“The Elantians used one of our own stratagems against us,” Dé’zisaid quietly. “ ‘Openly walk the mountain pass while secretly climbing the mountain.’ They used but a fraction of their own as bait and had you believe you defeated them so you let down your guard, then followed you here with the greater part of their army…and their Royal Magicians.”
“Then I will rectify my mistake.” Zen stepped forward, drawing Nightfire. His body trembled with exertion; his qì was empty, his muscles worn like a fire burnt out.
He needed strength. He needed power. He needed his Demon God. “Undo your Seal on me, shi’fù. I cannot fight like this, encumbered.”
The dark fire of his new power stirred, surging against the golden cage of Dé’zi’s Seal.
A trickle of sweat carved its way down the side of Dé’zi’s face. “Zen, please. Do not yield to it. Do not let it influence your thoughts.”
“You would die rather than let me use my power? You would sacrifice Skies’ End, everyone in the School of the White Pines? With this power I canwin,shi’fù. I can defeat the Elantians and rebuild our kingdom!”
“I am afraid that after you win, there will be nothing left of the kingdom to rebuild.”
He has no faith in you,the Black Tortoise hissed.He thinks you will make the same mistake as the Nightslayer.
“I am not Xan Tolürigin!”Zen screamed.
Dé’zi’s gaze was calm. “No, you are not. You are merely human, like he was.”
Zen’s rage grew, hardening into something cold and sharp enough to pierce. Molten metal into cool, bladed steel. “Undo your Seal on menow,Dé’zi.”
His master’s face closed off. “Forgiveness, Zen,” he said. “I will see my own death before I let that thing inside you free.”
He would have you live a half-life, a lie, rather than sacrifice hisown pride.The Black Tortoise’s growls crescendoed like a war drum.He would see the end of this kingdom and his people rather than set you free. You, the true you: Xan Temurezen, descendant of Xan Tolürigin and heir to the last great demonic practitioner.
The darkness in his mind cleared, and he saw the truth of it now, clear as a stretch of black night. The only way this could end. The only way he could be who he was meant to be—the only way he could break his master’s Seal over him, defeat the Elantians, and reestablish the Last Kingdom as it was meant to be.
Zen turned and plunged his sword into his master.
—
Of all things, it was the fact that his master did not even resist that shocked Zen most. He’d known that his power had grown to rival that of Dé’ziover the past eleven cycles of his training; it was all that he’d aimed for. To become powerful, so that no one could ever hurt him again. So that no one could ever hurt those he loved again.
The sword trembled in his hands with Dé’zi’s breathing, which already grew labored. The shadows in the corner of Zen’s vision receded, the black fire in his mind cooling. Heblinked and saw the same face that had rescued him from the Elantian experimental lab so long ago, after he’d been cut open and stitched back together a thousand times. A face that had smiled at himin spite ofwho he was and what he held inside him; the only one that had beheld him when all others had turned away.
Zen let go of his sword; he caught his master as he fell, hands twining around hair that had shifted from ink black to mist gray, shoulders that had once been corded with muscles that were now slimmed. Since when had his master become so fragile, so small?
Dé’zicoughed red down his chin. His hands, though, reached for Zen’s.
There was an ache deep in Zen’s throat; a pressure building in his head. “Why?” he croaked. “Why did you not resist?”
Some had described Dé’zi’s eyes as shifting storm clouds, others as the unsettled shade of thick fog. But Zen had always thought his master’s eyes were the color of steel, so sharp they could pierce with one look. And as he met his dying master’s gaze, he realized that it was still Dé’ziwho had played the winning hand.
“I could never hope to fight the power of a god and win,” Dé’zirasped. His grasp tightened over Zen’s fingers. “I know it has not been an easy path for you to walk, Zen. One marred with the blood from your ancestors’ deeds. I have tried, instead, over the past eleven cycles, to win you over…with love. I have loved you as much as any father can love a son. I never dared hope that you would return it in full…but if you have held any form of affection for me, then perhaps there is hope yet.”
Zen couldn’t breathe.
“I wanted to give you one last thing: the gift of my death. I hope that your choices will be guided by love, not revenge.And I hope that, in your quest for power, you will remember this moment, this pain you are feeling. I hope you will remember what power can cost you. May it guide you going forward…in your darkest moments.”
His voice was failing, his words grew slow and slurred, yet for all of it, he might have been slowly carving them out of Zen’s flesh.
He could feel his master slipping away, his breathing growing shallow. His Seal was starting to weaken, too, the invisible cage Dé’zihad erected over Zen’s power crumbling away. The darkness it held at bay began to seep out. A whisper stirred in the recesses of his mind, icier than the deepest winds of winter. The old man in his arms seemed to grow cold.
Gently, Zen laid his master at the entrance to Skies’ End, beneath the Most Hospitable Pine. He stood, bringing his fists together in a salute. It was remarkable how steady he could hold his hands when everything inside him was on the brink of falling apart.
“Peace be upon your soul, and may you find the Path home.”
He bowed, one, two, three times. His mind was fogging over, obsidian smoke curling over his thoughts, that ancient presence beginning to stir.
