My wheels had finally stopped spinning, the gears no longer grinding. I finally had tangible, real goals to accomplish, and it was like having a boulder the size of the Dragon lifted off my chest.
We made it out of Dis without any trouble. Many demons had put aside the reconstruction to watch Minister-in-Waiting Rofocale give his speech, and his opponent, Minister-in-Waiting Ipos, was trying to pull the crowds away for his own campaign, plastering pictures of himself all over the obsidian buildings with a team of imps.
I breathed easier when we were in the wide-open wastelands, with nothing but the red sky above us and black sand below. Anyone who wanted to kill me would be obvious from miles off, and I had a throwing knife tucked in my palm and ready to go.
The peace I felt came with us into the desert, but an amorphous sadness nestled alongside it deep in my chest. When I was all alone, just myself and my thoughts, it was so difficult not to dwell on everything I could’ve done differently.
But in the end, maybe it was the Chain’s desire. Maybe we’d really had no choice at all but to roll with the punches, no matter what we could’ve done to prevent it.
That line of thought was almost comforting, as much as I wanted to reach out and shake the Chain in a fury sometimes.
The sun was dimming when we reached the craggy edge of the wastelands. I led Capheira to a shady spot behind an outcropping of rock, pouring water into my hands so she could drink.
“I’ll be back soon,” I murmured in her ear, and began the climb to the tunnels of Hekla Fell.
Rocks skidded treacherously under my boots, but I gripped outcroppings on the way up, pulling myself through the narrower corridors and barely managing to get through without ripping the bandages off my wing.
I was sweating from the endless heat when I stood at the dark mouth of the tunnel. I only gave myself enough time to swallow hard before plunging in alone, eyes wide open and fingers wrapped tightly around my knife.
It was so much darker without Azazel’s stars to guide my way. It felt like it pressed against my eyes with inky fingers, plugged my ears, took away all sense of time and space… until the whispering began.
My ears pricked up, but I couldn’t make out the words. Just that the soft, pleading whispers sounded like a woman’s voice, one that was too familiar for my liking.
A lump formed in my throat, but I forced myself to keep pushing on. Vyra wasn’t in here, no matter what the whispering voices wanted me to believe.
I’d only taken twenty more blind steps when the woman’s voice faded and a man’s voice began, his whispers far harsher, almost guttural.
I knew that voice so well. Lucifer was whispering to me from the total absence of light, but if he were in here, there would be no darkness.
“You can’t have me, whatever you are,” I spat, taking a few more trudging steps. “You’re not Lucifer.”
Lucifer’s derisive voice echoed back to me, and then the tunnel went silent.
I finally spilled out into the heat of Hekla Fell, the sweat on my forehead and back still icy despite the furnace-like blast of it.
Wayland was outside his forge, examining a length of polished wood. He twisted and turned it in his multiple hands, mouth turned down in an exaggerated frown. “You again.”
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug, trying to look like walking through the tunnel was a cakewalk and not a terrifying experience. “I broke something very important to me, and I’d like it fixed, if you’re able.”
The smith heaved a deep sigh, his mustache rippling out from his face, but he held out a hand and twitched his fingers.
I untied the bag with the Sword’s shards from my belt but hesitated before handing it over. “It’s the Sword of Light. The shards still have the essence of it, so I don’t know if you can even touch it.”
Wayland grumbled and plucked the bag out of my hands, pulled the drawstring open, and reached inside.
“Wait, you’ll burn-!”
I held my breath, expecting him to be immolated on the spot. As soon as his fingers met the metal, he was going to burst into a column of flame, and then all my hopes and the journey out here would be for nothing…
Wayland pulled his hand out of the bag, holding a sliver of metal pinched delicately between thumb and forefinger.
I exhaled explosively, my chest tight with shock. “You didn’t burn up.”
The demon smith brought the shard closer to his face, the polished silver side of it reflecting the light of the lava lake into his ruby eye.
“I feel like it knows me,” he murmured, turning it this way and that. “It feels… like an old, old friend.”
I was still a little shaken from watching him touch it so cavalierly. Tascius had been burned, and he had angel blood in him. “I know I ask you for a lot, Wayland. But this last time, can you make a new Sword of Light from these pieces?”
He carefully laid the piece back in the bag like he was laying a baby to rest, reverent and paternal.
I gasped when one of his numerous other hands shot out and grabbed my sword-arm. He pulled me closer, almost yanking me off my feet, and examined my hand so closely I felt his breath against my skin.
Finally, he laid his palm against mine. Several long minutes passed, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake in asking Wayland for help, but he released me, turning his back on me so quickly I thought I’d somehow managed to offend him.
“I can make it new,” he said gruffly. “It won’t be quite the same, but a beauty like this shouldn’t be left in pieces. Beautiful.” He patted the bag lovingly, cradling it to his chest now.
“What’s your asking price?” I stepped forward, determined to make the bargain now. If I had to travel across half the continent to fetch body parts again, I’d find myself a new smith.
But I knew that was a lie. Wayland was the only smith I’d ever trust again after what’d he done for us.
He turned around at the entrance to his forge, peering back at me. “I don’t want payment for this. I want to see it whole again and put to the purpose it was meant for- yes, precious?”
For a wild second I thought he was talking to me. But he lifted the bag of shards to his ear, his mouth pursed like he was listening intently.
He was utterly batshit, but if he could remake the Sword, I’d take him, batshit and all.
“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “No payment. Wouldn’t be right. This is meant to be part of the world, and if its light has gone out, we’ve got an imbalance to fix.”
Not for the first time, I wondered if Wayland really was a demon.
But what else could he possibly be?
“If you say so,” I said doubtfully. If he came back later asking for my firstborn child, there was going to be Hell to pay.
He was cuddling the bag again. “I say so.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
Wayland’s head jerked up and he gave me a foul look. “Will you quit with the questions and get?”
I raised my hands in defeat, already backing towards the tunnel. “Thank you, Wayland. You’re a gem.”
He snorted, but he looked pleased as he pushed the canvas door of his hut aside and slithered in, dragging his centipede-like body behind him. I heard him grumbling even after the canvas fell shut again, and finally turned my feet towards the exit.
Before I plunged back into the whispering darkness, I sent up a little prayer of thanks. Not a big one- after all, God was dead, and who knew what else might be listening- but a fervent one regardless.