The moment upon the battlefields of Arpiar when he stood with blood upon his sword and gazed down into the stricken face of a dead goblin man. The face of Death himself.
“The end of us all,” he moaned, rocking himself in the darkness. “The end of us all, without exception.”
A voice hissed at him from above. “What are you talking about, little creature?”
“Death!” Eanrin gagged. The name tasted foul upon his tongue. “Death, the inevitable victor.”
Someone stood beside him. Until that moment, Eanrin had not been able to perceive any presence save the hard grasp on his arm and the voice. Now he could feel the heat of a body standing beside him. But he dared not open his eyes. Not with that vision still heavy upon his memory. So he sat unseeing, and the stranger beside him did not speak.
At long last Eanrin put out one hand to push himself upright. His fingers touched icy water. He drew in a sharp, hissing breath. “Dragon’s teeth!”
“You are safe now,” said the stranger beside him.
Eanrin sat up on his knees and wiped his hand on his already soiled shirt. “Safe?” he repeated, his voice tremulous.
“Yes.”
Eanrin shivered. He could now feel mud seeping through his clothes. He considered taking cat form, but the mud would be still less bearable then. “He . . . he has been hounding me,” he said in a low whisper, shuddering. “I am so afraid.”
“You should be,” said the stranger.
“I know.” Eanrin shook himself, wishing he could somehow shake away the dread that clutched his heart.
“You don’t know,” said the stranger. “You don’t know anything. Have you seen what becomes of those the Hound catches? Do you know what fates awaited the Brothers Ashiun, the first to be caught in that One’s jaws?”
“I know,” said the poet. “I know what happened to Etanun and Akilun.”
“You did not see!” the stranger cried. “But I did. I watched the whole sad drama play out from beginning to end. They lost themselves in the Lumil Eliasul.”
Shuddering, Eanrin whispered, “Do not speak that name!”
“It is the name you should most dread. Not the name of Death! Death is only a final release, the last barrier between you and the completion of your Self. The final curtain that must be swept aside before you can become everything you have always wished to be. A god.
“But the Lumil Eliasul won’t make you a god. He will make you his slave.”
“They lost everything,” Eanrin moaned. “They lost everything they had!”
“Indeed, they did. Etanun and Akilun gave up all in the service of that One. And when at last Etanun realized he wanted more, do you think he was allowed to leave freely? Was he granted permission to seek my kiss? No! It is a dreadful thing to be loved by the Lumil Eliasul.”
“Poor Etanun,” Eanrin whispered.
“Yes, poor Etanun! Brave Knight of the Farthest Shore reduced to rags, to dust. And all because his Master would not set him free to pursue his deepest desire. His desire to be complete, to alone be god of himself, beholden to no one! Is this a crime, I ask you?”
“It’s a terrible thing, love,” Eanrin said. He tried to open his eyes, but all was darkness. He could not guess if he was blind or lost in a world without light. “Love is the most dreadful end.”
“It is!” said the stranger. “Once you love, you lose. You can never have your Self back! Once you allow anyone else to mean more to you than you do, how can you be whole? You are broken, weak, vulnerable to all assaults. It was love that broke Akilun when he went to his brother’s aid. And it was love that broke Etanun when, with Akilun’s murder upon his hands, he forsook the path I had set before his feet and lost forever his chance to receive my kiss. To taste my fire.”
A sob caught in the poet’s throat, and he bowed his head, covering his face once more.
“To have the Lumil Eliasul is to have nothing else besides,” whispered the stranger. “He will fill you with love, and you will lose your soul to him.”
“No matter how hard I flee, still he pursues!” Eanrin cried. “No matter how far, even here in the pit.”
“He will hound you to destruction,” said the stranger in the smooth tones of a father. “But should you embrace Death, it is you who will have the victory, not he.”
“I have tried so many ways to hide!” The poet tore at his own face and mouth with trembling fingers. “I have covered myself in veils of vagueness and foppery. I have dazzled the worlds with my disguises. But he sees through every blind. He knows what I am inside. I cannot escape him!”