He stooped to pick up Nira, draping her over one shoulder. The he crossed the short distance to Guyrin and bent again, maneuvering the stout chaos wielder over the other shoulder with only one hand. He straightened, his captives draped over him like sacks of grain. He gave Renna one more pleading look and turned away, his feet carrying him inland. He didn’t know what path he would take, but he suspected he knew the destination. He was going back to the place where it all began.
Pain lanced through his head and his vision disappeared in a flash of white. He staggered to one knee, dropping Nira and Guyrin. He clapped a hand on the painful spot on the back of his head, and the fingers came away bloody. A rock the size of a hen’s egg dimpled the sand behind him. He knew a moment’s confusion, and then he caught sight of Tychus. Of course, the Naga. I should have remembered him. The prissy breeding male had another rock in hand, but he flinched away from Gamarron’s gaze, keeping his distance.
“It’s not a demon,” he called out, his voice quavering. “Clear your mind! This thing you’re after, Bakal – I knew the name when first you said it, but what concern was it of mine? You’re just a human, and I never intended to come all this way with you. I’m sorry!”
Gamarron scooped up the rock at his feet. He feared that he would launch himself at the weak Naga, but he merely crouched where he was, fingering the stone. “Tell me,” he croaked. He wanted to hear it all. I may have lost control of everything, but I can still seek understanding.
The Naga’s tail twitched in the black sand, and he looked ready to flee, but he stayed firm, his arm half-cocked to throw his other stone. “You touched it, didn’t you? That gives them control. I stole an old book that listed all the gods’ creations. One of the Three feared that humans would grow too powerful, so he made the Devourers as a scourge to bring you all down. But the other two were angry and sealed them away in prisons that only their own essence could unlock.” The Naga looked pathetic with his hair plastered to his head with fear sweat. “There were only twelve of them, and the old books had their names. I had nightmares for months.”
“Bakal,” Gamarron said, almost grasping the shape of what the young Naga said.
“He’s not a demon; he’s one of the Devourers. Locked away. Did you touch him? Is that why you’re…?” Tychus clenched his rock and raised his rock higher as if it alone could protect him. “Is he free? Did you let him loose?”
And there it was, clear as day, the memory that had been blasted from his mind more than a year ago, swimming back to the surface. His demon-hunting party, his elites, pushing the cursed demons back so far that they had actually set foot in the great, twisted caves where they lived, the Great Scar. Never in living memory had any of his people had such great success or united so many of the clans. In his pride he had thought he could wipe the demons from the Black Isle entirely. His demon fighters had argued with him when he wanted to descend into that hellscape, but in the end, they trusted him. He was a leader like none his people had ever seen, and so they followed. The koda let him carry the strength of his twelve strongest fighters in his fists, their energy focused within him, and no demon could stand before them. He had waded through rivers of the foul beasts’ scalding blood, invincible and nigh unto godhood.
Then he had come to the Chamber. The demons had coughed and grunted in their panic, trying to defend something within, and he had to know what it was. He slaughtered them barehanded with a glad heart, but when he stepped foot into that dark cave, its mouth carved with unknown runes, his spirit quailed. His companions had called him back, begged him to return and rejoice in their victory, but he severed himself from their strength and stepped forward. He was the king, even if his tribesmen were too proud to say it! He would not step back from the unknown! His demon hunters fled, and he barely noticed their absence. For there, in the cave, surrounded by guttering light of candles made from the tallow of human flesh, gleamed The Thing.
He had touched it. It was a massive block of some shining gray material he had never seen before, half again as tall as him, five paces wide and ten deep. It was harder than stone and smooth as silk to the touch. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from it. It whispered to him, beckoned him, and when his fingers pressed against it, he had felt a terrible joy well up, consuming all thought, all reason.
That is where it began, he thought. That was where I began the ending of mankind.
He came to his feet smoothly, Tychus shifting nervously in the sand five meters away. “Didn’t touch him,” he managed to say.
The Naga seemed vastly relieved.
“But he took me anyway,” Gamarron said. He dropped the egg-shaped rock and his body sprang forward, crossing the space between them in the blink of an eye, catching the Naga off-guard despite his wariness. The creature wailed in fear as Gamarron caught hold of his wrist with
