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Vlaakith considered her secret correspondence. How was it the devil could enrage her so well? Perhaps she would kill him herself and bring Gith his smiling head.
What is the value of a single soul?
Gith had once been the empire’s champion, their living weapon that knew only death. Torn from their clutches, she promised that they would slaughter every tyrant and drown the planes in silver blood. The multiverse would suffer as they had suffered, and the Children of Gith would rise as its new masters, stronger, thriving, free. Even the Hells would kneel. She promised.
Is it worth more than your victory?
So much had gone wrong. Gith had failed.
***
It was rare these days to find Gith alone. Their walls were closing in, and proximity to the Great Liberator made the others feel safe, even if Vlaakith knew there was only so much their leader could do for them. The rebellion was all but cornered in the great hollowed skull of The One In The Void.
But, in this predicament there was opportunity, and the wizard believed that the Astral Sea held the promise of power. She and Gith were exploring the rocky caves while Vlaakith explained the island’s composition. Color pools--magic portals characteristic of this plane--pulled in matter from other planes which became fused with the bodies of the inert powers that naturally rested here. This god-material was in abundant supply, and it could be mined for various applications. Of course Gith was barely listening. Was that the approach of the enemy they heard as they climbed a rocky peak, or just the shrieking wind?
A dense storm of psychic wind stirred up into a screaming hurricane around their shelter and gave the survivors a moment to regroup and scout the area. This disturbance was the death-rattle of the ghaik empire; as its infrastructure collapsed, the resulting discord stirred up the currents in the Astral Plane. Contradictory thoughts, feelings, histories, names, and ideas all shook loose and congealed into deadly storms of psychic wind in the plane of thought. Even their former masters feared to cross these currents at their worst.
“Your birds have been busy,” Gith remarked, meaning the little astral messengers Vlaakith had taken to taming. “And they return smelling of sulphur.”
“The devil is still interested in our progress.”
A year they had spent clawing their way out of the heart of the empire. A year was all it took for the greatest power the planes would ever see to flee from Gith’s horde. Gith wanted to pursue, and cleanse the multiverse in her vengeance, but they had been betrayed by their own brothers. Now they faced a longer, bitter war as the kinslayers retreated to Limbo and Gith’s people fell back to the Astral Plane.
Live free or die. Well. Even with the shelter the storm provided, they had no supplies, no allies, and the few fighters remaining grew weaker and more tired by the hour.
Gith had pleaded with any ear they could reach, offering herself as a witness to the existential threat the rebels kept at bay. She brought them her son, the well-spoken, and her advisor, the shrewd-minded, but even they couldn’t make the outsiders understand. When they met Gith, they saw a discarded weapon, still dripping blood. They feared her cyclone of grief as much as the psychic winds, more afraid of the storm than the terrible ships waylaid by the clouds. They couldn’t understand her.
So Gith stewed in her pain and hatred in the old god’s bones.
Vlaakith had her own distractions. With the Astral Sea as their new playground, where movement and power was controlled by thought rather than strength, the willful Children of Gith found themselves empowered beyond limit. Planning the fortifications to accommodate these strange physics kept her busy. Gith had put the Vlaakith to work determining the nature of the skeletal god-creature that gestated their new people, and what she found thrilled the young wizard. This was a sort of power utterly alien to the ghaik and their thralls. The gods, dead or otherwise, had never offered their aid, but this creature would make itself useful under Vlaakith’s dominion.
Gith sneered, tossing a loose bone fragment into the storm as the winds grew closer. “We’re finished with Raphael.”
“The Hells have yet to make their final offer,” Vlaakith explained. Oh, Gith had certainly made the conniving bastard mad, and Vlaakith was surprised that he continued to write her cordially after Gith had threatened to pull out his tongue and twist off his freakish external gonads. They had been politely escorted from the House of Hope.
The devil was playing games with them, as Vlaakith expected. Raphael offered to bargain for aid on Gith’s behalf, but his price was the souls of all her remaining people, damning them to eternal servitude once their cause was won. It wasn’t a real offer. He had heard of Gith’s legendary rage, Vlaakith suspected, and wanted to witness her proud fury himself before he considered making any serious offers.
Whatever he offered next, they may be forced to accept.
“You’re crying.” Gith knit her brows together, and Vlaakith blinked away stinging tears that welled up involuntarily in her eyes. It was just the psychic wind, as they both knew, possessing her with someone else’s lost sorrow.
Whose grief was this? A good wizard could learn secret knowledge from the errant winds, so she dwelled in the emotion for a moment and let the hot tears fall slowly down her cheeks. This was the grief of losing a dear friend. Of difficult choices. Vlaakith was unused to having friends or making choices, and it fascinated her that these might be the cause of so much pain.
While she savored the feeling, Gith surprised her by cupping her chin and kissing the tear from her cheek. The warmth of her body suddenly closer banished any thoughts of grief and replaced them with something much different.
“I thought,” Vlaakith knelt and adjusted Gith’s thin wrap, running her hands up the woman’s long legs, “that you really wanted to hear about the resource deposits. Single-minded, as usual.”
“I thought you were up here looking for something we can craft into weapons.” Gith said. She knelt down, slowly, combing her fingers through Vlaakith’s hair, pressing against her, pinning her in place with her hips. Vlaakith marveled at the way the mystic lights and distant color pools reflected in her piercing, dark eyes.
“Deific marrow is highly--”
Gith interrupted her companion with a kiss, pulling her lower lip in through sharp teeth and raking her nails against her scalp. It was almost frightening to be the object of such intense focus, but Vlaakith had to admit she reveled in the attention. To be praised, adored, savored… it made her blood hot.
Vlaakith dropped her head back and Gith pushed against her, grinding her back into the dusty rock. Her starry robes offered little barrier between the god’s freezing bones and the warm flesh pressed on top of her. Soft, hungry lips worked down her jaw and neck, and then paused, addressing her. Gith was so wicked to tease her like this.
“Keep talking.”
What had she just been saying? She struggled to remember. The devil’s bargain--no, the old god. Their search for resources. “The marrow--like everything here--is too volatile for interlopers to work. Our people can make use of it. Shipcraft. Spell components. Weapons…”
Kisses fell on her ribs as Gith pushed her robes aside. Even in this timeless place, their lives felt so short, like this would be snatched away as soon as they closed their eyes. It would only take a moment, one mistake, to return to the darkness. Gith kissed lower, parting her legs, making Vlaakith shiver with joy.
This place made the wizardress feel alive. It was dangerous, but free--much like herself--and its mysteries would yield to her touch. The winds carried whispers of power. The arterial conduit network yoked the planes. The floating husks proved even so-called gods would be crushed under her people’s heels. Even gravity would obey her will. The Astral fed Vlaakith pure magic, hers alone to tame and conquer, and its energy burned into her mind and blood. She could feel it changing her, moving her. She embraced the movement and arched her hips up into Gith’s starving touch.
Gith trailed her tongue flat up her center, pursing her lips and pressing down at the apex. When she paused, savoring the anticipation with a playful glance upward, Vlaakith understood that she wanted her to continue her lecture. If she could manage it.
“These materials and energies can be harnessed by our wizards with enough…” She struggled to keep herself planted, scratching uselessly against the god-corpse, as her mind tried to force her body to float up. “...concentration. We are aware of applications including planeshifting, movement, construction, defense, and the tracking and maintenance of color pools and--”
She tempered her focus and clenched her teeth. Her muscles instinctively tried to suck in the nonexistent air, producing a ha!-ha!-ha! as her empty chest heaved. Gith had ordered her to keep talking, but it was impossible to remember what any of it meant, pressed between the old god and her queen. The plane’s magic filled her, explosively.
She gave into the feeling and let go. “--conduits!”
