Chapter 23 Daesra
DAESRA
SHORTLY AFTER Isha vanishes, so does the bridge beneath my feet. I was bracing myself for a punishing memory, but not for this.
That fucking bastard is about all I have time to think as I plummet, the maw of the dead sea opening up to devour me.
I imagined I might meet it face-to-face sooner or later, but he didn’t have to make it an inevitability—or maybe he did, because that’s all he can do according to his bastard nature.
I banish my sword before I hit the surface, so I don’t risk cutting myself—or anything around me for that matter. If I don’t bleed or make anything else bleed, perhaps I can get through this peacefully. Pointing my toes to make my entrance as smooth as possible, I crash into the waves.
Cold, salty putrescence closes over my head, swallowing me more greedily than I’ve ever swallowed a soul.
Gods, this sea is hungry. I don’t get that impression only from the intangible feeling it gives me, but the quite obvious corpses floating all around, which are filled only with savage need.
At least they’re mostly dormant. What isn’t dormant is the horrible, lurking shape that materializes in the gloom, as long and sinuous as a spiny eel as it seems to drift aimlessly.
And yet it’s far bigger—and a far bigger threat—than any eel or even a beast like Bereus.
Bereus was indeed only fulfilling a duty in guarding the bridge, whether I liked it or not. This creature’s only purpose in this realm is to devour. I can feel it, even from so far away.
Somehow, I’m unafraid, even as the monster slowly circles toward me through the deep rippling shadows.
I suppose I left all my fear behind with Melé and Pogli—and ahead with Sadaré—and there’s simply none left over for myself.
Or maybe it’s that I’ve been freed, ironically, by Vengeance’s directive and my promise to my mother.
Not having violence as an option means every other path is open.
Violence was always the easiest way to get where I wanted—whatever I wanted—but it’s so simplistically limited.
And there can be no fight here, not until I reach Isha.
No consuming of souls, nothing to weigh upon my own soul like the bindings I had as a daemon.
Letting go of that is actually relieving.
With a sudden burst of clarity despite my murky, flesh-ridden view, I realize I hadn’t completely let go of the daemon inside of me. At least not in my deeds after leaving it behind in the maze, which spoke far louder than my words.
That’s what Sadaré meant by living differently. Maybe I finally can, in this dreadful sea. Perhaps it’s even the most fitting place for me to try, as the son of Sea.
I’m not of this realm, and yet I still recognize something within the corpses all around me, and even within the horrifying sea monster carving through the water with serpentine grace that’s eerie on a creature so large.
Something not of this realm, but mine. Souls—or at least something with barely enough aether remaining to warrant the name.
But they’re there, even though I doubt they’re sufficient for me to leverage any of the owners into obeying me, just like I couldn’t the ghouls on the beach.
This would be where I would normally resort to violence.
My mother’s words seem to reach me on the cold current. At least question it. Sometimes that’s the best you can do. Sometimes that’s all we have.
So I reach out with my own question for the sea monster, gently probing its soul with my own versus making demands or snatching at it. Asking if it truly wants to hurt me, even as it suddenly veers toward me with a startling burst of speed and open jaws.
I feel its intention as clearly as a voiced answer. Yes, it definitely wants to devour me.
I try a different tack, questioning if it wants to be here at all—giving it room to desire something, anything other than circling endlessly in this same sea, where it’s trapped within the same horrible cycle of hunger and consumption as the rest of the underworld, except in quite possibly the worst of the underworld’s dark corners, save for the Pit of Hell.
Its soul gives me the metaphysical version of a surprised blink. It didn’t even know it could want that.
I assure it that it can… and I offer it a choice.
I’m not entirely sure I can deliver, but at the same time I feel a strange, warm confidence seeping through me such that I no longer feel the cold sea against my skin.
I’m deep inside myself, and outside, all around, at the same time, as I reach for the possibility.
And I find it—in myself. It’s been hidden inside me the entire time I’ve been here: a way out. I just hadn’t thought to look for it, accepting everything Isha told me at face value—walling off the conduit to the gods’ realm that’s within me.
The sea monster vanishes in a vertical beam of golden light. Returned to the divine source, passing through me without a trace of filth or other emotional residue, just like that.
Because I didn’t consume its soul. I freed it.
I don’t ask the bloated corpses so much as gently redirect them.
Their mindless need is for relief from this bottomless hunger, I suggest, not for devouring.
They can have endless misery or a quick release.
They lean toward release, even as the sea tries to hold on to them.
But they slip through its sinister grasp, because my mere beckoning is the stronger force.
I can even extend my reach—out of the underworld entirely.
I grope my way through the cracks in Isha’s realm, so fine that he can’t even spot them himself, or that he simply can’t access because of who he is.
When I finally seize the divine source, it feels like coming home, even while I’m sinking in the darkness of this watery grave.
Delicious, blessed, pure aether floods me…
and I didn’t have to consume a soul to get it. I merely had to open the way.
And suddenly it clicks like the latch to my own front door—I’m not the god of chaos. Not a god of destruction or even debauchery.
I’m the god of uninhibited choice. Of unbridled freedom.
Of change. Of rebirth, if one wants to take it that far and use me as a conduit to return to the source.
Which means I can be chaotic, destructive, and even debauched.
And I’ve certainly misused my abilities for my own ends.
But I only hurt others when I went against my own nature instead of leaning into it—by taking their choice in forcing them toward extremes instead of merely opening the door to the possibilities and giving them a nudge.
I was hurting myself as I hurt them, acting like the monster I’m not.
I’m not a monster. Not unless I choose to become one. And I have the choice.
With that thought buoying me, I start to swim with powerful strokes that shoot my body through the water like an arrow from a bow.
I clear the mangled debris of souls from my path as I fly along.
Nothing wants to remain here, given the choice, which I can certainly understand.
I cut through the dead sea as quickly as possible myself.
And yet I find myself not even minding the swim.
My haste is more for Sadaré’s sake, and Melé’s and Pogli’s, than my own.
Sadaré’s for obvious reasons and Melé’s because, with the bridge gone, she can’t complete her journey to reach the Blessed Isles, never mind those shades deemed worthy who’ll be following her.
Maybe Vengeance will be incensed enough at what Isha has done to help them along another path, but I can’t count on that. And Pogli—
I still can’t think about Pogli. Whatever happened, whatever happens, I need to go back for both of them, as soon as Sadaré is safe.
My newfound momentum carries me all the way to the guard tower and up the rocky base, where I climb far faster than I scaled the cliff in the Pit of Hell—though I do look over my shoulder several times in case Bereus or even Vengeance comes for me.
The former I could understand, though I shudder to think what that would mean for Pogli.
The latter would be entirely unfair, since I’m doing everything she demanded of me, and that would mean Melé had been left without her protection…
I return my attention to the rock face. I need to focus on what’s ahead of me, literally and figuratively, or I won’t be helping anyone.
Sadaré’s beautiful image swims in my vision, just like it did when I was climbing out of that fiery pit, except this time she’s clearer.
Brighter. Smiling at me. Recognizing me with a proud glint in her vibrant eyes because I didn’t become the monster that Isha wanted me to become.
Holding her hand out to me, so we can finally leave this godsdamned place together.
When my fingers reach the stone lip of the massive wooden doors embedded with nail heads the size of coins, I feel as invigorated as ever.
There’s no room for me to stand and kick my way in, so I use my arms to swing from side to side until I have enough momentum to whip myself up feetfirst—right through the doors.
They explode into the guard tower along with me in a shower of splinters, the thick crossbar shattering.
I land on my feet… directly in front of a wide-eyed, sword-wielding cluster of armored guards.
And yet they’re still shades, who are stuck here until they fade.