Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

head, you tricked us all, and you do terrible, insane things. It seems a lot more likely.” She would not tell him that she had seen his past; she didn’t want to remember it. Her anger was all she had left.

“It does,” he admitted. “I’ve considered the possibility, but I’m not behaving like any madman I’ve ever met. We have more than our fair share in these parts – the strain of battling the demons is too much for some. No, I’m rational, and I know what I want… I simply have no control over what my body is doing. You can choose not to believe me, of course, but in all honesty, I do care what you think. I don’t desire any of this. I set out to save my people only to find that I am the instrument of their destruction. Not even in my darkest days would I do the things I have done since Bakal has been with me.”

“And when you put out Kest’s eye? Was that you, or your demon king?”

She heard him sigh. “Sometimes it’s so clear when Bakal is moving me; I feel the impatience, the anger, the haste, and I act in ways I never would. But other times… did Bakal demand that I punish Kest because he was keeping me away Guyrin that night? Or was I simply angry, with poor self-control? I was a brutal, bloody man in my youth. It’s maddening. I feel terrible guilt for actions I know I did not choose, and at the same time, I wonder if I am using that to excuse my own bad behavior.”

“That’s a lot of words with no real answer,” said Nira.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I care for the boy very much. I see so much potential in him, and for a time I tried to help him to be his best self. I think I did it in exactly the wrong way. His stubbornness angered me, and I thought he needed firm correction.” Another sigh. “I don’t know. I hope it was not me. Either way, I can never earn his forgiveness.”

“Not his, and not mine.”

“I know,” he said, still speaking in that strangely flat tone. Another long period passed in silence, and Nira found herself fluttering in and out of consciousness. The blood pooling in her head was doing funny things to her thinking, but Gamarron never flagged in his pace. She hurt all over, aches and pains and discomforts spiked by the serious bruises around her throat. Her tongue was thick and dry in her mouth.

The sun was losing its strength when Gamarron spoke again. “Tychus said that Bakal isn’t a demon. He called it a Devourer. He said the gods who created humans made him and his kind to cull humanity if we ever became too strong.”

“All this talk about gods,” Nira rasped.

“Indeed. I am not inclined to put faith in such tales, but it does fit the evidence at hand… and for the life of me, I cannot find another narrative that does. The farther we go, the more I wonder.”

“Any gods that would destroy their own people,” grunted Nira, “are kind of shit deities, the way I see it.”

The old monk gave a little huff that might have been a laugh, and she tried to strangle the surge of satisfaction that rose inside her. This crazy old bastard is dragging me off to die, and still I wiggle like a koira pup if I make him laugh. Enough of this. Gathering her thoughts and her strength, she twisted at the hips and threw herself off his shoulder, trying not to think about how badly it would hurt to hit the ground.

Her shoulder hit first and she rolled onto her back, the breath rushing from her in an agonizing whoof. Her legs folded on top of her, one knee smacking her in the nose. That undignified pain was immediately replaced by the much greater stun of the back of her head rebounding off the stone, and she lay there in a daze. There was a thump and a moan, and she felt Gamarron’s fingers snatch at her foot. Shrieking, she tried to crab away from him, but her hands were nerveless lumps and gave way under her immediately. She thrashed out with both legs and connected, drawing a grunt from the old man.

“Nira,” he pled with her. “Look around; it’s no good!”

Rolling over, she stumbled to her feet, trying to clear the stars from her vision. Ignoring the pain in her head, she bobbed left and right, trying to evade her unseen captor. The bobbing was more from dizziness than cunning, but she managed to get herself mostly upright and sprinted as fast as she could away from the hard-packed path.

She made it four steps before her feet stuttered to a halt, the breath catching in her throat. She could finally see clearly, and – too late – her eyes told her the way was blocked by a solid wall of black and purple flesh. Demons. Dozens of them, just on this short stretch of trail. They stood silent and still in rows three deep to each side of the path, intelligent malevolence glinting in their eyes. She had nearly run right into the arms of one even bigger than the stray monster Guyrin had killed in the tunnels. It stared right at her, immobile as a statue, watching. They all did. Had their heads not swiveled to follow her motion, she might have thought them statues. But no, those beady eyes hungered after her, wanted her, hated her. The silence sounded like rage. It was a relief when Gamarron’s rough hands closed on her shoulders and pulled her back.

“I told you it was useless,” he remarked mildly even as his hands jerked her about roughly. Guyrin lay prostrate on the path, his eyelids fluttering, blood dribbling from his nose. Gamarron shifted his grip down to her haunches, preparing to lift her over his