Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part seventeen)
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, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen.



She led the two outlanders through the wilderness of Jubagh unerringly, stopping to rest briefly and infrequently, sleeping only every other night. When the Rockhide holy man expressed to her his surprise at the outlanders' endurance, she smiled in her mind and made no comment. She was simply pleased that they could keep up, and she hoped the power she drew from her talisman would last long enough to help her make it to their destination. Baghans were not capable of stretching themselves so long naturally, and since she had left Softstep territory, her talisman had a finite amount of magic.

By the ninth day of constant travel, they had encountered no wandering holy men, and no tribal warriors had given them pause as they walked along the baghan paths. They moved as discreetly and as swiftly as they could, without wearing themselves out, and they slept that night near the edge of the Ironhoof territory - the first of the strong tribes. The robed man did not sleep when she curled up and the holy man sprawled on his back; instead, he stood between them, immobile, as his skin glowed with the ink carved into it and his eyes became glassy. He had mentioned finding the summoners, but had not said how.

She watched him for a while, worried that the faint red sheen would be visible from the Ironhoof border, then she closed her eyes and let herself rest. It would be a hard day when the sun rose.

The Rockhide had moved her body into a sitting position and was stretching out her limbs before she was fully conscious. It was unnerving to 'wake up' and already be rising and looking around. She reached for control of her flesh, but found it solidly blocked. I am awake, holy one, she said in her own mind, quelling impatience.

So am I, woman, he replied evenly. Do you know who will be my host when I release you, hmm? I have a hunch that no one will survive this coming battle. Why am I still here? Answer me that. His mental voice held an understone of challenge.

She tried to stretch again, to resume control, but she was cut off completely from her talisman now, and she did not have the strength to break through his spirit-walls. Perhaps you wish to help save our world, she muttered dryly.

He scoffed. If you die, my spirit won't return to that crystal. I'll have died, as well. I'd rather not take the chance. I'll charge your talisman before I leave - isn't that enough?

She realized that her body hadn't stopped moving. He could hold a conversation with her while pacing the perimeter of their little sleeping area, while scanning the brush to ensure that none had passed close enough to see them and warn the Ironhooves that outlanders were near. When she had been the one in control, she had to stop and nearly shut down her senses before she could communicate with him. It was a dangerous surprise that he was so mobile. I will not accept your magic. You are not my holy man.

He laughed, and the silent sound echoed. Fool girl! Do you think your talisman is still pure, still full of Softstep? Haven't you noticed that you are still not tired, though you've used everything it can hold thrice over? I've been powering it. My strength is there, stored, waiting. This body can draw on it, but when I leave, I will take it with me. I am offering to charge it so that you are not so utterly useless when I am gone.

For a moment, she was ashamed... but the feeling faded quickly. She still couldn't control her own body, and now the Rockhide was speaking to the outlanders as her - quietly, respectfully, as she spoke. He had learned to pass as her. You plan to kill me when you are free, she pointed out, hiding her discomfort behind cold facts. Why bless my talisman when I'll die soon?

There was a pause. You have a good point, he admitted. Perhaps I will allow you to live. Perhaps not. That will be influenced on how soon I am free, and how much longer I must speak to these outlanders as a simpering, worm-spined woman.

Her anger flashed like a strike of lightning. I will not tolerate such words, she hissed warningly. She watched as the outlanders nodded and spoke and then began walking; her body followed them.

You are well and fully confined, woman. You have no choice but to tolerate what I say. The voice in her head lowered threateningly. Annoy me, and I won't consider sparing you. Outside her skull, her lips were smiling, her gait confident. She and the outlanders crossed the borders onto Ironhoof lands, staying close to the path. They clambered over logs and rocks at her direction, but her voice and gestures were not her own.

I warned you. Cooperate, or fight for each breath you take from my chest. Her voice was level, calm. I do not need magic to win against you. Had she just lied? The thought bothered her.

He laughed uproariously, and tightened the mental cage that separated her mind from her flesh. Try it, woman. Without a holy man's magic, you are nothing but a hag-in-training.

There... more fuel for the fire. She allowed herself to remember all the insults she had ever received - from the Rockhides, from the Proudflints, from every enemy of her tribe that thought less of her for her sex. The memories, flashing by in quick succession, were enough to provide her with such a rage that the ghost inside her could not contain it. I need no magic, she impressed upon him as the spirit-walls that kept her mind from her flesh were incinerated. She had her anger, and that would suffice.

The outlanders whirled in surprise when she crashed to the ground, every muscle gone taut and her face twisted into a mask of fury. Her talisman shone like a lantern in the shadows, brilliant silver light laced with ivory-white. The holy man gripped her shoulders and hauled her upright while the robed man wove darkness around them, blotting out the beacon from her talisman.

She shook for a moment, struggling to remain standing, before she unclenched her fists and forced herself to straighten. Her breathing was ragged.

"What in the ninetieth hell was that, Softstep?!" the holy man demanded, carefully releasing her shoulders, his hands hovering close just in case she stumbled.

She breathed deeply, legs braced against the pull of the earth's weight. "I was not myself," she said quietly, curling her fingers around the shining talisman and tucking it into her vest. "I apologize for drawing attention." She eyed the veil of shadows that concealed the three of them from the path. "I am glad you acted quickly."

The robed man looked shocked. "You mean that we were talking to Kerrek until now?" She nodded, and he let out a string of words she didn't know, then exhaled heavily. "You... didn't fight until now?"

"I was attempting to reason with him," she replied. "Failing that, I fought and won." It sounded so simple, so easy, when she said it aloud. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

"Never saw your amulet that bright before, Softstep," the holy man muttered, pointing to her hidden talisman. The light was still seeping faintly through the cloth of her vest. "What'd you do to it?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I only use the power stored in the talisman by the holy men. I cannot do anything else."

"Uh, actually, Softstep." The dark-skinned man grinned widely at her. "The power in that thing ain't anyone's but yours. You put it there, whether you meant to or not."

The robed man nodded his agreement. "The magic isn't Kerrek's. It's your own."