all over again. My ribs pounded with a cracked fury. I screamed uselessly and felt all the more a fool when my cry was answered by a burst of mocking laughter. Apparently this was quite the show for the Inner Council. Fuck all of them.
All the colors and sounds of the night lost clarity. My mind wheeled over an abyssal precipice.
Sheik pulled me tight to him. The heat of his body became a very close thing. I could smell the blood and dust caked into his wrappings. I tried not to whimper when the Shiekah said, "Hold tight."
In the hazy outer reaches of the darkness, a pair of bright amber eyes stared from within the outline of a great-helm. They bored into me with an implacable, lupine focus. In the burning coal of their depths I saw something as intangible as it was absolutely certain. They radiated an unspoken promise.
And then even those were gone. All at once we were in motion. A confusing rush of shadow and flame. At Sheik's back there flew brays of laughter like a chorus of imps.
Irvine Latigo's voice dogged us even in our flight. "Run now, children! Run along! And don't forget to say your prayers!"
There was no time to feel helpless. No time to mull over what the fuck had just happened. A body full of battered shards of pure agony had begun to fail. I had held out much longer than I should have.
All time was suddenly elastic. I heard each of Sheik's footfalls like distant explosions. His heart was a tumbling drum. It struck me that he must be very strong to carry me with such ease – even though his breath came thick and labored. Each exhalation moved clothward into my ears. They grew hot and tired.
I couldn't feel the fingers on either of my hands. Every breath I took was laced with dry razors. I saw little but the dark outlines of trees and rocks and broken things like scarecrows.
Oh, I thought. Man. I'm kinda . . . kinda fuckin' . . . dying here, I think.
My face rolled upward. Sheik loomed into the sky, tall as a god, his dark red eyes like fierce alien suns. Across my vision, a thicker, creamier darkness was falling. Everything shimmered through a fine, gauzy mist of charcoal and navy. Beyond this blue frontier, stars were crowned about the waning dome of the moon.
"You cannot die." Sheik's voice spanned the world. "Do not die, damn you! Stay strong! If you die, all of this is for nothing!"
I'm trying, I thought miserably. It's just so . . . hard.
My eyelids fluttered like the wings of a panicked moth. All weight and consequence slid from my shoulders. Sheik said something that I didn't understand. I opened my mouth to thank him – to tell him how much I was in his debt and how deeply I admired him at that moment. I wanted to tell him that I was going to sit down and buy him a beer.
No words emerged from my cracked lips. A veil of senseless void-stuff fell across all things. Sheik vanished behind its numb curtain.
After that: Nothing. Not even glimpses of the receding world. Just darkness.
I seem to remember there being rain. That doesn't seem likely, though. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
