Ian Irvine: Tribute to Hell

Roget chuckled. ‘Even for you, that’s a new one.’

Greave’s chattering teeth broke a wedge of glass from the rim. He spat it out, gulped the liquor and wiped his bloody mouth. ‘More!’

Roget cantilevered a wire-thin eyebrow but poured another large measure. After drinking it from the whole side of the glass, Greave’s eyes met his friend’s.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.’

‘Take your time. Was it Satima?’

Greave nodded stiffly.

‘I warned you,’ said Roget. ‘What insane folly sent you after a god’s month-bride? And K’nacka is the most jealous of all the gods. But that’s why you seduced her, isn’t it?’

Greave did not reply.

‘You’ve had the most beautiful women in the land yet you’re never satisfied. I hate to say this, but it’s time you settled down.’

‘What for? The ice advances across land and sea. Soon it will crush Hightspall out of existence.’

‘Not in our lifetime.’

‘And our gods are declining; they’ve abandoned us.’

‘Don’t speak heresy,’ said Roget, uneasily. ‘Greave, you live for pleasure, but do you ever find it?’

‘Life is empty,’ Greave muttered. ‘The harder I go after anything, the quicker it turns into a mirage.’

‘Like I say-’

‘All I have left is the hunt. I can’t give it up.’

‘And every time you take greater risks.’

‘I only feel alive when I risk everything. The pursuit is bliss, the act anti-climactic; the hangover, worse each time. I’m like a reluctant drunk — remorseful in the morning but back in the bar every night.’ Greave picked up the flagon of raw spirits and, his teeth chattering on the neck, drained it.

‘Hey!’ cried Roget. ‘That’s enough liquor to kill a stallion.’

‘Yet I’m stone-sober,’ said Greave. ‘And freezing inside.’

Now Roget was shivering. ‘What did the month-bride do to you?’

‘The moment I mounted her, she went cold.’

‘Probably afraid, poor girl. I hope you took pity and sent her-’

‘ Dead cold. K’nacka froze her solid under me.’

Roget gaped. ‘He appeared in person ?’

Greave dabbed at his bleeding lip. ‘And then-’

‘No, you’ve gone too far this time,’ Roget grated.

‘ I didn’t kill her.’

‘The moment you seduced the month-bride of a god, you doomed her.’

‘The wench is dead; what does it matter?’ Greave said carelessly.

Roget shoved his chair back and stood up. ‘You were always reckless and self-centred, but you used to care, deep down. Who will you destroy next?’ he said disgustedly. ‘My sister? My mother? ’

A deep, inner pain jagged through Greave; he clutched at his friend’s coat. ‘Don’t go, please. I–I’m desperate.’

Roget sat down. ‘You must be, to admit to it. Is there more?’

‘ Her fate will be echoed by every woman you touch, K’nacka said. On the way here, I glanced at a pretty girl in the street — just for a second, I swear — and frost appeared all over her clothes. If I lust after a woman, any woman, she’ll be frozen to death. And there’s worse.’ He told Roget the rest.

Roget paled, glancing over his shoulder. ‘The Graven Casket! Greave, I’m not a devout man; my sins are as numberless as the souls screaming in Perdition. But this is too much.’

‘What can I do?’ said Greave. ‘A god has ordered me to open the casket — ’

‘Which is sealed until the End of Days.’

‘Maybe these are the End of Days.’

‘He’s a trickster. It’s a trap.’

‘I know, but if I don’t do it, my little sister dies. Roget, help me! There has to be a way out.’

‘You think you can outwit a god? You’re far gone, my friend. I suggest you make amends for your wicked life, then prepare to meet your fate.’

Astatine plodded the dusty track, holding the reins of her mule.

‘I’m sorry, noble beast,’ she said, rubbing it behind the ears. ‘We’ve still a long way to go.’

Her feet were blistered but she made an offering of the pain, trying to divorce herself from it. Ever since becoming a novice she had attempted to eliminate her recalcitrant self, to become no more than a vessel and servant for her god, but self kept intervening.

A dust cloud appeared ahead and she headed for the trees. The mule resisted.

‘Come on. I don’t want to be seen.’

It turned its head, studying her with hazel eyes.

‘I want no part of the world’s temptations,’ she muttered. ‘My god is everything and I am nothing. I exist only to serve.’

The mule’s snort reminded Astatine of the abbess, who seemed to see right through her. She led the beast to a rivulet and bathed her aching feet. Pain is also nothing, she told herself. Yet as she probed her broken blisters, tears sprang to her eyes.

She dashed them away, cursing her weak flesh, and knelt to pray for strength. But, as so often lately, prayer would not come.

‘What am I to do?’ she said to the mule. ‘I can’t duel this wicked margrave; can’t stop him insulting the gods, even if I do break my second vow. He’ll use me and I’ll be cast out into the awful world, abandoned even by my god.’

She clutched her only possession, the silver prayer medal left in her hand when she had been given to the abbey. It was so worn that she had never been able to identify the god it represented, though she took it to be her beloved K’nacka.

Father, please help me find another way.

Lord, if no other way can be found, give me the strength to break my vow of chastity in your service.

Father, if my sacred vow must be broken, help me to endure the lustful margrave.

I am just your vessel, Lord. I have no worth other than to serve you. Whatever happens to me I will endure it joyfully, in your name.

But it was so very hard.

Greave bit down on a twig to prevent his teeth from chattering. It was a hot afternoon, yet thirty-four hours after the encounter with K’nacka he was still freezing inside.

‘Ready?’ said Roget. They were trying to look casual as they strolled through the maze of clipped shrubbery surrounding the High Temple.

‘No.’

‘It’s but thirty minutes until the fifth hour.’

‘I know. Go through it again.’

‘The plan is simple. We enter as the noble pilgrims we are and I’ll use my sorcerous arts to make a diversion. You’ll run up, open the casket and snatch the contents. Then we run for our lives — and pray my spell holds.’

‘There’s bound to be a trap.’

‘If so, we’ll have to deal with it. What are you to do with the contents?’

‘K’nacka didn’t say.’

‘Oh!’ Roget said. ‘What do you think that means?’

Greave did not answer. ‘Hello,’ he said, gazing at a small figure limping out from behind an arc of tea bushes. A hot gust blew back the cowl, tumbling her wavy black locks. ‘It’s a novice, and a pretty one.’

‘Ahem,’ said Roget.

‘What?’

‘Not even you would sink low enough to seduce a nun — would you ?’

‘I seduced K’nacka’s month-bride. They don’t come any lower than me.’

A reckless urge swelled, a lust to possess her no matter the consequences, and even here, even now , Greave could not deny it. He checked the sun; there was just enough time, master seducer as he was, to do the business before five. He licked his lips, cast a furtive glance at his friend, then turned towards her, putting on the smile that few women had ever been able to resist.

‘Go for a walk,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Fifteen minutes.’

‘Greave, no!’ hissed Roget.

The little novice stopped suddenly, raising one hand to her hair in astonishment, and Greave’s inner ice moved south. He ignored it, for lust was searing along his veins and he only felt truly alive when life or death rested on the toss of a coin. Now he felt like a superman and, no matter the consequences, he had to have her.