Chapter 4 ยป Resolve of Fortitude
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Without waiting for an answer, Tom shoved the door open, stepped out of the way and motioned for Harry to enter. The boy glared at his former enemy and took a deep breath. Then he pushed a stray hair out of his eye, squared his shoulders back and went in.
It was just as beautiful as the hallways they had walked through, yet somehow more light and comforting; the reds were toned down somewhat, and it was less elaborate. Obviously a room more for functions than show.
Harry didn't really care to view his surroundings, however, because he was standing in the presence of a pair of deities.
One, a woman - Aisiivou, he supposed - was standing, watching something through a window. Seated in a high-backed chair of dark wood was a man, who Harry took to be Naoze. They looked - normal, really. They appeared to be in their early-fifties, hints of grey running through their dark hair; just average-looking people in robes that wouldn't have stood out at a high-ranking Wizard's ball.
The only thing that told Harry who they were was their power. It was obvious they were controlling it, stopping it from overwhelming everyone; but this close, he could almost see it running around them, like an aura of sapphire-blue. It seemed to fairly hum in the still air.
The man looked up as Harry entered, though Aisiivou still watched dreamily out of the window. A smile appeared on his weathered face. "Harry Potter."
Harry gave a nod, suddenly aware of how awkward he felt, how out of place. Naoze seemed to sense this, for he stood up and looked over to the door. "Stop eavesdropping and come in, Riddle. You'll need to be here for this."
As soon as the other man had stepped in, looking perfectly innocent (Harry was reminded of a certain Shakespearian quote he had read in Muggle junior school), Naoze turned back to Harry, watching him carefully as though memorising him, judging him - which he probably was. Harry wondered whether he could see into his mind, and decided he probably could - as he was the god of psychics, after all. He kept his mind blank.
"Harry Potter," the god repeated, nodding as though he approved of him. "I suppose you're wondering why I've requested you come here, rather than pass straight through the Ninth Gate?"
Harry hesitated, unsure of what to say or do, and decided on giving a slight nod. "I was... a little uncertain."
"This is the first time a living person has entered Elysium in over nine thousand years," Naoze smiled warmly, "which makes this an event to remember in itself. But I'm afraid there are two other reasons - one which directly concerns you, and another that you may have some interest in.
"The first is that of the daemon you attempted to banish to the Tenth Sanctum." He sighed. "I'm afraid some of the power used in that spell was used to bring you to Elysium by accident - there wasn't enough to send the daemon all the way through the Tenth Gate."
Harry's eyes widened. "You mean Syneeta is still in my Realm?"
"It's not quite that bad," corrected Naoze. "Syneeta is somewhere in or between the Third and Eighth Sanctums - and likely to be causing utter chaos as she tries to find her way back to her mistress in your Realm."
"But she can't get back, can she?"
He shook his head. "No; but I'm not content to allow her free reign of my Realm, either. The souls here have enough to worry about, getting to their final destination, without being attacked by a beast that shouldn't exist here in the first place." He frowned at Harry. "I understand that this was not your intention, to release her to this Realm; but you have done so, and I must request that you either destroy her or send her beyond the Tenth Gate."
"Er... no offence," said Harry, before he could stop himself, realising it wasn't as much a request as an order, "but being the most powerful god... why -"
Naoze gave a small laugh. "I won't take action in this matter," he explained, "because you have caused this mishap, and you must fix it. My method of ruling is to analyse the problem and find a way to solve it; you may ask why I simply do not destroy all daemons, or send people on to their final place without passing through so many Gates -"
"The ways of gods are strange, and not for us mere mortals to question," Riddle mocked, smirking. Harry, shocked that this recently dead man was speaking so impudently, could only stare incredulously.
Naoze seemed only amused. "I have my reasons, which I do not care to explain at the moment... only to say that one of my wife's visions has revealed that your mistake may have great implications - good or bad, depending on your actions, or lack thereof. I suggest you take a hand in eliminating her, or certain terribly consequences could occur. I'm afraid that I cannot elaborate any further. Will you do so?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it. How was he meant to refuse a god? This wasn't a request, or even an order from someone trying to manipulate him; as much as he hated it, it was his fault. He had attempted a complicated spell without the necessary precautions, and anything that occurred because of the daemon would be his fault - and he doubted the man was lying about the important of his actions.
"All right," he agreed, as if there could be any other answer. "I'll track her down and stop her, one way or the other. What was the other reason you had to talk to me?"
Naoze tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I would not mention this if you were not going to be here a while longer... and it is quite complicated to explain. You are aware that each god and goddess has two objects which are blessed with divine powers in some way?"
Harry vaguely recalled reading this on the laptop, so he nodded.
"We are given these at our birth," the god described, "and we have them our whole - immortal - lives. They almost become an extension of ourselves. However, they all have one weakness, despite their power. You see, they cannot be affected by anything."
Harry waited for him to clarify, and frowned when nothing came. "What do you mean?"
"I mean precisely that," Naoze said. "We cannot change them, we have no hand in deciding what they will be or what they do; we cannot alter or damage them in any way, for better or worse. They cannot be damaged naturally, accidentally or deliberately by anyone or anything. We cannot use magic even to lift them, and any spell on them is harmless."
"So what's the problem?"
Naoze sighed. "Normally, there is none. However, one of the things we cannot do is sense them. Usually we keep them close to hand, or well-guarded - but now one of the divine relics - one of my relics - is missing, and we have reason to believe it has been stolen."
Even Tom looked appalled at this news - in fact, he looked terrified, which made Harry guess that this was a lot more serious than it sounded.
Naoze seemed to realise this, because he elaborated further. "The relics are powerful items - if they can withstand everything a god can throw at them and more, you must be able to see that. One of my relics is safe; the Horn of Plenty. The relic that has been stolen is the Soul Scythe, the most powerful of the two - and it could cause destruction beyond human imagination."
"What can it do?" Harry demanded. The god looked deadly serious now; even tired, worried.
"It appears to be a normal scythe, except for the aura of power it exudes. One touch with the blade can kill any being, as long it is possible for it to die. Any being; Muggle, Wizard, even demi-god. A touch with the other end of the scythe can bring any being back to life, fully healthy; no matter how long they have been dead, how they died, they can return. It can even return souls that have passed into the Ninth Sanctum - which is otherwise impossible. Do you realise what catastrophe it could inflict in the wrong hands?"
Harry breathed out slowly. He understood perfectly. By imagining it in the hands of 'Voldemort', or Leone or the Dark - they could defeat anyone they cared to, bring back their allies... and all with a single touch.
"Why are you telling me?" he asked, worried. "Is there some kind of link to me?"
The god shook his head. "None that I know of. As I said, no-one can sense or detect the Scythe; we don't know who has it or why... but we do know they were willing to slaughter the guard of Elemental Beasts that protected it, and before they could even get an alarm out.
"Who ever did this was powerful and dangerous; and I doubt it was anyone decent. For this reason, I will be announcing its theft tomorrow, and offering a reward for its return, or information leading to its recovery. I thought that - if you should come across any information about it while you seek out the daemon - you may be interested in the reward I offer."
"What is it?"
"A life. If I retrieve my Scythe because of your actions, you may choose any person - even someone beyond the Ninth Gate - to return to life. As someone who has lost so many, I'm sure you can appreciate the value of that."
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As Tom closed the door behind them, Harry finally broke his thoughtful silence to speak. "Was he... hinting that I should be looking for the Scythe?"
Tom shrugged. "How should I know?" he said helpfully.
Harry glared suspiciously at him. "You don't turn into a magpie every now and then, do you? Because you really remind me of someone I know..."
Tom grinned. "Stop whinging. You're getting the wonderful gift of my company for the next - well, however long you take to get rid of the daemon. That's as good a reason as any to be cheerful!"
Harry groaned. "That's good news? I don't know why Naoze ordered you to be my guide - I'm sure I could find my way around without you."
"Not everyone here is helpful, Harry," Tom warned seriously. "They haven't sorted out the good from the bad, here, and some people will be only too happy to test whether a living person can die in Elysium. I can help you cross through the Gates and steer you through the Realms as quickly as possible."
The boy sighed loudly. "I know. It's just... well, you were my enemy for all those years, and now you look and act completely differently. And why were you so upfront and rude to Naoze? How do you know so much when you've only been dead a couple of weeks?"
"I was mildly insulting to the old git," Tom announced, "because I'm family." At Harry's stare, he smirked wider. "That's right. Very far, none of the blood left, but still directly descended. Over five-thousand generations. Pretty old, isn't he?"
Harry snorted. "So what, you have a lot of family knowledge passed down about all this 'being dead' stuff?"
"Oh no," Tom added, "I had no idea until I got here. But - well, being family, I was pretty much rushed through to the Eighth Sanctum and given a crash course in a lot of this stuff; I didn't want to go on the Ninth Sanctum just yet."
"So this is mostly new to you?"
"Yes," admitted the man, losing face slightly. "But I was always a fast learner and had a good memory - military training and all, you know - and I've got a few maps, as well."
There was a pause. "Maps?" Harry repeated. "You've been chosen as my guide - rather than a long dead person, or one of their Elemental Beasts, whatever they are... because you have maps."
Another long pause. "Pretty much, yeah."
"Great," said Harry. "And where are we right now?"
"Er - hold on..." He scrambled in his pockets and came out with Harry's shrunken trunk and a small leather bag. "Here, you take your trunk... right, the maps are in the bag. Got a Never-Fill charm on it," he said helpfully. "It's somewhere - no, that's not - wait - yeah - oh, I wondered where that had gone... yeah, got it."
He managed to yank a tightly bound scroll out of the pocket sized pouch. Harry secretly thought it was a little like when he and Dudley had watched that Muggle film as young children - Mary Poppins impossibly pulling a coat stand out of her bag.
"Okay. We're here, see?" He unrolled the parchment and showed it to Harry. "The entire Eighth Sanctum is one huge 'continent'. You can actually fall off the edge if you go far enough. Apparently you fall forever, but that could be just a rumour..." he trailed off at the look on Harry's face. "Right, sorry. Anyway, Naoze and Aisiivou have built this castle smack-bang in the middle of the Realm. That means we can pretty much head off in any direction and hope we spot that bloody daemon."
"And the nearest settlement is here?" Harry asked, pointing to a small mark.
"That's it. There's a lot of land outside the castle... there's no actual walls, but there's a sort of unvoiced rule of how close people get before the guards stop them. About two miles away, there's a little town of people who've settled here rather than go past the Ninth Gate, and we can see what we find there."
"All right - we'll start off with that. Hopefully we'll be done in a couple of weeks." He frowned. "Damn... I was meant to get another letter sometime soon, telling me to when and where to go in a couple of days... I was meant to be awarded an Order of Merlin."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "For getting rid of me, I assume?"
Harry nodded.
"Well, don't worry about it. It's just a fancy ceremony that some people don't attend anyway - especially if it's given posthumously! Even if you don't attend the formal service, you still get it; it's just stored until you collect it. You already have it on paper, anyway."
"Okay! I wasn't really that bothered about it!" Harry groaned, holding his hands up before the man could add anything more. "So seriously, what's all this about the Scythe?"
Tom considered his words. "Actually, this is the first I've heard about it being stolen. Whoever did it was not only powerful, but extremely prepared; the Scythe isn't often out of Naoze's sight, so they must have been waiting for him to leave it for awhile. Why? Are you thinking of looking for it?"
"Probably not," Harry shrugged. "But if we do come across anything about it, I'd like to have some idea about it. What I really meant was, why did Naoze tell me? He seemed to think I'd be pretty interested in it - not that I'm not, of course."
"You've lost a lot of people," Tom replied easily. "Your parents, Cedric, Ginny. He must have thought you'd have a lot of reason to want to be the one to find it to get that reward - do you realise what a gift that is? Bringing someone back to life?"
"Yes, b-"
"But," Tom finished for him, "I think he knows something more about it - something he didn't tell us. Otherwise, he'd just have mentioned it, and left me to explain to you what the Scythe can do."
The boy shook his head irritably. This was far too complicated. "What are these 'divine relics' anyway?"
"Every god or goddess is given two of them, at their birth," explained the ex-Dark Lord as they started back out to the entrance of the castle. "No-one knows where they come from; apparently there's a hidden treasury somewhere in the castle, which contains dozens of objects. Not even the gods know who made them or how - or if they just started to exist."
"They were in the rooms?" Harry questioned. "You mean the castle was here before even the gods?"
Tom nodded. "That's the story, as it was told to me. Apparently when Naoze and his wife entered this Realm, it was completely empty; there were no living creatures on Earth, so nothing had died. The Realms and connections were here, the castle was here, and that was it. Life eventually started on Earth, and for some reason people's souls came here when they died. I'm not sure if even the gods know what happens beyond the Ninth Gate."
"You mean they're not even really gods!" Harry stated, stunned. "What, they just moved in from some other Realm, took over and demanded that everyone treat them as such?"
"What is a god?" Tom asked, not really bothered by Harry's outburst. "They're extremely powerful - almost omnipotent here, and they can affect your Realm to some degree; they have great powers and can bestow them on their favoured; they're naturally immortal, and very hard to kill otherwise. Just because they didn't start off life doesn't mean that they don't care about it or look after it. Occasionally they'll create a soul and give it a body on Earth. That's life, isn't it?"
Harry would have answered, or even queried who had made the castle, or the deliberate interconnectedness of the Gates and Realms, but they were back in the entrance they had started off in and had power-walked their way to the impressive double-doors. Almost invisible from afar, Harry could now see that there was a smaller door of normal size set into one of the larger doors.
"Ah." Tom paused. "Do you have food and drink with you?"
Harry patted his pocket, which contained his trunk. "Yep." he said, recalling his birthday gift from Mrs Weasley. "I suppose the Realm of the Dead isn't well known for its resources for the living?"
"Exactly," Tom agreed. "There are some things you can eat here, but they don't have much energy in them. There are mostly fruits and such. Okay. You think you could manage a couple of miles walk to the nearest village?"
"Easily. What's it called?"
"Orkney Gorge," read Tom. "It's pretty much on the side of a cliff... but there must be some way down, and we may find we have to go in another direction anyway."
"Okay," Harry agreed. "We'd best get started then."
With that, Tom gave the smaller door a firm shove, and let the light stream in. Harry followed him outside, looking about. It was different from the First Sanctum that he had woken in. The Sun - or perhaps a sun - was pretty much the same as home, and the grass was at least green, even if it were a slightly pale and watery shade.
"All the Sanctums look different," Tom explained, putting the map away and looking for the right direction. "A few Sanctums have different environments in each of them as well... the Seventh and Eighth Realms are pretty well populated with all the people who've decided not to pass on to the Ninth Sanctum, temporarily or permanently."
Harry jolted suddenly as he realised something. "Wait - how long does it take someone to pass through onto the Ninth Sanctum?"
"Anywhere from a few hours to decades," Tom said, motioning over into the distance. "No-one really knows why. We need to go in that direction, by the way."
"So might some people that I knew still be around here?" Harry asked impatiently as they started off across the rolling field. It reminded Harry of the First Sanctum in that respect - it seemed astonishingly empty for somewhere that people souls passed through and settled down in every day.
Tom glanced at Harry, appearing to realise how important this was to him. "I suppose some might be," he admitted slowly. "I'd bet against your parents being here, but there's probably a chance of Cedric or Ginny being somewhere in Elysium."
They fell silent again as they walked, Harry contemplating what this meant. Could he find them and meet them, perhaps? Apologise for not saving them, or for putting them in danger in the first place? Were they, by some horrible coincidence, some of the fast ones, both sped through onto their ultimate end within a matter of hours or days? And if not, how could he find where they were?
He shook these nasty thoughts from his head as they reached the beginnings of a well-worn, paved road that simply appeared out of the grass and disappeared over a small hill and into the distance. They'd be at the village in an hour or so at their pace, though Harry had no idea whether he'd be able to rest while he was there.
Focusing his mind purely on the task at hand, Harry kept pace with his former enemy, only briefly wondering how on Earth this had managed to happen to him.
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Draco Malfoy sat with teeth bared in miserable, impotent fury. He couldn't stop the occasional snarl that he released, but he didn't care. There was no-one to see him in this disgusting, shabby little cell in Azkaban, after all. No-one except the guards, and even they left his cell alone as much as possible.
His father was disgusting. A traitor.
Luckily, he was also dead.
After he had discovered his - no, he wouldn't even call that man his father - Lucius' spying habits, he was only too happy to tell Lord Voldemort. They had bided their time, until the moment was right - and he himself was made a full Death Eater, despite his age! - and finally his Lord had placed Lucius under Imperius and ordered him to join them in destroying Potter.
And what had happened? His master, his Lord, the man that cold give him power and wealth beyond all his dreams was dead. Killed by that repulsive, snivelling little Golden Boy. He had seen it - Harry-bloody-wonderful-Potter had been only too happy to impale Lord Voldemort in the back, not even daring to battle him face to face. Not that he could blame him... Potter would have had no chance in a fair duel.
So here he was. He'd done everything his Lord had ordered him; he'd rallied some of the Slytherins to him, he'd put the Mud-Blood Granger and the Weasel-girl under Imperius, made them split apart from their friends and family so that it would be easier to kidnap them for use as hostages...
And his Lord was still dead.
He was imprisoned.
Four life sentences, and then a combined hundred and twelve years in Azkaban. Plus a hefty fine of more than eight-hundred thousand Galleons - at least plenty was left for his mother, who was loyal to the Dark Lord.
But he was still stuck, trapped. There may have been no Dementors at the beginning, but more were drifting back each day since the Dark Lord's defeat. Soon there would be enough that one or more would be guarding his own cell, driving him insane like some common Muggle, and he could do nothing about it. Surely the battle would have ended differently if Dementors had fought with them... but his Lord had only time to gather a small force after his wounding by the daemon the first time...
He stared madly at the bars of his tiny window. Rusted as they were, they were strong, and the meagre food had sapped his strength. Six days he'd been in here since the trial, and he wished that Wizarding trials were longer; at least if he had been kept in the clean, furnished cell where the non-convicted prisoners were held, he could devise some plan of escape.
Now all he had was his burning rage and the hope that one of his Lord's fled followers may break him out. Then he would take his vengeance on Harry Potter - the perfect saviour, who enjoyed piercing teenagers' brains! - and damn the consequences!
He sniggered to himself, careful to muffle the sounds. How far he had come! From up as a proud, Pure-Blooded Wizard favoured by Lord Voldemort himself, to a flea-pit that even the Mud-Blood Granger would find it hard to live in. It was probably almost as dirty as the Weasels' house.
As he continued this thought, the door grated open harshly, letting dusty rays of light spill in.
"Draco Malfoy." came the snap of a cultured voice; the sort of voice that belonged to the upper-class, the gentry. The type of people the Malfoys were happily 'in' with. "Get up."
He obeyed automatically, pushing his weakened body up against the wall, finally glancing up at the person who stood, framed in the doorway, holding a lit cigar. White hair. Strange, for one so young.
A cruel smile. "I have a job for you, if you can handle it."
Draco blinked lazily, his thoughts and eyes dulled from hunger. "Who are you?"
The Cheshire-cat grin widened. "My name is Lord Abyssay," purred the visitor. "But you can call me 'my Lord'. Or simply 'Boss'."