Waylon's Crossing - 35. Chapter 35: Dawn in the World of Night

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 35: Dawn in the World of Night

The first mid-air crossing sent Kynan plummeting with the changing air currents. He yelped in surprise, limbs and wings flailing, only to pull up with a grunt as Karadur seized his sword belt. Kynan dared a look down to see the ground not rushing up to meet him, and let out his breath in a whoosh of relief.

Karadur yanked on Kynan’s belt, reminding him to focus.

It was hard to know what to do with his arms while flying. Flapping them around served no purpose other than to add to his exhaustion, and neither stretched over his head nor down by his sides felt comfortable. Then there was the whole issue with his wings. Not once had Kynan ever considered how much effort it took to keep his legs straight and even with the rest of his body. His abs and back were sore within minutes.

He was able to distract himself for a short while with how light the Borderlands were. Dawn arriving everywhere at the exact same time was an amazing event that Kynan sorely hated to miss. There was something happening with his pairling, also, but Alan was in that busy mode of his where it was practically impossible to get his attention. Kynan held onto that busy train of thought from Alan, missing the rampant flow of his emotions. He had to wonder how much of what he felt was due to the pair-bond and how much was his own mutant brain. Thoughts, certainly those had to come from the pair bond; but what about the emotions? He was getting those from everywhere now.

Karadur’s low, buzzing panic beat against Kynan’s nerves. Strong, stoic Karadur was terrified. He nursed anger to combat his fear, making his voice and words sharp. Azil was important to Kynan, too; he was doing this for them, but this was only the second time he’d flown and he was already exhausted and sore. The past hours seemed fuzzy and indistinct with everything that had happened.

“Kynan!” Karadur’s voice cracked like a whip, startling his protégé. Kynan drew up, but couldn’t raise himself high enough to avoid dragging his feet through the treetops. He tumbled, dimly aware of Karadur cursing.

Instinctively covering his head against the shower of sticks and leaves that followed his abrupt descent, Kynan lay on the forest floor and panted. Nothing seemed to be broken, other than his pride. He moved to sit up and half-fell on his side as his head spun.

He jumped as Karadur landed nearby, hooves crunching on the forest floor. Kynan grabbed his head at the onslaught of Karadur’s swarming emotions. “Daylight, Karadur!” he snapped. “Shut up already!”

Karadur ignored the outburst, grabbing Kynan’s arms to help him up. Kynan sagged gratefully into his arms.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, but my bruises have bruises, I think.” Craning his head up, Kynan stared up at the trees. “I don’t think I can make it. I’m so tired, Karadur.”

The look he received was inscrutable, but the feelings hidden behind that mask thumped Kynan on the head again. He groaned and closed his eyes against another bout of dizziness. At least there wasn’t anything left in his stomach to throw up.

“Here, fold your wings in.”

“Huh? Ow!” Kynan startled, but he only ran into Karadur’s chest, held tightly by the muscled giant. He blinked blearily up at the red demon’s concerned face, shivering in the pre-dawn air.

“Fold your wings,” said Karadur patiently even though his impatience made everything else hard to listen to. His big hands guided Kynan’s wings into place and then he unbuckled the sword around his waist, grumbling, “Don’t need that, anyway.”

Kynan felt his face tilted up and grinned at his mentor. The demon’s hand dwarfed Kynan’s face where it cupped his chin. “Kynan, look at me. Look at me, my prince.” He sighed. “Well, let’s hope your senses come back to you quickly.”

“But, Karadur, I feel fine. Better than fine, although it would be better if you just stood still.”

“Yes, my prince, of course.”

“Karadur,” teased Kynan, cuddling close as he was lifted into the demon’s arms. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, my prince.” He leaped, navigating confidently up out of the trees.

Kynan groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and gritting his teeth. “Karadur?”

“Yes, my prince?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

He felt Karadur’s rumbling laugh under his ear. “I imagine not, my prince.”

“I hate when you call me that, you know.”

“Yes, my prince, but it is what you are.”

“Fuck that shit.”

“Kynan, keep your wings in.”

“Sorry.” He concentrated on holding his wings as close to his body as possible so as to not interfere with Karadur’s flight. The wind whipping by seemed to catch on every single feather. As Kynan held his breath through another, spiraling, spinning swoop, he reflected that he felt very calm. Almost too calm. When he thought about it further, he realized that Karadur’s focus held back everything else and without that fear and anger and desperation bombarding him, all Kynan had left was himself. He hadn’t been free of others’ emotions since he’d been bonded to Alan.

Alan. Where was he? He still had that preoccupied, busy feel in the back of Kynan’s mind. Not unlike Karadur, now that he was thinking about it. He’d bet Azil got like that, too. Did everyone? That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?

Karadur’s big hand caught the back of Kynan’s head and pressed his face into his neck. “Rest, my prince. You’ll need your strength.” Then he mumbled something about the Queen, but Karadur’s body was warm and Kynan was so tired.

He dozed as the ground blurred beneath them. It was very odd and not restful in the least to be so carried at the speed with which Karadur flew. Kynan could feel each of Karadur’s heart beats from the effort expended to continuously flap his wings, soaring at infrequent intervals to rest or slip through crossings. Despite the chill air, sweat beaded on the black skin and Kynan grew thankful that Karadur had so much experience schlepping Azil from place to place; he didn’t fear falling. In fact, Karadur barely seemed to notice his presence.

Everywhere they went, the skies were the same blue-gray and the sun hovered just below the eastern horizon. From moment to moment they had clear skies and clouds, rain or fog, and even once snow. Ordinarily, the changing landscape would have been quite captivating, but Kynan cared neither for the mountains changing to seas in the blink of an eye, nor the forests fading to desert. He wished instead that their passage was smoother and less jagged as Karadur fought from one air current to the next. The need which drove him only aggravated Kynan. The closer they came to Azil, the further they went from Alan. He bit his lip and closed his eyes to restrain his temper.

Distracted by Karadur’s sudden, plummeting turn, Kynan didn’t at first realize they’d made their last crossing. He’d never seen the World of Night from the air and didn’t recognize the canyon walls that loomed to either side. Unpredictable gusts could send them spiraling sideways, soaring upward, or plummeting downward, or all at once in quick succession at any moment. Legs wrapped around Karadur's waist, arms around his shoulders, and face pressed into his neck, Kynan listened to Karadur’s labored breathing and prayed for a quick trip.

They cut between two boulders leaning precariously against a third and Kynan gasped, staring behind them at the legendary spires guarding the Wastes. Through the haze of wind-blown sand, the sun glowered along the horizon in alternating bands of orange and red. Karadur flew even faster.

The winds above the Wastes were fierce, known for the blinding, gritty sand. Even a demon’s tough hide could be scoured clean in minutes without protective garments. Kynan’s human skin was substantially more fragile and he cringed from what felt like an attack of a thousand tiny knives.

All at once, the wind died. Karadur’s wings popped out to slow their descent. His hooves slipped on the blown sand as they landed, but Karadur kept his feet. Both his and Kynan’s gasping breaths echoed loudly in the empty canyon.

“Where are we?” Back on his own feet, Kynan shook his wings and hair free of sand.

Karadur pointed in answer. “Azil is there, in the Temple.”

Without Karadur pointing it out, Kynan would have missed the square entrance. Twilight lingered at the bottom of the canyon, but the first morning in millennia glittered where veins of opal scored the canyon walls. Kynan shielded his eyes as he gawked at the layers of brown-gray, red-brown, orange, and yellow rock. Legends said that the Wastes were carved by the powerful winds, but it seemed to Kynan’s eyes as if water had once stained the stone.

“Kynan!”

Jumping, Kynan hurried to catch up, slipping several times before he learned the knack to walking on the oddly soft, shifting sand. He coughed on the hot, dusty air, grateful for Karadur’s steadying hand on his arm as they approached the temple’s entrance.

Tension reached out and grabbed Kynan’s chest at the same time that suspicion boiled out of Karadur. They both stopped, transfixed by the black, open entrance devoid of any guards.

“Something’s wrong.” Kynan reached for his guns, but his hips were bare of all but the ragged remains of his trousers. His shoulders hunched at Karadur’s sharp, “Where?”

Kynan shivered and rubbed at his arms. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t feel -- there should be -- but there’s something …!”

“Kynan,” Karadur growled. His muscles bunched under his skin, desperately seeking a target.

“I can’t explain it, Karadur.” He sought his mentor’s eyes, begging him to know the source of his unease.

“How many? How many people?”

Kynan blinked. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“Then concentrate!” Karadur’s fist slammed into his palm, sending a rustle of sound through Kynan’s feathers as he startled and took quick a quick, sidestep.

Wilting under that yellow glare, Kynan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He’d know what to do on the Dreamscape; he just had to do that again while awake. That was it. Easy, right?

“I-inside.” His voice quivered from what he sensed. If this was the Dreamscape, then he stood in someone’s nightmare. He could easily imagine the temple entrance as a gaping mouth, malevolent and eager to swallow them whole, like the sorry souls already inside. They shifted and swirled, howling, and Kynan wanted to scream at them to shut up. What lurked below should not be disturbed.

He was trembling and dizzy when Kynan opened his eyes. “A dozen? Fifty? I don’t know, Karadur.” He wiped sweat off his face. “But whatever they’re doing, it -- it’s evil. I don’t want to go in there. They’re dead -- they’re all dead!”

Panting, Kynan’s eyesight blurred and he swayed, coming back to himself abruptly as Karadur slapped him.

“Kynan, my prince,” said Karadur. His hands were wrapped around Kynan’s shoulders and Kynan blinked up at him.

“My prince, listen. You are Queen’s Hunter Kynan. You must be strong now.”

“My head hurts.”

“Azil is awake,” said Karadur, glancing over his shoulder at the temple. “He’s hurt badly and can’t tell me much, but this is one of the old places. You remember Azil’s teachings about the old Gods?”

Kynan started to nod, but then he stopped and his eyes widened. This place, the canyon temple, was like the Cathedral of Waylon’s Crossing. If rumors of an ancient power residing in the city were true, then so, too, were the rumors of hidden powers here. Xeran was attacking the city and they’d burned the Cathedral, so Kynan could assume that his mother was attempting something similar here.

“You don’t want to go in there.”

Karadur grimaced. “Azil is in there, and the Queen.”

Kynan felt faint. He sagged in Karadur’s grip. Where the Queen went, the Dark Court went also. “All those people…” Howsoever they had tormented him over the years, Kynan didn’t wish them dead.

“The Queen will want to present you when she’s at her strongest. Come on.”

Kynan whimpered. He couldn’t move when Karadur stepped away, instead stumbling when Karadur seized his arm and dragged him along.

“Once you’re presented, Xeran will challenge you,” Karadur said.

Kynan couldn’t find any saliva to moisten his mouth. He blushed as his voice squeaked, “He’s here?”

“Don’t be stupid; he’s attacking the city. We’ll have plenty of time to prepare. Right now, we just have to get you to the Queen. Hey.” Stopping a stride away from the gaping stone doorway, Karadur spun Kynan to face him. “Stop it.”

“Karadur…”

“You’re a prince! And a Queen’s Hunter! Now start acting like it!”

Kynan gulped. He could almost see fear swirling around their ankles and he couldn’t stop shivering. His eyes darted from Karadur to the black tunnel and back again.

“Why couldn’t you be half fucking human?” Karadur snarled, seizing Kynan by the throat and shaking him. “Get a grip, you miserable, little shit!”

The ground quaked, throwing Karadur off balance, and Kynan screamed, but his scream turned from fear into rage and he began laughing. He bared his teeth and leered at the demon. Impatient now, he shook off Karadur’s lax grip and marched into the depths.

“Kynan!”

Oblivious to all but the seething power, Kynan staggered over dead bodies and slipped in spilled blood. He laughed and put out a hand to lean drunkenly against a wall when the earth shook and rumbled again. Heat and power billowed over him and he quickened his steps.

Down he went and down and down as the path spiraled ever downward. His blue demon eyes gleamed as light bled into his path. The heat intensified and he could hear a resonant, pounding sound. The thud came at regular intervals, like a heart beat and as he drew closer, Kynan also began to hear chanting. His ears were only human sensitive and he was almost there when he realized who the words belonged to.

He couldn’t stop. Like pebbles in a stream, individual emotions slipped through his grasp leaving only fleeting impressions. Awakening power suffused the cavern Kynan stepped into. The light was almost blinding after the darkness of the passage. Fire ringed the circular room. The high, domed ceiling was open at its apex, letting in light from the outside. He could see that when the sun was directly overhead, the light would be focused upon a stone altar in the room’s center, surrounded by kneeling demons, resplendent in courtly garb.

Indecipherable symbols glistened on the walls and dust was thick on the floor, flickering orange-red with the light from the crackling fires. Kynan’s stomach turned over when he saw that the demons upon the floor were dead and the “water” creating rivers through the dust was actually blood. Then he saw skulls and other bones glowing white-hot in the flames.

Hot blood oozed between his toes as Kynan stood there, transfixed upon the altar.

“Daylight.”

That wasn’t his mother standing before the altar; that was Xeran!

Kynan’s breath froze in his lungs as Xeran turned around. Kynan couldn’t look away, deaf to his uncle’s dark laughter and held motionless as Xeran’s Hunters stepped from where they’d been lurking. Two of them grabbed Kynan’s arms, dragging him forward. His feet caught at some invisible barrier, his knees locking and his body jerking against his captors.

Panting, Kynan threw his weight sideways, kicking out at one guard and striking blindly at the other with his wings. Escape surged to the forefront of his mind. The room pulsed to his other senses, bathing him in oily caresses, and he couldn’t forget the madness in his uncle’s eyes.

When the demon latched onto his left arm vanished, Kynan fell, unable to recover in time to keep from stumbling. He landed with a squish, his hands mere inches from the hungry flames circling the room. There was another room below, dark red and hot -- so hot! A face, writhing and screaming, appeared in the flames and Kynan hollered, scrambling backward. Sightless eyes stared up at him, skin slippery with oils and blood, cold death everywhere he touched. He was sweating now in the heat and there on the floor he could feel the room sway slightly, as if the entire chamber was suspended above the hell below.

Impatience blew across his skin with the hiss of escaped steam. Thousands of voices cried out to him in as many degrees of fear and anger, pain and lust and power. Covering his head with his arms, Kynan curled into a protective ball and screamed.

The pain receded bit by bit. A gentle melody slipped between Kynan and the voices, letting him reclaim his mind. Kynan pushed sweat soaked hair out of his eyes with a trembling hand, blinking as he sought the source of the sound.

On one side, Karadur stood by the entrance with the Queen’s arm across his shoulders. Shame flooded Kynan as he realized that while he’d been helpless, Karadur had arrived, attacked Xeran’s guards, and freed the Queen. Dark splotches ran from their bodies, instantly identified as blood and sweat, and more bodies littered the floor. Fire had turned Karadur’s yellow eyes red. Or maybe that was madness. In that moment, the physical similarity between Karadur and Xeran was striking, and unmistakable.

He was mad. That’s what had happened. With everything that had happened, he must have gone mad. It was the only explanation.

Kynan kept turning his head, to see black, molten stone seemingly raised from the bodies piled deep around the altar. Empty urns gave mute testimony to the holy oils and perfumes, but Kynan only had eyes for the thick, clinging blood dripping from the ancient surface. Sunlight slanted in from above, absorbed by a black wing draped awkwardly from the altar. That scarred wing looked familiar but Kynan fought recognition as his eyes traced up an arm to a shoulder, neck, and head.

Azil.

That wasn’t all; Xeran stood behind the altar, holding Azil’s head tilted at an awkward angle that bared his throat to the dagger Xeran held in his other hand. As Kynan watched, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Azil’s face, curved along his jaw and ran down his throat to pool on the blade.

Growing up in Azil and Karadur’s house, Kynan had found the red demon to be easily the most beautiful demon he’d ever met. He knew that Azil served the Demon Queen as an advisor and entertainer. Azil had a calming effect on the Demon Court and Kynan heard that magic now as Azil sang.

Xeran’s voice broke into Kynan’s thoughts: “So, Little One, you’re just in time.” He laughed, exposing a broken tooth.

Azil’s music was wordless, but Kynan could swear he heard the demon encouraging him to get up. He glanced at him, but Azil had his eyes closed, so he looked to Karadur. The black demon’s mouth moved and he gestured using the tip of a bloody sword. Kynan couldn’t hear the words, but the intent was clear.

His muscles quivered, his wings left bloody smears on his skin as he pushed them back over his shoulders, and his stomach lurched as Kynan sought steady footing amongst all the carnage.

He cleared his throat and asked the one question that came to mind: “Just in time for what, Uncle?”

Xeran’s eyes narrowed. “What is your name?” From how his jaw worked, that was not the question he’d meant to ask.

“Kynan.”

“Your real name!”

Kynan jumped, but Xeran was no longer glaring at him; rather, his green eyes were fixed upon the Queen.

She said something but again Kynan could not hear. The answer, however, enraged Xeran, causing the dagger he held to draw blood. Karadur roared -- silently, to Kynan’s ears -- but Xeran only smirked. That tiny smile faded as his attention turned back to Kynan.

“So.” His gaze raked Kynan head to toe and he sneered.

It was then that Kynan realized he could tell nothing about Xeran’s emotional status. Hastily, Kynan directed his fledgling senses at the others and found them likewise indeterminable.

“Incubus.” Xeran’s lip curled and he spat. His fist tightened around Azil’s horn, tipping his head back further. “He’ll still make a better sacrifice than you, won’t he, pet?” His eyes flicked up to Kynan over Azil’s body. “I challenge you for right of succession.”

“Uh…” Karadur and his mother were nodding vigorously, so Kynan swallowed hard and nodded back. “O-okay.” So much for ‘having time to prepare!’

“Good!” Xeran withdrew the dagger and shoved Azil from the altar. The singing abruptly stopped as he hit the carpet of bodies and Kynan staggered as the emotional pit of the temple slammed into him. He crumpled.

“Kynan!”

Karadur’s shout startled Kynan into looking up and he saw Xeran’s shadow preceding him in a killing blow.

“Move, damn you!”

Flinging himself sideways, Kynan grabbed at the first sword belt he saw. The blade was far too heavy and dragged the point down as Kynan pushed up to block Xeran’s strike. The clash of steal was deafening and sent numb tingles racing up Kynan’s arms.

“Get up! Fight!”

“This is fucking crazy!” Kynan shouted back, abandoning the long blade to dive away. He reached for his guns and came up empty, cursing as he sought something he could use. Xeran’s next attack whistled so close that the blade cut a swath through black feathers.

He ducked around the altar, feeling the bite of Xeran’s sword along his thigh. The room faded in and out of his sight and his instincts kicked in, blocking another swing with a heavy wing. This time the blade bit deep and Kynan fell half onto his side. His gasps sounded loud in his ears, staring up at Xeran as he approached.

He stopped, snarling, “Fuck you, Karadur! You’re not my father!”

Kynan stared at Karadur. Once again, the demon’s lips moved, but Kynan couldn’t hear him. Not pausing to smack the side of his head (for surely he was going crazy!), Kynan scuttled out of Xeran’s easy reach. His hand fell upon a force rod and flinched back as he felt the warning sizzle. Pausing, Kynan yanked at the weapon, taking another cut across his wings as he dodged.

“That’s right, whelp.” Xeran’s sword sliced through the air as he stalked after Kynan. “Run like the dog you are!”

A dagger, more pretty than functional, found its way to Kynan’s hand next. Sweat stung in his cuts as he stood his ground. At least his face was already red from the heat, hiding the blush that rose to his cheeks with Xeran’s jeers.

“I may only be a half-breed cur, but at least I know what loyalty is!” he taunted back.

Xeran’s skin turned even darker. “Loyalty!” he screamed. “How dare you try and lecture me about loyalty! Your mother killed our father! How is that for loyalty, you damned, incubus trash!” He was so close that Kynan could see the tendons in Xeran’s neck bulge as his head whipped around, fixing his sister with a murderous glare.

The sword in Xeran’s hand stabbed at Karadur. “He is not my father! Meqhy was my -- our father! Traitorous bitch!”

Taking his chance, Kynan sprang forward. Xeran whipped back around and laughed as his blade cut deep. Spittle spattered Kynan’s face and he gasped, momentarily blanking as his momentum carried him forward. Suddenly, everyone was shouting at once. Steam blasted through his feathers and Kynan heard howling echoing in the bizarre chamber, but the restless energy from below filled him.

Xeran was laughing, roaring with it, maddened by the power he’d unleashed during the tainted ceremony.

Kynan held onto his singular intent through the rush of power filling his head and brought the force rod in his hand over and down across Xeran’s wrist. The stout rod cracked bone as it broke over the demon’s arm.

Howling, Xeran dropped his sword. He never saw the follow-through blow that buried a ceremonial dagger to the hilt in his heart.

Kynan fell with his uncle against the obsidian altar. Aside from the blood rushing in his ears, Kynan heard Azil singing. He didn’t know the language, but he knew the song for the lullaby it was. He fell into the music and knew no more.