The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER THREE

All was pain.

Iraj had no body: no blood, no sinew, no muscle, no bone-much less skin to contain them.

And yet there was still pain.

In its torment, pain defined him. He was a writhing shadow of a soul on fire. A smoking stone in the guts of some howling devil dancing on the coals of the Hellfires.

If he'd had tears, Iraj would have wept them. If he'd had a tongue, he would've lapped up those tears to quench the awful thirst. And if he'd had a voice, he would've screamed for mercy. Yes, Iraj Protarus, who had never seen value in mercy, would trade his crown-and a thousand more-for one drop of pity now.

But who was there to pity him?

The gods?

Safar had once told him the gods were asleep and wouldn't answer even if the prayer were cast into the Heavens by a million voices. Safar had said many things like that and if Iraj had possessed a heart to break, or a heart to hate, he would have both loved and despised Safar now for all his wise words.

Safar Timura-enemy and friend. Friend and enemy. The one who had saved him. The one who had condemned him to this eternity of pain.

If Iraj had possessed the ability for amusement, he'd have finally known the true meaning of irony.

In his previous existence Iraj had been a shapechanger. Rabid wolf to black-hearted man, then back again.

And before that?

Images bubbled up to burst on the thick surface of his pain.

He was a boy again in Alisarrian's secret cave, swearing a blood oath of eternal loyalty to Safar. He was a young prince again, leading his armies against the demon king, Manacia, who threatened all humans with enslavement. He was King of Kings again, betraying Safar because he feared Timura would betray him first. He was a fiend again, avenging himself on Safar for the crime of uncommitted sins.

As each of these images took form, only to dissolve into a soul-searing froth, Iraj gradually emerged into an awareness that was somehow separate from the pain. It was like struggling from a molten sea to rest a moment in a world both familiar and yet alien.

He was only a lowly creature whose sole desire was to escape into death. But in his desperation to escape a more solid firmament was formed.

His first thought was: Where is Safar?

With this thought came heightened awareness: Safar was nearby! And he was also in pain. Satisfaction followed, but then he was pummeled by a further realization: Safar was not in as much pain as Iraj.

He pulled himself higher out of the sea of misery, determined to reach Safar. As he did so, Iraj sensed other creatures scuttling up behind him. Groaning things. Weeping things. Evil things.

Something like a tentacle wriggled toward him. Then a second. Then a third.

He knew who they were. When they had names, they were Kalasariz, Fari and Luka. Iraj had escaped them once, but somehow they had followed.

Not voices, but images of voices, came to him like the dry scuttling of many insects itching across his memory. "The king! Where is the king?" And, "Here, brothers!" And, "Follow him! Follow him!"

Iraj gathered all his strength and flung himself forward, humping madly like a hunted worm.

He must escape. He must reach Safar.

Crying: Safar, Safar! Wait for me, Safar!