“That’s one way to look at it, painting; the wrong way,” said Fossil. “But sometimes a lie is a tool, a means to an end. In this case, it was a gift. A gift designed to return to you all your forgotten power and full self-knowledge. The lie made you kill Madri unwittingly. But now you know. And if you embrace what you’ve done, now that you possess full knowledge of the significance, you can cast off your manacles.”
Horror made Demascus’s scalp tingle. He knew what Fossil was going to suggest. It was terrible. And yet …
“Claim the act, make it your own without remorse! Then return in your next incarnation as a rakshasa, with power beyond imagining, knowing all the gods’ secrets in this world and in others. Join Cyric, and you’ll shake the foundations of the cosmos!”
The raw power Fossil offered woke something in Demascus: the echo that lived like a splinter in his soul. The Sword had heard the angel’s offer. It wanted to return in full measure, clothed in its old glory but not yoked by the Whorl of Ioun to the gods’ will. He was halfway there already-he’d already lost the Whorl. All he had to do was to embrace his dishonorable deeds. A rush of grim joy sparked up his spine, and he grinned. His eyes fastened on the heap of earth. Under there lay the seed of the Swordbreaker’s new body.
“What of Kalkan?” he said.
“Having achieved his end, he’ll trouble you no more.” said Fossil.
“You can’t be considering his offer!” accused Madri.
Demascus ignored her. He-or was it the Sword of the Gods? — wouldn’t allow Kalkan to get off so easily. The rakshasa had killed him more times than he knew. And once Demascus regained all that had been stripped from him, he’d remember every death. He doubted he’d be feeling generous toward the Swordbreaker then. His grin stretched wider. Then he imagined the furred, bestial monstrosity of Kalkan. And of the bodies Riltana had once shown him upstairs, stripped of flesh, hanging to rot as if in a madman’s larder.
Is that what he wanted for himself?
Yes, answered the echo. His hands worked as he imagined loosing bolts of heavenly ruin and shadowed glory in equal measure. As he wielded Exorcessum in every one of its configurations, even the last, the configuration that could burn everything to ash …
The sour odor of the dirt heap drew his eyes again to Kalkan’s makeshift chrysalis. Madri made a quiet sound of negation.
He blinked rapidly and took a quick breath. Merciful lords, what was wrong with him? He would never submit to becoming a monster.
Never.
The specter of the Sword trembled, then folded itself away like a soot-winged moth in the recesses of his being.
Demascus cleared his throat. “Rakshasas are fiends. They might as well be devils.”
“Don’t belittle what you haven’t tried,” said Fossil’s voice. But Jaul’s mouth pulled down in a worried frown.
“It’s telling that you want me to trade my flesh for something like that. Forget it. I’d never willingly become like Kalkan. Your plan has failed.”
Jaul’s frown grew thunderous. He stared at Demascus for a long moment. Then he said, still in Fossil’s voice, “So be it. I hoped you’d choose wisely. But no matter. The hook is well set. Ignorance of your crimes doesn’t guarantee a pardon. If you die now, with the knowledge of your lover’s murder a fresh stain on your soul-”
Jaul’s body leaped into action, daggers suddenly in hand. He thrust one at Demascus’s abdomen, the other at his face. The half-mask cackled with glee. Jaul’s glee, not the mask’s!
Shadow take it, thought Demascus as he stumbled back, I’m not-
Madri interposed herself. Jaul flashed through her like smoke. But he reacted as if he’d thought she was real. He flailed, and landed clumsily at Demascus’s feet.
He was up again a half-heartbeat later, daggers already thrusting again.
But the deva used the moment’s grace to raise Exorcessum. He deflected the new attacks, then push-kicked Jaul.
Jaul gave ground, but only grudgingly. Demascus smashed the flat of his sword on the kid’s head. He didn’t want to kill Chant’s son, only stun him. The impact vibrated up the hilt, and he worried that even though he’d turned the blade, it’d still been too hard. That blow had probably brained the-
“Is that all you’ve got?” said Jaul. “I’m not going down. The mask’s given me resilience and speed-I’m as powerful as the angel it once was! You’ll have to call up the echo of the Sword, Demascus. Then we’ll discover if he agrees with your decision!”
Was Jaul correct? If I take on the visage of his old office, will my choice be overturned? The Sword knew little of remorse and hardly cared for repercussions. It might decide to join with Fossil and Kalkan. Demascus recognized the incipient glimmer of the Sword’s abilities trying to subsume his thoughts. He clamped down on the feeling. No, you’re not getting out.
Jaul advanced, calm as a snake. Blood dribbled from his scalp into one eye, staining it scarlet. But it didn’t seem to bother him. Demascus backed up, blade raised in guard. Jaul followed. A wall touched Demascus’s shoulder. Jaul slashed with the dagger in his left hand at the same instant. Demascus ducked into what he hoped was a blind spot of blurred vision caused by the pooling blood in the youth’s eye. Exorcessum cut into the meat of Jaul’s left arm. The hand holding that dagger spasmed and a red-handled dagger clattered to the floor. More blood flowed. Demascus used the moment to sidle away from the wall.
“That one’s going to leave a scar!” crowed Fossil. “Not that I care. You’re going to have to kill this body, Demascus.”
“Wait, what?” came Jaul’s near instantaneous response from the same mouth. “That’s going a little too far, Fossil.”
Fossil replied, “Don’t worry, it won’t come to that. With my help, you can defeat the deva, if he doesn’t call his office.”
“Yeah, the way I feel, I doubt anything can stop me. But what were you saying about Demascus having ‘to kill this body?’ ”
“If Demascus does not raise the Sword, you’ll kill him with the power I’ve given you,” explained Fossil. “If he does raise the Sword, the Sword can probably kill you … but the Sword will decide to join us instead. Do you see?”
Jaul slowly nodded. “I do, Fossil. Let’s end this!”
Gods of shadow, thought Demascus, Jaul and Fossil had him by the privates!
If he could just-
Jaul head-butted him. The sharp mask edge gouged Demascus’s forehead. His heel caught a chair leg. He cursed his ineptitude as he toppled, reflexively letting go of his weapon to catch himself. He came down like a collapsing accordion, ducked a knife swing, and reached for the hilt of his sword-
Jaul stamped on his hand. Pain swarmed up his nerves like fire ants. The boot ground his palm into the floor, fixing him in place. The masked face regarded him. “Where’s the Sword? He wouldn’t put up with this sort of nonsense.”
Demascus flinched as something terrible beat at the gates of his mind, trying to emerge. Fossil was right. The Sword of the Gods didn’t like being humbled. He grunted with the pressure of holding the figurative door shut.
“Are you keeping him bottled?” came the dead angel’s voice. “Yes? That means I’ll just have to cut your throat and bleed you like a pig. When you see me next, it’ll be through different eyes. But you’ll remember me. Keep that in mind when you come into your true power, Demascus. I was the one who birthed you!”
“Fossil, Jaul, over here,” came Madri’s voice. She stood on the earth heap, which was disturbed as if a human-sized gopher had been digging in it. Something lay revealed there, like matted fur …