Yet the earthworks, the mounds, all were so incredibly ancient. Did it all go back that far? The thought of such an immense gulf of time made her dizzy. Perhaps, she considered, people had been here already — just a different tribe or offshoot of humanity. Forebears painted as monsters in retrospect.
They were nearing something. She could feel it pressing against her like a driving wind coming out of a place where no wind should come. Her flesh prickled with the power being summoned, leashed and contained. All to compel a god.
Hanu returned and gestured her forward. She ran a hand along the damp chill stone inner wall of an arch as she went. Grit from the old stones came away against her palm. Crumbling away even as I touch it.
He motioned to one side along another covered walkway. They were near the centre structure, a tall narrow stupa-like tower, but Hanu was pointing down here. She edged around to see that the wall of the inner temple possessed a narrow gap, an opening leading down.
‘What do you think?’
She nodded. Yes, down. It felt right. Hanu went first and she hurried after. The stairway was so slim her shoulders brushed either wall, and the stone steps were so steep she had to take them one at a time. Below ground level the stones lining the way changed to a darker native rock and each block was much larger. These were also set exquisitely, without a hair’s gap between.
An older construction — one pre-dating the temple above. Of course! A sacred site retains its power. Newer faiths or creeds merely build atop the ruined old, each appropriating the older authority and presence. That thought gave her an idea, and suddenly all did not appear as hopeless as before.
As they descended, a flickering light grew ahead. Not daylight, which was fading behind them, but an argent and white surging that Saeng recognized as raw puissance. They emerged into a wide chamber built entirely of the cyclopean basaltic blocks. At its centre was a raised dais, or altar, carved from the same dark stone. Set within the stone lay a multi-rayed sun symbol that glowed as if formed of gold itself. It probably represented the immense league-spanning earthworks surrounding this structure, that perhaps even extended all the way across the continent. The Locus. The focal point of immense energies tapping the entire land.
Sizzling and crackling on the dais stood a pillar of that enormous might, drawn like an inverted waterfall up to the ceiling and through a tiny aperture, presumably to the chamber above where the Thaumaturgs, having summoned it, now strove to manipulate and control it.
Saeng stared, awestruck, her gaze shielded against the glare. How could anyone hope to contain such astounding power? No wonder they seemed unaware of her presence — they were quite preoccupied, enmeshed in a fight for their lives. She knew that even to approach such a cascade would blast her to ashes instantly; and the Circle above fought now to actually direct it.
She lowered her gaze to the dais. This was the key. It had originally been an altar sanctified to Light — the worship of the Sun and the Sky. The cult of which others had recognized her as High Priestess. She knew then what she had to do.
She merely had to claim it.
She turned to Hanu. The truth must have been in her eyes for he glanced from her to the dais. He waved a negative. ‘No! There must be another way. I will try to break it …’
‘This is how it must be,’ she sent to him.
‘No! There must-’ He broke off, spinning to the entrance.
Saeng turned and had a shocked single glimpse of a ragged figure, a ghost from the awful days just past: Myint herself, pale and haggard, her armour torn, her hair a gnarled mat. Insane glee blazed in her eyes as she launched herself from the steps of the entrance, her spear levelled at Hanu.
The keen weapon struck home. And with Myint’s entire weight falling behind the thrust the blade penetrated to emerge glistening with blood from Hanu’s back. He toppled to his side.
More figures followed. In scuttled Thet-mun, hunched, emaciated, dirt-smeared, his eyes huge as he stared about, terrified. And last came the one she somehow knew would be leading them stilclass="underline" Kenjak Ashevajak, the so-called Bandit Lord. He’d had most of the swagger kicked out of him, but he still carried a smirk that he now bestowed on her.
She ignored them all to run to Hanu’s side. She brushed her hands over him; she had no idea where to start, what to do. Blood ran from his wound and the sight horrified her.
‘Run,’ he sent to her.
Hands yanked her upright and spun her about to face Kenjak. He stepped up so close she could smell his stale sweat, see the dirt and grime blackening his pores. He stared at her as if he too could not believe that they had at last met again.
The smirk grew into a secretive smile and his gaze became almost tender. ‘I’ve been following you,’ he whispered, just audible over the roar of the energies filling the chamber.
Saeng felt her shoulders fall as the realization struck. Of course! The wild men of the woods. What a fool I’ve been! ‘Kenjak,’ she began, speaking very slowly, ‘you must listen to me. You mustn’t interfere here. This is very important.’
He waved for silence and the hands, Myint’s, tightened about her neck. He stepped up even closer, close enough to kiss her. ‘Oh, important,’ he said, mocking her delivery. ‘Well … I have something important to do as well.’ He raised a blade between their faces. ‘Something I’ve had to wait far too long to do.’
The hands were vices at her neck but she forced out, ‘Jak — I’m worth much more alive.’
‘Fuck that!’ he yelled spraying spittle in her face. ‘Fuck them all! I swore I’d have your head and I mean to collect.’ He pressed the blade’s razor edge under her chin.
The man is insane! Utterly transported with hatred. What can I do? There is nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The hands at her throat flew away. Gagging sounded behind her. Jak’s gaze shifted to over her shoulder and puzzlement creased his brow. ‘What …?’ He jerked back a step, knocking Saeng backwards into the side of the dais. Another figure now blocked the entrance and Saeng thought dazedly, Of course — why not?
It was the Thaumaturg, Pon-lor. He appeared even worse for wear than these ragged bandits. Saeng couldn’t even believe he was standing; dried caked blood covered his shoulder and side. The left side of his head was a crusted wound. One eye stared upwards but the other was fixed upon Jak. A smile that could only be described as ironic crooked one edge of the man’s mouth.
‘No …’ Jak breathed. ‘You are dead. You must be …’
The horrific figure mouthed something. His words were distorted, but Saeng understood despite the sizzling and crackling punishing her ears: ‘Perhaps I am. No matter.’
Something thumped to the ground and Saeng peered over to see Myint, her face contorted in terror and utterly bloodless, her own hands at her throat. Had he compelled that? Self-throttling? Or had she died fighting for breath?
Thet-mun appeared from behind the dais to throw himself at Pon-lor’s feet. ‘I am yours again!’ he pleaded. He raised his hands as if in prayer. ‘Please! I will serve. Remember? Remember how I served you before? Yes?’
Jak leaped to take Saeng’s arm. He pressed the knife to her neck once more. Yet she could hardly spare all this any attention, for the blood continued to flow from Hanu, and his chest rose with such effort, and so slowly.
The Thaumaturg looked down — or rather one eye shifted to peer down. The other continued to look off in another direction. ‘Thet,’ he mumbled from the side of his mouth, ‘I told you. I warned you. Go home, I said.’