Heart of Darkness

Chapter 33

Zelgadis groaned as he rolled over and gingerly picked himself up out of the pile of charred wood he’d fallen into. Staggering to his feet, he frowned as he looked around. He hadn’t an inkling of a clue where he was, let alone how he got here, but he suspected it had something to do with that woman in the room filled with light. She’d been trying to torture him, hadn’t she? Maybe this was just the next phase, dumping him bodily into a burned-out town and watching him struggle to make some semblance of sense out of his surroundings. Well… whatever, here he was.

It occurred to him that he spent all that time lecturing Lina on being careful in an unknown place, and there he’d been the one to get into trouble. He’d never hear the end of it when she caught up with him.

That rueful thought prickled another thought into being. Where was Lina? Was she safe? Had she managed to get word to Amelia and Jedah? Had she badgered them into going looking for him? Well, if that was the case, he’d just find somewhere to shelter until Jedah came along. Who knew how the boy managed it, but he always knew how to find Zelgadis. Even in the middle of a hellacious blizzard.

He turned to look up at the sky, seeing the sun starting to set. Ah, with any luck, he’d recognize some of the stars. If not, there was always the knowledge that the sun was setting over there… so he could at least fix a mental compass. Well, first things second. Water, shelter, food. All three seemed to be in precious short supply.

Picking his way around rubble, Zelgadis frowned as he looked at the devastation. What in the world had happened here? He crossed what might have been the main road, and stopped in front of what could have once been a store. A sign was partially covered by dirt, and he nudged it with his toe to see what it said. When he did, his blood chilled and he fell hard to his knees, hands rising to his head. Oh, sweet Cepheid. Ambervale.

It always came back to Ambervale. His guilt, his grief at what he had done here, what he had been forced to do to the villagers, forced into being some dark godling by the whim of Rezo’s hand. His reluctance to acknowledge anything but his Shamanic and lesser Black Magic powers, his shunting of the link to anything darker in nature. His near-disastrous rejection of the Mazoku Aspect that was now such an integral part of him. It all came back to Ambervale, the place where he had stood upon the edge of madness and destroyed everything with his own hands. And he’d enjoyed it.

Zelgadis felt as if he was going to be ill. He bowed his head, clenched his fists against his knees, fighting the depths of the emotions washing over him. Pain, grief, remorse, they all tasted bitter in his mouth as he knelt there, staring at his hands. His damnable hands. Angry tears tried to form in his eyes, but he closed his eyes tightly and forced himself to be still. He couldn’t make amends; there was nothing left to which he could pay restitution, though he would pay it gladly, and in blood if it was demanded. Ambervale was dead. He had to let it go. In a way, that hurt more than the restitution ever could have.

He focused his thoughts, looked up to the stars as if for support for a moment, and then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. When he opened his mouth, a cry of absolute anguish escaped him, a desperately lonely sound that filled the valley with the sum total of his feelings. It echoed long after he’d expended his breath, as if the ruins were adding their own voice to the cry as well. It was haunting, sweeping through with boundless emotion, and in his imagination he wanted to see it carrying the lost souls of those he had tried so hard to corrupt. He didn’t believe in ghosts.

He sat, listening to the echo as it faded, taking slow deep breaths to center and focus. He would stay calm, he would let his emotions still to quietness and sit there quiet, a calm contemplation of those who had died. It would be the only thing that he could do to honor their memories. He didn’t even remember individual faces.

When he finally looked up from his quiet respect of the dead, he looked back up to the evening stars. He knew where he was, and he had to admit that he felt somewhat better about it, though it would be a lifetime before he could forgive himself. The wound across his soul still ached at the memory of lives so callously extinguished at his will, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. Maybe he’d needed to come back here, to release the pain and let it die here with the memories of those who had lived here.

After all, he was married to Lina now; he was a different man than he had been in those bleak days. The old life was gone, but not forgotten. It could never be forgotten, lest he become something far, far worse than he could even imagine. Or remotely wanted to try, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty by any stretch.

He stood, brushing the dirt off of his pants and then straightened. Where was Jedah? He expected the youth to come around the corner any moment now. Who knew how his brother traveled, but it didn’t take him long to come bounding about and bowl him over when there was need. It was almost as if they were connected in some fashion. A throat was cleared behind him, and Zelgadis turned with every expectation of seeing Jedah.

It was Xellos.

And he looked as if he expected Zelgadis to tear him apart.