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this Hell? And what is to become of me?
Senses, now, new senses, blinding her with deeper colors than she had ever
known, vision clearer than even her eagle eyes had afforded, the specks of the
sun brilliant in the dirty strands of her red hair, the wind howling. And now
Lauren simply had to
move, she was frightened and elated at once, and she jumped from her shallow
grave and looked down the road when she heard, at a distance, another
approaching horse.
Laurn knew she must look ghastly, and she felt at her blouse where the sword
had torn it and her, and there was the tear, but no wound. Lauren stood by
the side of the road, drunk on her new senses, violently needing action,
needing to move, and now the horseman came around the trees and she saw the
rider.
The man on the horse slowed as he drew near the crossroads. Lauren looked him
over and saw that he was paunchy, but he had an expensive pistol-so he must
have a good purse, as well. The horse was good. The man brought the horse
closer and said something to make it slow, and he looked at her.
"My lady, are you injured?" The man shifted in the saddle and tipped his cap.
"Is there anywhere I can take you?"
Lauren walked slowly to the horse, feeling the grains of earth in her boots so
clearly she could count them, feeling the very soul of the steed the man rode.
She was silent, and now she took on a pleading demeaner and reached up, and
touched the man on the chest. The stranger smiled, as if a bit confused but
not very, and before he could say another word Lauren jerked on his collar and
dragged him quickly to the earth. The man landed on his shoulder and Lauren
heard a crack, and she jumped on his back, reached for his head, and gave it a
sharp twist.
Now she had a horse, and a pistol, and some money. And now she began to ride,
furiously, because whatever euphoria had taken hold of her was beginning to
cede to sheer confusion and panic.
Lauren rode for days, southward, not even paying attention to the fact that
she drove the horse to death. She left the carcass behind, wandering madly,
now into the swamps near of Loch Rannoch, slogging through the mud, and it was
after she had slogged on for half a day that she realized she was being drawn
by something, something with answers.
And then on the eleventh of October Lauren reached a mound of earth, and as
she stepped past a patch of dark ground she felt it. Or, more correctly, Him.
A vision, now, of herself, as outside herself, dropping to her knees,
scratching at the earth, now drawing her dagger and beginning to dig. Hours
upon hours, days passing, blood running from her fingernails and the wounds
healing. Her brain rocked with the presence that pourd through the mud as a
wall of clay broke inward, and she found a túnel leading towards the broch,
the tunnel itself filled with hard clay.
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I know you, already, I who have served nothing, who is alone, I sense the
violence within you, the hatred, the loneliness, it calls out to me, aye, and
I will resurrect you.
And I will serve.
Teach me, for I have come to serve.
Lauren found a lump of clay, like the first man according to the
Judeo-Christians, a lump of clay that contained a preseilce, that was curled
like a babe with a lump in its anus that gave off no presence, and now she was
taking her dagger, slicing away the hardened clay and seeing blood flow
freely, tearing the clay away from the man's nose and the mouth.
The clay man, bleeding from his wounds, began to move, to rasp with a voice
unheard for near a century, and his darkly covered anus came Hawai from the
prize he clung to and reached up, hardened earth falling Hawai from his limbs,
and the clay man brought his hands to his face and ripped the clay away from
his eyes, and he screamed with the new light.
And the clay man lay staring fOr a long time at the creature before him, and
Lauren knew, somehow, she had found her purpose.
And finally the clay man reached up a hand and touched her on the shoulder.
"I am weak, my Nerissa. My companion."
"My name is Lauren."
"Lauren, then. Lauren the Companion." The face would be comic were it not so
strange and fierce, the swath of white skin showing through the clay on the
flesh of the man's face, surrounding his great, burning eyes. The clay man
breathed as if unaccustomed to the task, his óbice slicing through the air and
taking her soul. "I am Khordas. The
Salamander. The God."
Aboard the Gratiano, Lauren finished scattering a handful of the powdered root
of faith into the water tanks, her last stop after the three kitchens. Over
her head, she heard crewmen walking along iron catwalks. Lauren closed her
eyes, and now she felt the edge of Khordas' presence elsewhere on the ship.
Khordas would now be taking a tour, guided by the captain, after delivering
his warning about the mad pirate. Lauren made her way up to the main deck and
began to walk along it, feeling the breeze against her face. So this was to
be Khordas' new home, the site of the new civilization, the place of the
Rebirth.
Something in the back of Lauren's mind flashed a signal, like a glowing buoy,
bobbing on the horizon. You are mistaken. Leave, now. This is not the way.
There is the
Game to play, Lauren.
But Khordas needed his Companion. And Lauren reached into a pocket and drew
out a small capsule of gelatin, containing a dose of the Root of Faith.
Lauren put the capsule to her mouth and swallowed, and soon, all became clear.
There was much work to be done.
After an hour, Lauren saw the crew filing into and out of their early supper,
and the results were already becoming apparent. Lauren strode down the deck
and spotted a trio of sailors standing limply on the deck as if hung from a
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clothes line. Lauren smiled.
They were emptied, emptied of the world, and ready to be filled.
"You," she touched one of the sailors on the shoulder. "Go stand guard and
await my instructions. Look for an approaching vessel. Children," said
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