They traveled at night. They didn't speak because they knew they were being tracked through the woods by the Wild Elves. Linarra wondered what had changed the Elves. The High Priestess had spoken about them, her people, their glittering cities, their culture and magic. The Elves that had captured her and wanted to burn her alive were not the same Elves.
Linarra had so many questions, but it seemed like she would spend the rest of her life running and sneaking. There wouldn't be time for anything other than surviving. Already, she felt so tired, so sore and they'd only been walking for a couple of hours. She couldn't remember the last decent meal or good night's sleep.
Sahimul, of course, never tired, never needed food. Maybe he forgot that she was a mortal person with those needs, or maybe it just didn't matter because there wasn't time nor were there resources. Why fight for the world when it was mostly dead already?
Linarra pushed her way through some thick underbrush, being quiet and careful as Sahimul had instructed. She leaned heavily on the Staff of Ishahn, though it felt disrespectful to use it as a walking stick. Not that she knew what it'd been used for originally, it just felt wrong to use it for so mundane a purpose.
As they walked, she distracted herself with thoughts of the Prophet. She had loved the Usurper. So Sahimul claimed and she believed him, the bond broadcast his emotions to her, as though he were laid bare, split open. If he'd been lying, she was sure she'd have felt it.
If the Prophet had loved him, then why had she betrayed him? Why, if she betrayed him, would she tell him where she intended on hiding her staff? And what magic did the Prophet have? Was it from the Mother?
Linarra imagined all the answers. It was easier than asking the questions. Ishahn had grown weary of Sahimul or became angry with him when he created his abominations. She sealed him away. The magic she wielded had just been present in the soul that Sahimul had graced her with. He'd said he picked the best, brightest, most kind and pure soul.
It was hard to imagine Ishahn doing something as villainous as sealing away the Aspect of Love. Yes, he'd disobeyed the Mother, but it hadn't been an evil act. Sahimul didn't want to destroy the world. He just wanted to be loved. Didn't everyone?
She watched his back as he walked. There hadn't been a spare set of clothes just lying around, and he cast aside his ripped and shredded shirt. She stared at his back as though it had all the answers in the meager light of the moon. Did she truly love him? Or was it the bond?
Had she loved Veshier?
Linarra frowned and continued on. She didn't know. Maybe she thought she'd loved Veshier because they'd gone through so much together. Maybe it was the same reason she was fond of the Usurper.
It still felt wrong. To care about him. He was supposed to be the opposition, the adversary to the Mother. Linarra wished the Prophet could speak to her, tell her. Give her the answers.
She'd entertained thoughts that she was somehow the reincarnation of Ishahn, but she knew, deep down, she wasn't. She wouldn't have so many questions if she were. Again, she leaned on the staff, so tired that her bones ached. Her mood soured further every step they took.
Sahimul stopped some short while later, turning to face her, glaring at her. "What is wrong with you, hmm?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Linarra shook her head. "I'm tired. Hungry. I hurt. This is all so...pointless."
He arched his dark brow. "Is it?"
He sat down, right there in the brush and gestured for her to do the same. He peered through the dense foliage. "We'll rest awhile. I don't hear them. I think we're safe. For now."
"For now," she grumbled. "But this will never end, Sahimul. You know that."
He shrugged, frowning. "All things end," he told her, tone sour, low. "Except for me. I'll never end. I'll be here long after you are." He looked at her, expression inscrutable. "Long after this world has died."
Linarra couldn't look into his eyes anymore. They were like flames and burned into her, showing her how she didn't like herself enough. She didn't love herself. Instead, she stared out into the forest, all the dark shadows were ominous things. The stars peaked through the canopy of leaves and the clouds lazily moved as though pulled by the moon.
"It matters because it's the right thing to do, you know," he muttered, his voice low, sad. "It's the little things, Linarra, that matter. The little choices."
"The little permissions," she said, tone wry. It was a private joke, meant for someone else.
Sahimul didn't respond right away. Together, they sat in silence, in the dense, prickly undergrowth and watched the stars and the clouds, listened to the wind's lonely sigh through the trees.
"I can carry you," he offered. "I know you don't want me to. But it's really nothing. I could carry a boulder with ease. You feel like a little feather."
She did, she thought, feel that way. Light and insignificant, carried by the wind, twisting and lost.
"Do you really think we can save it? The world?" she asked.
"No," he answered. "I don't think we can. The Mother seems to be done with humanity the same way She is done with me. She had moved on. You have displeased her in some way. Or she's bored. Who knows. But we should at least try. A lot of decisions are made at the last minute. Maybe She'll make one in your favor."
"What if I die?" she asked. "What happens to me?"
Silence stretched between them. Linarra wondered if she were really afraid of dying. She hadn't ever thought about it much before. Thoughts of death were things she pushed away because they invariably reminded her of Emory and how her magic hadn't saved him. It had just brought him back without who he was. Emory, the little brother she loved, hadn't been there when she'd raised him from the dead. His soul was already gone.
Sahimul took her hands and made her look at him, forced her attention. His face was serious. "Nothing. You die," he said. "It was something I was...trying to fix before I was sealed in stone. Your energy, your soul, what makes you Linarra? The Mother devours it back into Herself."
Her eyes widened and a cold stone of fear sunk in her belly. She couldn't be the Prophet reborn because Ishahn was -gone-. Favored by the Mother, the founder of the worship of Her was just re-consumed callously. She could feel her hands tremble in his hold.
"So...I can't let anything happen to you," he told her. "I had hopes...when I first was freed that Ishahn would be alive still..somehow. But you saw her, there...at my Temple."
She nodded glumly. "What of the Elves? What happens when they die?"
He shrugged. "The same. That's why they were granted eternal life. That doesn't stop accidents, disease. Or me," he said with a mean grin. "It's why I killed them. They're the Mother's favored creations. At the expense of all Her other creations."
Going quiet to listen to the wind and to make sure they couldn't hear footsteps, Linarra never wanted to run away from all this more than she did at that precise moment. A font of bitter emotion tore at her, stung her eyes. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his.
He seemed surprised but held her, petting her hair. "I can conquer it. Death," he told her. "I'll figure it out."
"The Mother is evil," she whispered.
Sahimul went still, as though it were something he'd never really considered before. His body was stiff. "Linarra...," he said, almost reproachfully.
"It's true," she insisted, holding him now, smoothing her hand through his hair. "She is the Usurper. The Destroyer. Why make things, why give them feelings and thoughts to torture them this way? Why did she make -you-? Just to throw you away?"
Linarra pulled back and took his face in her hands, watched tears roll down his cheeks. He closed his eyes.
"Please don't," he whispered. She could feel his heart break through the bond. He knew. Maybe he always had.
"I want to know what you can do," she murmured. "I want to see you at the height of your power."
He shook his head. "It's all warped now. The Mother cursed me for taking souls for the humans. For giving your race a soul. I can't create. My magic is dark."
She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "I don't care. I want to see it. I want us to burn this place to the ground."
Sahimul pulled back, his brow crinkled in worry. She could feel it through the bond. She'd scared him.
"I fight it, Linarra. My darker nature," he told her. "Make no mistake...I am the Adversary. I am the Usurper. Fair or not. I disobeyed and stole from our Creator because I was selfish. This is my punishment."
"I don't care," she said. "I love you and I don't care what you are. Who you are. Except mine. You are mine."
Her words made him flinch, but she felt the warmth, the pleasure in the bond. He wanted to belong to someone. To not be alone.
"Then...I will do as you say," he asserted. "Command me."
#
It was hard to remember. The memory seemed lost in the fog of time. The landmarks that used to exist to mark the way to where he'd buried one of his abominations weren't there anymore.
The Elves ivory towers had long ago fallen and the wilds had reclaimed the land. No, Sahimul had to navigate on feeling alone. He could sense his creations, his children, the abmonations. He could feel them in the bones of the earth, sleeping, waiting for him.
Linarra had told him that scripture said he created dark angels in mockery of the Aspects and that when it was the end, he would summon them with a great trumpet and they would destroy the earth while he, Sahimul, ruled over the ashes.
Sahimul didn't -want- that. He didn't want to rule anything, especially so if it were just ashes and bones. There had been a time, shortly before Ishahn sealed him in stone in the Mountain, that he'd wanted to destroy everything. But he hadn't meant it. He created to fill an empty space, to get a dig in at Ishahn who wanted real children. With a real man.
That's what she'd told him. She wanted to be with a real man.
Silly, he thought, that a lovers' quarrel would result in a fanatic cult bent on his destruction.
Now he stood in the spot that had become his creation's grave. He had never intended to wake him. He knew that existence for it was pain. That he was in constant agony, yet Sahimul had not been able to bring himself to do away with him, unmake him. He'd be gone then, like everything else he'd cared about, reabsorbed into the Mother.
"Are you sure it's here?" Linarra asked, her tone weary, her face drawn. Pale, morning light made her squint as she looked at the spot of bare ground at the edge of the wilds and at the mouth of some ruins.
It had once been a shining, glorious city with white walls and gilded towers, bustling with people and life.
All gone because of him. Because of Liriel.
He nodded. "I'm sure. I can feel him. Sleeping." It didn't feel right using him as a tool for destruction when he'd been made with only the best intentions. It had been during this creature's creation that he'd discovered the Mother's hand in twisting his magic, making it dark. Nothing good came from it.
"Should we do this?" Linarra asked, mirroring his thoughts as she often did.
"Yes," he answered, closing his eyes. He heard them, the Elves, not far now. Maybe it was only paranoia. Maybe he didn't and it was only the wind through the trees.
He couldn't risk it.
Sahimul woke his creation.