Renna came to her side, casting glances at the men grappling nearby. “Come on, girl, only an idiot would stay here,” she growled, and for the first time, Nira heard the care that the woman buried so deeply in her prickliness. The one-time priestess pulled at her arm, but it didn’t budge. “What did you do?” the bony woman asked, irritated.
The discordant orchestra of sound crested as the colors dominating the face of the Box exploded in a riot worthy of any festival. Then it all ceased in an instant, leaving a thundering silence and near-darkness. Nira’s hand pulled free, and with Renna tugging at her, they both tumbled over in a heap. At the same moment, Guyrin fell to the floor with a muttered curse. They all heard a mighty crack that sounded like the mountain splitting in two.
No dust fell from the ceiling, and the floor was stable under their feet, but now there was a perfectly vertical split in the face of the Box. Looking over, she saw that Gamarron had Kest pinned to the floor by his neck with one hand and was kneeling toward the gray monolith with his other arm raised as if in worship – or welcome.
“No, no,” Nira whispered. “We’ve failed.”
The front of the Box swung open, its once-perfect face now two massive doors. Inside was deepest midnight. FREE. The word echoed through the Chamber, the psychic force of it making them all flinch and cower.
Out of the void stepped a figure just as dark. Bakal. Nira’s eyes told her that he was no larger than the average man, but every other sense she possessed screamed that a predator twice as large as a demon had just entered the room. She could have closed her eyes and pointed to him no matter where he stood. He was a presence. That despairing, nihilistic desire to worship this being sprang back to life within her, undeterred by the presence of the Chaos. All probabilities were consumed and unified in this creature. In the truest mathematical sense the Shard could determine, Bakal was inevitable. He will destroy us, and there is no escape.
All this terrible majesty was contained in a vessel the size of a mortal man. His skin was black – not brown like Nira and her kin, but a true, deep, color-eating black. He wore no clothing, and his body was unnaturally smooth and sexless. The featureless outline and the midnight color of his body made the shape of him hard to follow…except for his eyes. They glowed and flickered a lambent red as if a furnace burned within him. A shadow of raptor wings unfurled behind him, there and not there, filling the corners of Nira’s vision but invisible when she looked at them.
THE ONES WHO FREED ME, Bakal said. There was no satisfaction in the words, only inevitability. The sound of his voice was overwhelming. It contained tones both low and high, as shrill as the keen of a dying mouse and as profoundly basso as the rumble of an earthquake, impossibly loud. She stuffed her good hand in one ear and saw the others do the same, other than Gamarron. She wasn’t sure if it made any difference – she didn’t think his mouth had even moved. Was it her ears that perceived the sound, or her mind? IT IS RIGHT THAT YOU KNEEL.
Bakal took notice of Gamarron, still kneeling in a posture of fervor. AND HERE IS MY HAND IN THE WORLD, MY HARBINGER, he mused without passion. YOU HATE ME; I FEEL IT. YOU WISH TO DIE. INSTEAD YOU KNEEL. His mammoth voice broke over them in waves. WHY IS THAT? DO YOU NOT WISH TO SPIT ON ME AND BREAK YOUR FISTS ON MY BODY? SPEAK, HARBINGER.
“Because you control my body,” Gamarron responded, his voice sounding once more like his own. The sound was weak and thin compared to the raging flood of Bakal’s voice. Nira had never been so glad to hear someone speak. She had thought the wise, troubled old man was gone forever.
I DO, concurred the Devourer, moving to stand before the kneeling graybeard. AND THAT IS THE MESSAGE I BEAR FOR HUMANITY, THAT I GIVE FIRST TO YOU AS A GIFT FOR YOUR SERVICE: WHAT YOU WANT DOES NOT MATTER. I AM THE ONE WHO DECIDES. LET YOUR KIND BEGIN TO LEARN. With those words, he reached forward and placed one hand on each of Gamarron’s shoulders as if he were a priest giving a benediction. One midnight hand tightened, and he wrenched Gamarron’s right arm off his body.
The others all screamed, even Guyrin, who was slowly recovering and watching from where he lay on the floor. Bakal tossed the loose limb in the old man’s face, toppling him backwards. He crashed to the floor, eyes wide with shock, his blood gushing from his shoulder and pooling beneath him. “No!” wailed Renna, and she ran to the fallen monk’s side. “No, no!”
YES, Bakal said. THIS IS THE WAY. HUMANS WILL BE CULLED, AS YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN LONG AGO. YOU WERE NOT MEANT TO RULE, BUT TO BE ONE CREATION AMONG MANY. FEAR NOT; SOME FEW WILL REMAIN. ALL THINGS END… EXCEPT FOR ME AND MINE. I WILL TAKE THE POWER YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME AND RELEASE MY KIN. THIS IS RIGHT, AND OUR CREATOR KNEW IT.
Nira’s heart clenched as Kest scrambled to his feet. WHAT IS THIS? said the Devourer. HUMAN, BUT NOT QUITE. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR FACE, HUMAN?
“Nothing,” he whispered, backing himself into the wall.
BE SILENT, the monster said, and he struck faster than a viper, crossing the space between them before Kest could even startle. Bakal wrapped one hand around the burly young man’s throat and
