Thief Of Souls

he stopped only halfway there. The hole through which he had come was completely out of sight many miles behind him. The urge to get to Deanna was almost overwhelming, but he fought it, forcing himself to stay put. There was little to hear in the dead air around him, but still he waited, keeping his ears attuned to the slightest rustling of the dry briar-weeds around him.

“I’m here!” he called out to the sky. “I’m waiting for you. Show yourselves!”

The light in the sunless ice-blue sky never changed, so he had no way to measure the passing of time. He waited there for hours . . . until at last he heard them.

It began as a distant whoosh, whoosh, whoosh in the air, chased by the sandy hiss of something slithering across the ground. He turned to see his winged creature of destruction approaching in the distant sky, with the Snake of Fear winding the sands beneath it.

So they were still here! Still waiting for a great soul to leech upon, for they could not survive outside the Unworld any other way. Dillon knew that these hideous creatures wanted a way out of this place. But he also knew how to keep them from leeching onto him. All he had to do was refuse to invite them in.

The Spirit of Destruction circled above him like a vulture, perhaps wondering why Dillon had chosen to return, then it flapped its huge wings as it settled before him, creating a dust cloud. The Snake of Fear came in from behind, darting from rock to rock, cautiously making its way closer.

Dillon had anticipated this moment, just as he had anticipated that Okoya would punch through to the Un- world and bribe him with Deanna. He knew coming here would lead to this confrontation, and although he feared it, it was also something he was counting on. He only hoped Okoya’s arrogance had blinded him to what Dillon was about to do.

Before him, his creature snarled, its gray face a hell­ish forgery of Dillon’s own. Its muscles rippled, and it flexed its sharp talons as if it were about to pounce and gouge its way back into him, burrowing into his soul. It said nothing to him at first—it just watched, waiting for some part of Dillon’s soul to open so it could squeeze its way in.

All I have to do is refuse to let them in, he reminded himself.

He turned his gaze to the spirit of fear slinking up behind him. “Out where I can see you,” he told it.

It recoiled, then gave him a wide berth as it saddled up beside the creature it partnered with. Dillon tried to forget how much the terror-serpent’s face resembled Deanna: a twisted image of her with no eyes.

“He’s come to kill us,” hissed the serpent.

Dillon showed them his palms. “With what weap­ons?”

The Spirit of Destruction regarded Dillon a moment more, trying to divine his purpose here, but Dillon chose not to reveal it just yet. As long as his intentions were secret, he had the upper hand. Finally his parasite spoke. “I’ve missed living in your flesh,” it said. “I’ve missed being a part of you.”

“You were never a part of me,” Dillon told it. Dillon could sense its hunger for destruction, its hatred of him, and its resentment at having been cast out. Did it forget that it had won their last battle?—that it had ultimately destroyed what mattered most to Dillon: Deanna.

It unfolded its wings, taking on a looming, imposing stance. “Why are you here?” it demanded.

“I’m here to give you an escape from this place.”

His creature did not take its eyes off him, its distrust oozing like a fume in the air.

“It’s a trick!” hissed the serpent.

“No trick,” said Dillon.

His beast folded its wings once more, and although it did not move any closer, a slight turn of its head told Dillon that he had snagged his deadly doppelganger’s curiosity. “You would bring us back to your world?”

Dillon took a moment to look toward the palace one last time. Yes, Deanna was there, and yes, his longing for her had been almost insurmountable. But there were things far more pressing now, and so Deanna would have to wait. He knew Deanna would understand.

“I can offer you a bargain,” said Dillon. “Step inside . . . and we’ll discuss it.” The creatures slowly began to advance, the beast of destruction clicking its talons, the serpent of fear salivating at the prospect of freedom.

All I have to do is refuse to let them in . . . But in­stead Dillon bared his own spirit, and gave them per­mission to crawl deep inside.

***

Okoya did not see Dillon returning toward the portal, for he had approached from a different direction. There seemed to be something strange about the boy; there was a look in his eyes—a look that spoke of both in­satiable hunger and deep-seated fear. Okoya knew what this meant; it was Dillon’s hunger to rule the world, and his fear of Okoya—the very two things that gave Okoya complete control over the young star-shard. He only hoped the one called Deanna could be as handily yoked as Dillon.

“Where is she?” asked Okoya. “Didn’t you bring her?”

“She’ll be here soon.” Dillon made no move to step through the breach. He stood just inside the Unworld, as if waiting for an invitation to come in. Which in fact he was.

“May I. . . come in?” Dillon asked, slowly and pre­cisely.

“You’ve taken much too long,” Okoya said impa­tiently. “It’s a simple resurrection. I don’t like my time wasted.”

“Yes,” said Dillon, “but may I come in?”

“I hope you don’t plan on being this irritating in the future,” said Okoya. “Yes!” he said, “By all means, please come in!”

“Thank you,” Dillon leapt through the breach at Okoya, and his momentum took Okoya to the ground. That’s when he saw the truth behind Dillon’s strange expression. Okoya tried to resist, but was too late, be­cause he could already feel a new, unfamiliar hunger burrowing into his gut, and a cold sense of terror con­stricting his mind.

***

As for Dillon, he couldn’t expel these creatures fast enough.

He had trekked across the red sands, back to the breach, feeling those things within him leeching on his soul, filling him with that old familiar hunger for de­struction, and fear so intense it made every footstep an ordeal. Not even in his darkest of nightmares had he seen himself willfully bringing these creatures back to Earth, but he knew they wouldn’t remain on Earth for long . . . because just on the other side of the portal, was something that suited them more than a human star-shard. Perhaps Dillon was a great soul, but Okoya was also a great soul. . . . And Okoya was a soul who could travel!

As the two parasites gripped on to Okoya, Dillon heaved them out of himself with all the force he could muster, and in his mind’s eye, he saw it happen . . .

. . . And he saw, for the first time, Okoya’s true form. It was a creature of light and unlight—both luminous and deadly dark at the same time, as if its own living light was forever feeding the living darkness of its shadow. It had no form beyond the pseudopod tentacles it used to devour life—but now those tentacles flung wildly, as the Spirit of Destruction tore it open with its talons and crawled inside, followed by the Spirit of Fear.

“I’ve decided this world is worth preserving!” Dillon shouted at Okoya. “But you’re not!” Dillon pushed himself away, and his image of the parasites and the tentacled creature of light faded. Now all he saw was Okoya, lying in the dust, convulsing and writhing in agony, tearing at his own tangling hair.

“Help me!” screamed Okoya. “Help me, Dillon, help me!” And the Bringer gouged at his own face, know­ing —perhaps for the first time in its life—the feeling of terror. Okoya struggled to get to his feet, then fell again, trying to cast out the creatures he had invited into his soul—but not even his will was great enough to cast them out. They had burrowed too deep. They were home.

He no longer saw Dillon, for Dillon no longer mat­tered to him. All that mattered was escaping the para­sites’ choking grip. Okoya turned, and leapt through the hole, but he didn’t stop there—for just beyond the portal into the Unworld, Okoya punched a second portal—and for the first time, the Unworld resembled to Dillon what he already knew it to be—just a space between the walls of worlds—a buffer zone to protect one world from another.

Okoya leapt into the Unworld, took a single stride in that space between, then hurled himself through the