Robert Vardeman - Istu awakened

'See here,' he said to the one standing silently, watching the Demon at his play. He prodded the prostrate soul with one black fingertip. 'The colors of a soul, stripped of obscuring flesh, reveal its nature. Here on the outside is the yellow of pretense. This green layer beneath is lust. Below that the pink of sloth, the turquoise of indecision, and so on.' The taloned finger sank into the midsection of the soul, which still twitched uncontrollably. 'And at the core, we find a pure white light. Interesting. And odd, considering who this was in life. So many of the souls we took at that place were hollow at the core.

The night was chill with the promise of early autumn and lay heavy upon the People. Nothing stirred on the streets radiating from the Well of Winds. The Demon, his captive soul, and Zak'zar, Speaker of the People, seemed alone in the City.

'Is it necessary to torment that soul so?' Zak'zar asked. 'You'll reap more in the weeks to come.'

Istu prodded the soul again. It thrashed spastically, then lay still when the finger was withdrawn. 'Why should you care?'

'I knew this one in life.'

Istu squatted on his haunches in unthinking imitation of the black basalt statue of him across the Well.

'You seem fascinated by the pale, pink ones. Would you have me leave a few alive for you as pets?!'

'I was chosen of all the generations of the People to become Speaker when the Instrumentality at last fulfilled his function and freed you to bring us vengeance and victory. I was chosen because I could deal with the pale ones and understand their ways.' He spread his hands in front of him, palms down. 'With understanding comes a certain sympathy. It troubles me that our victory means the eradication of the enemy ones.' 'You are soft,' Istu sneered.

'I merely appreciate that those soft-skinned folk have virtues of their own. The interest of the People is mine to safeguard; I deplore that we and the Soft Ones cannot coexist. We could learn from them.'

'Is this why you insisted we accept the ludicrous entreaties of the Dwarves and those traitors from the Nevrym Forest, to ally ourselves with them? As if their pathetic efforts contributed anything of worth.' The great horned head shook, obliterating stars. 'And why couldn't I contemplate the destruction of those last three cities, as I did with Kara-Est? I was born to extinguish suns, mortal. I dislike staying my hand.'

'We still have to complete the reduction of this continent,' said Zak'zar softly. 'And the world beyond that. Our victory is far from assured.' Istu swelled with rage, but Zak'zar carried on.

'I requested that you spare the cities we took because many things have transpired in the world since you and my kind were forced from it. We may find knowledge that will ease our way to triumph. Or we may learn of a deadly threat in time to avert it.

'As for accepting the Dwarves and Nevrymin as allies, why not? If they do our work for us, we will be victorious all the quicker. I fear that time presses.'

'Why should that be? I am Istu, spawn of the Dark Ones. Doubt your own strength, if you will. Doubt not mine. The Pale Ones cannot stop me.'

'And yet some of them are bound for Athalau,' said Zak'zar, 'and it was in Athalau that you found your downfall last time.'

A bellow of rage rebounded from the starred dome of the sky. Istu grew to a black pillar of wrath, raising mountain-smashing fists high as he glared down at the small, small figure of Zak'zar. 'No one slights the power of Istu!'

'Pardon if I gave offense, Lord Istu. I only pointed out the truth. My abilities in this was another factor in the Dark Ones selecting me as Speaker.' At this reminder of Zak'zar's mandate from Powers greater even than his, the Demon subsided a little. 'I would remind you, great Istu, that the Dark Ones themselves agreed to the wisdom of my proposal to expedite the conquest of the Realm by making alliances with those foolish enough to think our victory might profit them. And likewise, They share my concern over efforts to reach Athalau. As you well know, They even take steps of Their own to counter the menace posed by the Nexus and the World Spirit.'

'I wonder at that,' the Demon said sullenly. 'The Dark Ones have already broken Their faith with that woman once. Do They think They can dupe her again?'

'In my study of the Pale Ones,' said Zak'zar, crossing his arms and nodding in concentration, 'I've found that humans are cursed with a thing called hope.'

'When I was bound in the depths of the City, sometimes my thoughts turned to the prospect that once again I would know my world-destroying freedom. In a word, I hoped.' Istu shook his horned head. 'Well do you name it a curse.'

'After all,' said Zak'zar, 'why do Fairspeaker and Mauna aid us so eagerly? Their minds should tell them the best they can win is a stay of execution. But hope tells them otherwise, and it's hope they listen to.' Istu's eyes flared bright yellow in the blackness of his face.

'Verily does the black-haired witch hope in vain,' he thundered. 'I have not forgotten how she lured me forth to pain and humiliation. I shall cherish her soul within mine. And this I will give her: often, very often I will give her clothing of flesh to wear so that she may know my vengeance again. And the same for her fair-haired sister. I had but a taste of her and will have more.'

'I thought you kept all your captive souls in the spirit jars in the warehouse.'

'Most. Those are the subjects of my passing interest, like the ones I collected in High Medurim, like this miserable baggage here.' He nudged the soul with his foot. It huddled in on itself and shook. 'But there are those I would add to my permanent collection. Those two are among them.' 'Even so,' Zak'zar bowed. 'I would ask a boon.'

'Ask,' said Istu, waving a magnanimous claw. 'You are the Chosen of my progenitors.'

'Release this soul and the one you keep next to it. I care little for the souls of the soft-skinned strangers, but these I knew. They deserve better.'

'I will not,' said Istu, hunching his shoulders. 'They were the only ones of their kind. They are special items. I won't part with them. Not until they begin to bore me.'

'As you will.' Zak'zar bowed again and glided away. Istu glowered after him. When the Speaker was gone, Istu gave the cringing soul another petulant kick, picked it up by the scruff and rammed it into its red clay jar. He placed the jug carefully in its spot among the others and went off to find his own repose.

In the morning, he returned to gloat once more over his collection. What he saw made him shake his enormous head in disbelief. Anger flared nova-bright within him.

Two jars that rested side by side containing the souls of Emperor Teom and his sister-wife Temalla had been smashed. The souls were flown to oblivion, unreclaimable. In his fury, Istu danced on the other jars, stamping them into powder beneath clawed feet. Invisible in the sunlight, the freed souls swirled about his columnar legs and were gone.

When the last jar was crushed and its spirit departed, the fit left Istu. He contemplated what he had done. He had a shrewd notion of the culprit responsible. He might have gone then and sought out the knave. Certainly, Istu could punish him in such a way that would make up for the diversion lost in the forms of bottled souls.

Instead, Istu began to laugh. At the sound of his laughter, birds fell dead for miles around.

'It is a grave thing you ask of me.' Each word came slow and heavy like the fall of mountains. 'I must think on it a while.'

'Marvelous!' cried Erimenes. 'What's "a while," you immense fugitive from an icehouse? Until the sun goes out? Or merely next year?'

'Tsk tsk,' said the glacier named Guardian. The boom of its voice hammered the sheer walls of the Gate of the Mountains bringing a fall of boulders thudding into the pass a few hundred yards behind the travellers. 'Were you not of the blessed kindred of Athalau, good Anemones, I should almost think you precipitous.'