19.12

"Zyrdicia, wait!" Dirk tried to grab her before she dashed into the cave, but was too slow. The darkness swallowed her. He heard her footsteps recede into the muffled void. So much for her promise of a quiet conversation.

"Are you coming?" she called eventually.

"Come back here at once!"

"You have to see this. Come here!" she beckoned.

"I can't see my hand in front of my face!"

"Damn. I forgot. Wait a second. . ."

An instant later a great explosion of violet fire filled the room. A ball of flame ignited in a pit in the round cavern's center, then soared up several hundred feet to its ceiling before erupting outward. Its explosion filled the room with an inferno. The hellfire missed Dirk at the cave's mouth by only a few feet. He jumped back in surprise.

"Damn it!" she cursed angrily. The purple flames settled into a consistent pillar of light from the cave's ceiling to the sacrificial pit.

"Are you alright?" he called, knowing full well she had to have been engulfed by the flames.

"Fine," she answered impatiently.

"Was that explosion intentional?"

"No," she snapped. "That hasn't happened in over a hundred years!"

The fact that this was her second magical mishap of the evening did not escape his notice. She never had such difficulties in the past that he knew of. He associated them entirely with Vector. It occured to him she had hardly ever used magic in his presence since awakening from the coma. From the cavemouth he called irritably, "Is there something you are planning to tell me about a problem controlling your magic?"

"Later. Are you coming inside or not?"

Dirk glanced inside skeptically. He really would prefer not to get caught up in another ball of fire. Being around such magical mishaps could be deadly. His jaw dropped when he saw what was inside. A sheer wall of crystalline stone within it was several hundred feet high. Dozens of alcoves had been carved into the wall's vertical face. A large silver statuette filled each alcove. Each statuette contained a pair of gemstones for eyes. Jewels of every hue glittered in the purple hellfire's light.

Zyrdicia had already scaled an enormous stone ladder at the room's edge to ascend a catwalk traversing the alcove-covered wall. Far up along the wall, she stopped just above the highest-placed statuette. She hooked her feet around a large stalagmite at the catwalk's edge, then leaned backwards over the edge. Her back settled against the stone wall with a soft thud. She groaned softly and hung there a minute, motionless. She then reached toward the nearest alcove, arms outstretched. The statuette eluded her grasp by a scant few inches. "Come hold my feet so that I can reach farther down," she called.

"You shouldn't disturb it. These places are always trapped."

"I expect a shower of poison darts to shoot out when I pull it out. So what? Come help me." She continued to hang upside down over the cavern, staring at him as though the position were actually comfortable.

"Why do you care about this ancient rubbish?" he asked, as he ascended the ladder to the catwalk.

"I want to see it. I think it's Saxarba."

Dirk reached her. She pulled herself back up to the stone deck in a graceful motion.

He knelt down next to her.

She scooted against him, putting her feet in his lap. The instant she felt his grip, without hesitation, she flipped backward off the ledge again. She groaned again as she tugged on the statuette. It was larger than it looked from the ground. "Hold tight," she warned.

An instant later, Dirk felt a tremendous force tug down upon her. Her near weightlessness in his hands transformed into something extremely heavy. That same moment, a giant spear shot out into the void from the alcove where she had been working. "Lame trap," she mumbled.

Zyrdicia stared at the enormous metal object hanging from her grasp. It was too heavy to levitate herself up with it. Now that she had it, getting it back up to the catwalk presented a challenge. "If I throw this up in the air, can you catch it?" she called.

"Not without letting go of you and dropping you on your head."

She pondered it. She was sure she could invoke a magical countermeasure to prevent herself from hitting the stone below. She was very fast with such invocations. The weird overabundance of magical energy, however, made her uncertain of its effect. For all she knew, it would launch her into the stratosphere. "So we'll skip catching it. Duck!"

She tossed the very heavy silver statue into the air. A sharp telekenetic shove mid-air sent it crashing toward the stone ledge of the catwalk. It struck the stone with a deafening clang.

She pulled herself back up easily with her abdominal muscles.

"Are you always this destructive when you rob temples?" Dirk smirked, glancing at the ruined silver object a few feet away. The figure's head bent forward as though its neck were broken.

"I haven't even blown anything up yet," Zyrdicia grinned, scooting over about ten feet, then beckoning for Dirk to follow. "There are two more within reach."

"One is enough!"

"No way!" She kissed him lightly on the lips, then flipped backwards again. He caught her feet an instant before they slipped over the edge, as she knew he would.

She repeated the same process, retrieving both silver figures. Once she had them up on the catwalk's deck, she righted the bent and dented holy objects to examine them. The Saxarba image looked much like the one she had found beneath Castle Blackpool - a buxom woman with hair of flame and purple jewels for eyes. She carried a sword with six undulating waves along the blade.

"I don't see the resemblance," Dirk mused, glancing from Zyrdicia to the ancient fire goddess.

She was not listening. Her attention was already fixed upon the second figure. "Who is this?" she demanded, scowling.

The second female figure had long, sweeping hair and an air of mystery. The workmanship of her expression was exquisite. Black eyes of polished obsidian glittered with a strange brilliance. She pressed one finger to her lips as though to hush the world or keep a confidence. In her other hand, she held a crescent moon on a string.

"Night," Dirk answered uncertainly, trying to remember the mythological figure's ancient name. "Pindara, I think they called her."

"Who was she supposed to be?" Zyrdicia's voice shook slightly. She traced the line of the statue's finger over its lips. She knew that expression all too well.

"Saxarba's handmaiden and messenger. Keeper of the moon." He watched her stricken expression carefully.

"It's Azriok. Astaroth told me he was once Zyr's messenger. What a clever fucking game they were all playing!"

"Your mind is playing tricks on you."

"He used to bring me the moon on a string to play with when I was very small. Pindara is a derivation of pindaru in Tenaebraen - beautiful darkness. It's him!"

She sighed and moved to the third figure, already suspecting the worst. She grimaced immediately, her eyes filling with hate. The third of the female deities held a bolt of lighting in her hand. Bright, cobalt-colored eyes caught the firelight. "Baal," she groaned, remembering the sight of the same menacing expression on the angel's face recently.

"Belaxa. Bringer of War," Dirk corrected quietly.

Zyrdicia smiled wryly, "They used to do this from time to time - inventing themselves as fictional objects of worship. A trick perpetrated on humanity for fun."

"One you apparently learned to imitate."

"It's not the same!" she shook her head. "What I do is -" She stopped suddenly, biting her lip. Her expression darkened. It had never occurred to her that she had learned the worship-game from Azriok. It came so naturally.

Worry flooded her countenance. Her eyes fixed on a distant point on the other side of the cave as her mind raced. This was one more example of the extent to which she was already one of them. She had not merely been Azriok's pupil; she had been his protégée in every respect. Her need to kill, her destructive habits, her magical tendencies - all of it was him. She even laughed like him. Now she had his blood hunger too. With his soul in her, they were very nearly a single entity. "How could I have been so stupid?" she whispered.

"On which occasion? There have been so many."

She did not even hear Dirk's quip. Silently in her mind, she ran through every one of Azrioks antics in the past half year. The nightmare in which he had pretended to abduct her. The Howler in Castle Blackpool's library. Baal. The underworld. Even the weird encounter last night. Azriok knew how not to fail at such things. He had intended to let her get away every time. And every time he had released her right back into Dirk's waiting arms. Each of Azriok's interventions had somehow brought them closer together. He had orchestrated all of it. She realized, Azriok doesn't expect me to come to him in Hell. It's all been a hoax. He wants to become me to kill Zyr himself. He knows what I'm planning. He wants the soul I spawn for himself. "How could I not have seen it?" she murmured helplessly, her hands covering her face.

A hand on her shoulder stirred her consciousness back to the cave. She had momentarily forgotten she was even here.

"Were you dreaming while awake?" Dirk asked intently. She had the look of her nightmares on her face - vulnerable and terrified.

"No." She turned abruptly and put her arms around his neck.

"Tell me what's happening to you," he commanded, his arms moving around her loosely.

"I don't even know," she answered miserably.

He moved one arm to put his hand beneath her chin. He pulled it up gently so that he could see her eyes. She looked afraid - not of him, but of something. "You steal every secret from my mind. I demand to know yours," he insisted.

She pulled away from him in frustration. She wanted to be held, not hounded for details. A few feet away, she sat down on the catwalk's ledge, her feet dangling over the edge. "Why are you so relentless?" she groaned, tossing a small pebble into the abyss below.

"You wouldn't dare break your promise to me."

She buried her face in her hands again. "You have no idea how much I don't want to have this conversation."

"Start with your new aversion to the dungeon," he commanded, standing behind her. "And your lack of interest in blood shed."

"Not that!" she protested, pulling her hands away from her face to shake her head. She rolled her eyes in frustration. "That's just embarrassing!"

Behind her, he towered over her. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He seriously feared she would confess the demon had put some sort of spell on her that rendered her harmless.

She looked up and admitted reluctantly, "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared to go into the dungeon."

Dirk had to struggle to keep a mocking smile from emerging from his lips. "Scared?" he repeated, arching a brow.

She nodded mutely.

He could no longer restrain his amusement. He teased with mock-concern, "Do the blood and pain and death suddenly upset your delicate sensibilities, dearest?"

"Just the blood," she frowned, ignoring his mockery.

He stared hard at her, expecting to see humor on her face. He waited for a punch line, an explanation for a senseless jest. None came. "You aren't serious?"

She nodded grimly. "Ever since I woke up from the coma."

"Blood scares you now?" he repeated in disbelief.

"No. It scares me what it does to me." Seeing his baffled expression, she asked, "Promise you won't get angry?"

Her tone was so childish that it was almost impossible to take the demand seriously. "I give you my word," he winked.

"You really promise?"

"It pleases me to see you are this frightened of my anger," he jeered. "My dear, you infected a sizable number of my soldiers with plague. You unleashed demons who turned a treasury full of my gold to rubbish. You very nearly missed our engagement announcement. I am neither a patient nor a forgiving man. But have I ever held the chaos you cause against you?"

"Yes," she nodded emphatically.

Dirk rolled his eyes in exasperation. "For more than a short time?"

"Not really. But this is different."

He arched a brow skeptically. His hands settled atop her shoulders. "I won't permit you to keep secrets from me now that you are my wife. Now tell me!"

"I'm afraid I would kill you."

"What?" he laughed.

"I'm not joking. I don't think I can control it."

"Your loyalty is touching. And what prompted these new regicidal impulses, my pet?" he smiled sarcastically, still not believing her.

She hesitated. Not being taken seriously when she felt so bewildered by it all only irritated her. It made her spiteful. She projected a memory of the force of the infernal blood craving into Dirk's mind for the space of two quick heartbeats, expecting to scare him.

His eyes registered astonishment for a brief instant. A slow smile spread across his face as though it were a marvelous revelation. He was relieved. The demons had made her more hazardous, rather than less.

"Don't you understand how much danger this puts you in if you're around when it happens?" she whispered urgently. "I will spill every drop of blood within reach!"

"Nonsense."

"Dirk, once the blood begins to flow I can't resist it! The need for it is the only thing I can think about."

"Need?"

"Want. A want like a sharp pain."

His lips settled into a knowing smirk at her choice of words. "Your want of sharp pain explains everything, doesn't it?"

"I can't help it."

"You underestimate your capacity to control it. You merely need proper discipline." Still towering over her, he smiled secretively. "Fortunately, discipline is an art at which I excel."

He thought a moment, plotting quickly. When he spoke, his tone was very serious. "I shall have to train you to resist these unseemly cravings. If I cannot trust you master such urges in the heat of battle, you will become a liability to me. I could never tolerate such a thing."

"This has already taking the fun out of killing."

"I rather doubt that," he smiled predatorily. The discovery pleased him tremendously.

"Why are you so happy about this?"

"My dear, not only will I be able to enjoy the torture of my prisoners, but in the process, you too. You cannot possibly begin to imagine how much I look forward to that!"

"You aren't at all worried that I will kill you?"

"No. You forget how adept I am at manipulating you. Should it become a problem I will simply chain you to a wall," he offered pleasantly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His gloved fingers stroked the back of her head fondly. "It's a problem I look forward to correcting."

She stared up at him uncertainly, still not quite convinced. His reaction caught her off guard.

"What else has been weighing on you?"

She patted the edge of the ledge next to her. "Sit."

He glanced around the cave carefully, unsheathing his sword so that he could comply. He sat down to join her, pleased to finally be getting the information he wanted.

Her expression was grim. "I think I've lost control of my best magic. You saw what happened tonight. There's just too much Tenaebran energy now. It mostly works fine for small things like teleporting or stopping a heartbeat. The big, explosive spells go haywire, though."

Dirk pondered that problem a moment. His face revealed that he thought this too was trivial. There could never be too much destructive force in his world. It was just a matter of bringing it properly under control to be useful. "Force Astaroth to show you how to handle it. He seemed eager enough to do your bidding when he stole Bethel's monocle."

Zyrdicia blinked. "I hadn't thought of asking Astaroth."

"Of course you hadn't. You are too busy trying to run from the demons to put them to work for you. What else?"

"I think Baal left a piece of claw in my back."

"That causes the pain I saw?"

She nodded silently.

"Then we will arrange to have it cut out. It's not as though you can die now, is it?"

"No."

"I will summon a healer when we return to Castle Blackpool."

"No healers! I hate them." She put her hand on his and pleaded, "You have to do it! I don't trust anyone else. Please?"

Dirk stared at her in surprise. She was the only one in Aperans who would have trusted him with a knife at her back. The request meant more than anything else he could imagine her saying. His hand closed around hers instinctively. He watched her eyes sparkle in the light of the hellfire, then nodded silently. After a long moment he wondered, "Why didn't you ask me sooner?"

"I was afraid you would say no."

He frowned in displeasure. "How preposterous."

She shrugged.

"Do you know where the claw is lodged?"

"In the muscle between my left shoulder blade and spine."

He nodded. He had seen the new scar there, faint though it was. "We'll take care of it later tonight then."

She leaned against him. She looked relieved.

"What else have you been hiding from me?"

"I think Azriok has plotted to keep us together all along. The rest of it was a lie. It's all -"

"I couldn't care less. Nor should you," he interrupted sternly. "Earlier tonight you told me you are here because you want to be."

"I am, but -"

"--Then nothing else matters! Is that all?"

"Azriok is trying to turn me into a Sephiroth," she answered grimly. "Himself."

"Then he underestimates what a stubborn, self-obsessed creature you are," he purred. "A lesson you can impress upon him when you kill him soon. You did say you planned to use our alliance to destroy Hell?"

Zyrdicia nodded silently. She frowned, genuinely disconcerted. Instead of letting her wallow in misery and covering her with sympathetic caresses and sighs, he had simply cut through it all. Magnus let her whine interminably about how unhappy she was. In fact, all her friends always consoled her. Sometimes they succeeded in using humor to distract her, but they never manage to rid her of the source of her anguish. Dirk simply approached each issue tactically and thrust a blade of practical reason into it. Somehow, each difficulty seemed to scurry away at his approach.

"What else?" he demanded impatiently.

"I adore you," she smiled, nuzzling her cheek against the side of his neck.

That problem he preferred not to solve at the moment. The psychological leash was once again properly in place. He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her nearer. "That can't have been all of it?"

"Um . . .I can't kill, my magic is fucked up, my back occasionally feels like a Sephiroth is ripping the flesh off with its fingers, and a ten-thousand year old god is trying to absorb me into himself. That pretty much covers it."

"And the dreams?"

"Happen all the fucking time. Even when you are there, sometimes even when I'm awake. But you already knew that. Touch is the only thing that keeps them at bay."

"Last night's blood-letting?" he asked, gesturing to her wrists.

"I needed blood for a magical working and thought it would make me feel better," she answered. It was essentially true, if only vaguely so.

"You were alone?"

"Not another living soul was within a half mile of where I was," she answered truthfully.

"You did the same thing before, on Kirilia."

"Yes," she answered, though the two were utterly different in her mind.

"Never again without my permission!" he admonished sternly.

"I promise." She smiled slyly and asked, "If you are finished interrogating me, can we go home now?"