Jacen was suddenly lightheaded. Hesaya had said the station was the size of a moon. He knew so little of the universe beyond this world, and could not think of a more intelligent way to askWhat if it falls on us?
It won’t.Neri sounded nothing less than certain.I don’t know how, buttheydo. Naxal does.His face worked as he wrestled with some deep and unexpected grief. The pain of an impending loss.I need you to keep the gods distracted, like we planned. Make them think you’re trying to exorcise Seth. Make sure they don’t leave the station.
Jacen made himself nod.How long do you need? I don’t know exactly. But . . . not long.
Then I’ll buy you as much time as I can.
Their conversation passed in the space between heartbeats. Ysira watched them. Not hearing, but understanding nonetheless.
“Hold the line with me,” she told a despondent Saraida. She beckoned Teheda, too.
Ysira drew her last remaining weapon—an ashek. It sprang to life at her touch, dark filaments coiling around her hands and wrist. A blade extended: a lightless void, edged in shimmering, undulating blood-red. At the top of the shallow stairwell, she stabbed the blade into the floor, testing its strength. The ashek cut stone as easily as flesh. She carved a long, straight gash in the obsidian and vowed, “No one will get past us.”
“It won’t be enough,” Turil sneered. “Your predecessors could not defeat us. Artek Var Naxal irradiated the Scar andbroke apartbefore he could come close to finishing the job. You’ll fail, just as he did.”
If there was one thing all demons had in common, it was this stupid, reckless arrogance, this unrelenting belief in their own power. The gods of Zivora had suffered losses, but they had reigned supreme for so long, they had forgotten the true meaning of fear.
There were so many unforgivable sins on Jacen’s ledger. He had made so many mistakes, but he knew, with a certainty he’d craved for more than thirty years, that this was not one. This was what he had been born to do.
He had staked his soul on this, and he would not fail.
“Be silent.” His speech rang out between the spires. “I command you to depart this vessel.”
“Youcommandme,” the demon goddess mocked. “In whose name?”
Jacen looked sideways to where Neri Semira faced the eclipse. Light coalesced around his clenched fists, coiling up his arms. His irises blazed red. Neri locked Jacen’s gaze, just for aninstant, before his eyes no longer belonged to him. He set his jaw and nodded.
Then that searing glow drowned out his pupils and sclera, burning brighter than the heart of a star. If Jacen hadn’t turned away, he would have been blinded, but still he felt it—not only the heat on his skin but thetriumph,as power incarnate shattered its chains.
“An older god than you,” Jacen said to Turil. “One you will regret having awoken.”
Jacen experienced most demons’ psyches as crude and unpolished, nebulous otherworlds projected by primitive alien consciousness. The archdemon’s mind was far more complex, and this time, Turil focused solely on Jacen. He had no fellow exorcists to guard his back.
Luckily, he had no intention of fighting her. As Turil opened her channel, Jacen followed that subtle tether from Seth’s mind, just as he had before, and plunged into what lay beyond.
He found himself in a vast circular chamber. The ceiling loomed high above, and the massive, vaulted structure made his spine prickle. The edges of the room were cloaked in darkness, and when he looked closer, he saw stars. He was sinking, shrinking down to nothing. He kept a tight rein on his focus. One misstep and he’d be annihilated.
Tharanoth, Lord of Hunger, sat in the center of the chamber. Again, his legs were crossed, his eyes closed.
Jacen’s image of Ileth was far less clear, but the Lady of Despair sat with her back to Tharanoth’s in a similar position. The two gods reached toward Turil.
“Oh, look.” Ileth sounded bored. “We have company.” Tharanoth seemed surprised, if only mildly.
“I thought you’d be running by now,” Ileth said. “Not that it would help. In a few moments, we’re going to kill your friends. Since you’ve so kindly offered yourself up to us, perhaps we’ll even make you do it.” “Bold of you to try this,” Tharanoth agreed. “However did you find us?” He probed past Jacen. “Turil. You’re getting sloppy.”
“A trifling detail. Everything is under control.” The Lady of Pain’s voice filled the psychic plane, soft and sinister, her presence curling around Jacen. “And he has just made a fatal error.”
Jacen remained calm, shuttering off his thoughts. Whatever else these beings might be, they were still demons. And he was an exorcist. He had passed assessment and manifestation. Now he moved to the third and most difficult stage: interrogation. This would be like no rite he’d ever attempted. Brute force would not suffice; he would have to manipulate and obfuscate. But he could be reckless, even audacious—whatever worked, anything at all—because his sole objective was to keep Tharanoth and Ileth oblivious to their physical surroundings long enough for Neri to unleash Naxal’s undiluted wrath.
Jacen was only a distraction.
“If you’d made it to our station, this might have at least been entertaining,” Turil hissed. “But the child-god’s father was verystupidand ruined that for everyone.” She did a horrifying impression of a chuckle, shivering through Jacen’s mind. “How does it feel to have killed so many of your own? All those little brothers and sisters who will never see a new sun rise? All fornothing.”
Something jagged twisted inside Jacen’s chest, but he said, “Not for nothing.” His voice sounded odd, as though he’d heard it through someone else’s ears.
Turil chuckled again. “Oh. Yes. The child-god is attempting to integrate. Do you really think he can harm us? He has hatein his heart, but it’s buried deep. He’s afraid of his own shadow. Naxal will devour him before he touches this station, just like Artek before him.”
“We’re priming the cannons now,” said Ileth. “Your city will be gone in a heartbeat.”
