The Cost of Betrayal

18

T he black gates gave no feeling of home, and no comfort in their familiarity. Only the aura of certainty, of order, that permeated from the bars soothed his turmoil. They opened as he approached, needing no word or touch from him. Halfway across the obsidian walkway, the great doors creaked inward. The night was young, and the wise man who stepped out seemed almost youthful in the moonlight.

“Welcome home,” said Pelarak.

“No home of mine,” Qurrah said. “I do not worship your god. How may it be my home?”

“Because your family is here, waiting for the wayward prince to ascend his throne.” The old man bowed. “I trust my meager knowledge was useful to you?”

“Some things should be discussed in quiet rooms,” Qurrah said. “No matter how calm the night may seem.”

“Indeed,” Pelarak said, fully opening the door. “Come inside, Qurrah Tun.”

Inside he went, fighting the newly awakened feeling that perhaps he had come home after all.

T hey headed straight for Pelarak’s small room, pausing only to offer a prayer before the majestic statue of Karak. The two sat opposite each other. With reverence, Qurrah took the tome the priest had given him and placed it on his desk.

“Your wisdom on such matters is humbling,” Qurrah said, gesturing to the book. “I have to ask, how did you obtain such knowledge?”

“Do you mean the spells?” the priest asked.

“No, your writings. You talk of madness, its causes and its effects, with authority that leaves me in awe.”

The priest rested his chin on his knuckles.

“That first tome I gave you, with the words to drive men mad, proved helpful. I truly believe they can create every kind of madness. It took many years, but I have seen the effects of all two hundred.”

“Tessanna’s mind,” Qurrah said, “could you remember which of them formed something similar to hers?”

The priest sighed and leaned back in his chair, uncrossing his fingers as he did.

“In truth, no. I have spoken to her before, although I doubt she remembers me. Regardless, the key to her does not lie in my findings.”

“But why?” Qurrah asked. “Surely one resulted in a similar madness.”

Pelarak raised a bushy white eyebrow at the half-orc.

“Are you so sure it is madness?” To this Qurrah had nothing to say, so the priest continued. “Madness is a loss of order in the mind. The worse the madness, the less the order. Tessanna’s actions may seem chaotic, but I have sensed the winding weave that is her mind, and within I found order, frail as it may be.”

“Then how may I cure her?” Qurrah asked.

“If she has obtained a semblance of order in her mind, then I dare say she might already be cured. Her current mental state may be salvation from the true madness she suffered earlier in life.”

“No,” Qurrah said, rising to his feet. “Her mind is shattered, broken. It can be put together again.”

“I welcome you to try,” Pelarak said, his voice tired and honest. “But she is not mad. I was reluctant to tell you earlier, but I feel she is more fractured than insane, each piece seperate and controlled. As for what controls them, I may have something for you to think over.”

The half-orc stayed silent, his mind sifting through what Pelarak had said. The priest rose from his seat and pulled a small diary from a shelf. He flipped through the pages until he found a specific passage and then read it aloud.

“ A man called out to me for coin. He lived off the pity of others, for he was blind since birth. When I declined, he at first accepted, but as I passed, he lunged like a rabid animal, biting for my leg. I threw him back, broken. The animal left him as he cried for forgiveness. He claimed a demon lived inside him. Curious, I touched his mind to see. I found the demon, but it was not what he thought. Instead, it was himself, or at least, a part of himself, isolated into a second being.

“This vile second-self wished nothing but death and pain upon others. It fought for control constantly, and though I sensed no strength in the beggar, he succeeded in holding it at bay for many an hour before each temporary escape. Curious as to how, I searched deeper, and there I found it. I viewed a vine growing out of both, yet at the same time, it seemed a wall, blocking one from the other. I sensed this entity had a full form deep inside, but I was unable to probe any farther. Sadly, the beggar died. Karak curse my carelessness. If I had been more patient, I might have followed the snaking tendrils from these two selves to the center…”

Pelarak closed the book and set it down next to his spellbook.

“Take both,” he said. “You still have much to learn. Focus upon this wall that separates her selves, and yet also connects them as well. Ask her if she knows about it, for she might. If anything can bring the pieces back together it is that secret, hidden self.”

Qurrah took the books and bowed. “I will consider what you have said,” he promised. “Although you err in saying she cannot be cured.”

“I know little about love,” Pelarak said, showing Qurrah to the door. “My mind is too cynical to study such chaos. Good can come from love, however, for I love Karak with every beat of my heart. Love Tessanna as she is. If you fail to cure her, the sting will hurt that much less.”

“I will not fail,” Qurrah said. He held the books tight against his chest and bowed once more. “I never fail.”

“Spare me the theatrics,” the priest said, a smile creeping on the corners of his mouth. “We all have failed. Some are humble enough to learn from their failures. They are the wise.”

Qurrah left the temple, having gained no answers but plenty of questions, as well as a gnawing fear that there was more to Tessanna’s mind than he so far discerned.

B ack at their cabin, they lay soaked in each other’s sweat. In the calm afterward, Qurrah dared ask the question Pelarak had urged him to ask.

“Tessanna,” he said, his eyes closed. He felt less awkward bringing up the subject when he wasn’t looking at her. “Do you understand what I mean when I say there are many in your mind?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice subdued. She usually fell into such a state after they made love, although how long the apathy lasted varied greatly. “I believe I understand.”

Qurrah searched for a way to ask what he barely understood himself.

“These different…parts of you. Pieces of you. They are all separate, but there’s one that isn’t. Part of it connects to every piece. Do you understand?”

Tessanna giggled, fading out of the apathy smoother than a boat floating across still waters.

“Something is wrong with me,” she said, her voice intolerably shy. “I’ve always known it. People die around me, and sometimes it feels like strangers sit behind my eyes, spitting at them.”

“But what of my question?” he asked. Tessanna did not answer. She closed her eyes, appearing deep in thought. Her eyelids fluttered. A look of pain crossed her face. When she reopened her eyes, a new identity spoke, one he had never witnessed before.

“The girl is a maelstrom,” she said. All emotion, all fear, all shred of anything human drained out of her. “Her selves swirl about the edges. I am the Center. I am Celestia’s chosen. Speak!”

Qurrah felt a phantom presence pass over his body. Shadows stretched and crawled along the floor toward them. The wood creaked, the bed shook, and all about darkness formed where darkness should not have been. He stared at her face with detached horror. Her black eyes were aflame, consumed with purple fire. Swirling deep within, he saw the face of a woman glaring out, similar to Tessanna except older and wiser. The creeping darkness took corporeal form, wrapping around her naked body like a phantom dress.

“How may I cure the madness within?” he asked, his voice almost lost in a sudden roar of wind.

“Do not meddle, half-orc,” Tessanna said as her hair danced wildly about her arms, back, and breasts. “Otherwise Time itself will protect her from you.”

The darkness flared, washing over Qurrah with burning wave after wave. His skin crawled with vile sensations. His mind reeled against horrible images of a vast emptiness beyond comprehension. Mortal power could maim, could kill, but this was beyond that. This was the power of a goddess.

The final wave came and went. The shadows returned to their rightful positions. A fragile calm overtook the cabin. Tessanna’s hair halted its writhing. She stared at Qurrah with a terrified look, tears running down her face.

“I thought you would be dead,” she said. She flung her arms around his frail body and cried against his neck. “I thought…”

He held her, his eyes staring into nowhere. After a few minutes, her crying ended, her sorrow and fear vanishing as if it had never been.

“You should be bleeding right now,” she said, pulling away from him. “Everyone always is after that.”

“After what?” he asked. In answer, she shrugged.

“I don’t know. Be thankful you aren’t dead. It seems someone favors you.”

“Perhaps,” he said, rising from the bed to seek fresh air. “But I intend to find out.”

F or weeks, Qurrah poured over Pelarak’s diary, learning all he could. His brief encounter with Tessanna’s inner…well, whatever it was, had certainly proven Pelarak true. This strange Center did indeed exist, and apparently disapproved of his efforts. A part of him was afraid, but a larger part ached with curiosity. He thought he knew much about the mind, but this girl mocked him with her complexity.

“When will you try to change me?” she asked him one day. A small squirrel sat in her hand, amazingly docile in her presence.

“In time, Tessanna,” he said. “But I have found a new obstacle, and must find a way to overcome it.”

Nothing from a book helped him to his next revelation. One night, as he sat in his chair with his head aching, he watched Tessanna carve runes into her arm. Her precise, intricate movements entranced him. She scrawled seven runes before stopping. While she watched the blood flow, she licked her wrists.

“What is it you write?” he asked her, standing from his seat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Whatever feels good.”

“There is too much detail for that to be random,” he said, crossing the room to grab her elbow. “Do you know what these say?”

“Does it have to say anything?” she asked, attempting to yank her arm away. Qurrah latched on, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned over the blood-soaked runes, attempting to discern any form or meaning.

“Let go,” Tessanna said. A new cold had entered her voice. “Let go of me, now.”

“Spell runes,” he said, releasing her. “By Karak, they are spell runes!”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“What else could they be?” Qurrah asked.

“Others have tried to speak them aloud. Nothing ever happened.”

“Those that tried, did they die?” Qurrah asked. Tessanna shrugged. The half-orc tossed her a rag. “Clean off the blood. We will see if I am wrong.”

A fire raged beside them as they stood underneath the stars. Already, the cuts on her arm had faded to angry red scars, the rate of her healing remarkable. Qurrah had studied them carefully, perusing his spellbooks and finding runes matching the ones Tessanna carved. Some were identical, while others had slight deviations that he hoped were insignificant.

“Give me your arm,” he asked her. She obeyed, seeming indifferent about the whole situation. She expected little to happen. As much as she loved Qurrah, she did not think him correct.

He, however, was certain he had stumbled onto something significant. What that significance was, well, he hadn’t a clue. He put away such worrisome thoughts and held her hand. One after another, read the names of the runes.

“ Delk Mord-thun, Vaeln Nelaquir, Tirug, Nolfwud, Xeudayascar! ”

He spoke them as he would a spell from a scroll, feeling the power reeling out his body. Wind swirled around him, blowing leaves and sending their clothes and hair dancing. The runes glowed as if the cut skin were embers of a lingering fire. All about, the night grew dead. When the final word was spoken, Qurrah looked to his beloved, taking pride in the lack of fear in her eyes. He held her hand and prepared for the storm.

“Qurrah, stay with me,” she said, moments before lightning struck her from a cloudless sky. The bolt lifted her into the air, her lithe frame hovering a foot above the ground. Her hand clutched his, her nails piercing his flesh. He felt no pain.

“Let all those who endanger the balance wither away as dust,” the girl said. Her tone was flat, all emotion gone. It was the voice of the Center. She pointed a finger at him. “Be gone from her.”

“Qurrah!” he heard her cry, a second voice from one mouth. Black power collected at the end of her accusing finger. Walls of wind ripped from the ground, sealing the two in a gray prison. The half-orc did not think, only react. He flung his arms around her, holding her tight. As a small ball of emptiness shot from her finger, he kissed her lips and awaited death.

The magic hit him. He wished for death. When he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came forth. His soul shrieked in agony immeasurable. The two hovered higher and higher as his vision blurred. A song rose over the roar of the wind, one of longing and desire, sung by an unseen choir of thousands. The magic ripping through him intensified, adding a physical component to his torture. The pain crawled up his arm and into his lungs. All breath ended, and his lungs filled with fluid. His arm were aflame with the pain of a thousand burns.

“What have you done?” Tessanna asked. The Center was gone, yet still she felt no fear, only wonder at the chaos surrounding her. Qurrah tried to respond, but his jaw locked as his neck muscles pulled tight. A black fog poured from his throat, which she breathed in like smoke. Her dark eyes flared with color, and then all he knew turned white. Continuous the choir sang, a chorus whose line he did not understand, but knew within it there was reason.

On and on, the ebb and flow of time. Balance, the balance, it will come eternal.

Ghastly was the pain, shredded was his soul, and all else a pure, numbing shade of white. So white, all thought, all breath, all heartbeat, halted. Arm in arm, the two swirled ever higher, stretching into a vast space beyond the sky, beyond the stars, and beyond time itself.

Part Two