Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part fifteen)
Rating and Warnings-- PG; mild language.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, defected black magician (human man); Brandon "Exile" Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human man); Lhafa Softstep, possessed spirit warrior (baghan woman); Kerrek Rockhide, dead holy man (baghan man).
Previously-- Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen.



"Wait, what? You'll help us? Just like that?" Brandon was incredulous, both brows raised high. "Softstep said that every hexer wanted to call the Gurhai. I kinda expected more of a fight than this."

Lhafa smiled again, a peculiar expression that somehow didn't fit her. "Every holy man is working towards a common goal, yes. Tribal feuds are set aside for this purpose only. But that does not mean that all of us want to bring Zeh Gurhai to our world."

Rai scrubbed a hand through his black hair, frustrated. "All of this for nothing, then? Hells, man, had you been more willing to talk civilly, your tribe wouldn't be dead right now!" he snapped irritably.

Brandon eyed the magician. "I think it's time for some rest." He ignored Rai's scowl and pointed out, "Look, when you start being pissy, you need to sleep before you string someone up by their intestines. I've seen you when you're cranky, and it ain't a pretty picture." He grinned widely as Rai threw up his hands and sighed.

"Fine, fine. Kerrek, figure out a safe place for all of us to rest." The magician slid his cowl over his head again, thin hands quickly ducking back into his sleeves. He hated when Brandon was right. His endurance had run out, and the longer he was awake, the more easily he would be influenced towards dark magic.

Lhafa shrugged. "There are hideaways in the forests nearby. The neighboring tribes won't begin to move in for another day or two. They won't believe the news of an entire tribe's death so quickly." For a moment, she glanced over the battlefield, expression becoming unreadable. "An ugly fate," she whispered, then turned back to the two men. "...follow me." She began moving quickly towards the darkening treeline. Night was falling.

She led them to a well-camouflaged tipi built against two leaning trees. "Cramped with three, but we'll all fit," she muttered, ducking in first and curling up in one of three corners. Rai and Brandon followed, the former huddling in another corner and the latter sprawling out to take up the rest of the room.

"Do we need to keep watch?" the ex-paladin asked, stifling a yawn. Lhafa shook her head, and Brandon closed his eyes.

Shadow-bounds rose to loop around the baghan's wrists and legs tightly. "What is this?" she snarled, tail-lashing once and scowling at Rai.

The black magician smiled wearily. "I don't trust you yet, Kerrek," he said simply. "Just sleep." He pulled his hood low over his face and rested his chin on his arms, crooked around his knees.

Lhafa glared hotly, but she settled and closed her eyes to rest.

...

The outlanders were still asleep when she awoke at dawn, cold from the lack of blanket and stiff from the lack of movement. The shadows were as strong as any twine or ropes; she could not move her wrists or ankles apart. Sunlight was beginning to leak through the thick canopy, dropping in pale rays to spatter on leaves and brush.

Within her, the Rockhide's mind slept still. She didn't dare pry into his memories, lest she wake him and have to battle for control again. "It's dawn," she murmured, waiting patiently for the outlanders to stir. The robed man moved first, ink-marked hands shifting deftly to wipe the sleep away and comb his hair from his eyes.

He glanced at her coldly. "Good morning, Kerrek," he muttered, rolling his shoulders to stretch.

"He sleeps," she responded quietly. "I am myself."

"Oh!" the robed man said, startled. His expression swiftly changed to a friendly smile. "Good. How are you faring, Lhafa?"

She pondered how to answer that. "I am... better, having rested. But these shadows are uncomfortable. I would like to stretch." Before she could finish speaking, the bonds had seeped back into the earth, freeing her limbs. She smiled faintly. "Thank you. Will you wake the holy man?" She glanced towards the large outlander.

"Yes, I will. Don't go far, please, Lhafa," the robed man replied. He inched to the side to let her crawl out of the makeshift hut, then knelt to shake the holy man's shoulder.

She stood tall and stretched. It felt wonderful to possess her own body again, and to finally move freely after a night of being rigid and still. The holy man emerged from the hut and also stretched; she nodded to him before remembering that she wasn't slouching, and so she stood a few inches higher than he.

Strangely, she didn't have the urge to duck below his eye-level.

"That you in there, Softstep?" he grunted, eyeing her skeptically. She nodded again. "Good. What's Rockhide up to in your skull?"

With so much activity, he was waking up, starting to try to stretch and yawn, but realizing that her body was not his right now. "He wakens," she admitted. "But he is not yet awake enough to fight me."

"You know we need to keep talking to him, right? Can you hear what goes on when you aren't in control?"

"I can hear, yes." She glanced at the robed man as he, too, stepped out of the shelter. "Do you wish me to ... relinquish control?" The concept was vile, and despite herself, her words carried a tone of contempt.

The robed man sighed. "Not just yet, no. Not if you can... hm. Can you communicate with him?"

Her eyes flashed. "Sometimes. If he is willing to speak to me. It seems to be a rare thing." She touched her talisman, tucking it beneath the collar of her vest again. It shone faintly silver, but tendrils of blue were beginning to appear. He was waking up more quickly than she expected. "I am his enemy. He is not talkative."

"Yeah, well," the holy man rolled his eyes. "He needs to get off his high horse."

She blinked. "What is a horse?"

The holy man shook his head with an almost sheepish grin. "Uh. Nevermind. Think you can convince him to be chatty with you? You'd probably know what he's talkin' about more than we would, anyways."

"I doubt it. He reviles me." She stiffened, feeling the first wave of his attack on her mind. "He fights me. Sh--" A shudder raced down her spine, lashing her long tail. She steeled herself. "Shall I ... let him win?"

"Hells, is it really a choice? I mean, could you win at all?" The holy man sounded skeptical. He doubted her. Again.

Her talisman flashed bright silver, the sapphire glints disappearing briefly. "Yes," she grated, "I could." She focused on the feeling of blood in her limbs, her heart in her chest, the pulse racing through her flesh like the beat of a drum. It was her body. Not his. Hers.

"Win, then," the robed man said, unexpectedly. "Then see if you can't convince him to talk." No smile crossed his pale face, and he ignored the holy man's startled look and muttered remark in a language that she did not know.

She nodded, slowly, then drew out her talisman to cup it in her palms. Its cord was worn and fraying, stained and half-cut in some places, but the small bundle was unmarked and clean. Breathing carefully, she drew sips of strength from the talisman into her hands and bones, into her flesh and blood.

The Rockhide's mind was driven back and firmly sealed off, unable to command her limbs or lips.

How dare you?! he raged in her head, fire seething in the mental words. If I am to help your outlanders, I need to speak with them!

Her eyes fell shut as she focused inwards. Then speak to me, and I will speak to them, she replied as calmly as she could. She could feel his impotent fury, and surely he could feel her own loathing radiating through her heart.

I refuse! I am a holy man. I speak through no one! My voice is my own!

She bit back her first thought. Your voice has been silenced, she grated out. To speak, you must use mine. This is fact. Do not delude yourself, holy one. She paused, nearly overwhelmed by the hatred he threw at her. If you and I cooperate, this will be much easier, and you will have a voice of your own much more quickly. She tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but it was rapidly fading.

He snarled, a savage sound that echoed like thunder in the confines of her head. Her body twitched, her control flagging. I will not cooperate with the daughter of my enemies! I will not allow a woman to--

Her fury was palpable and silenced his outburst with an almost painful heat. I may tolerate insults outside of my own flesh, but spirits help me, I will not suffer such abuse in my own head! She was shaking, physically, and barely felt the outlanders' hands on her arms and shoulders, trying to calm and still her. Her eyes remained tightly shut. Cooperate or face a battle every time you wish to so much as breathe on your own!

For a long moment, there was silence from his huddled spirit. And then, slowly, quietly, his voice came again. I will cooperate... for as long as I am trapped here.

But once I am free, woman, I will kill you.