Darksiders: The Abomination Vault (27 page)

The wind, though placid and weak, moaned with the voice of an old man dying, and Death had finally identified the tang of the putrid air.

Gangrene, bile, and the eye-watering breath of a mouth full of rotting teeth.

“Welcome back to the home of the Ravaiim,” Death muttered bitterly.

“I don’t understand,” his brother said. “Even at our worst, the Nephilim never did
this
.”

“But we did.” Death slid from Despair’s saddle and knelt to examine the sickly earth—not so much because he expected to learn anything as because he felt he
should
. “We didn’t just slaughter all life on this world, we
corrupted
it. We murdered the Ravaiim, yes, and then we compounded our sin by warping them into something they were never meant to be, something Creation was never meant to contain. We planted the seeds of
all this, brother—or first cultivated the pestilence, if you prefer that metaphor. It was here, waiting, and when the world slid into the depths, the Abyss itself helped it to bloom.

“We did this. Perhaps the return of the Grand Abominations is no more than we deserve.”

“All right, enough of this!” War dropped from Ruin, ignoring the faint trickle of puss oozing up from where his boots cracked the surface, and halted less than a pace from Death. “You’ve always had a morose streak running beneath your bitter sarcasm, but that only goes so far. Yes, this is horrific. Yes, perhaps we, and the other Nephilim, were responsible. But you’re taking this personally, brother, and it’s time you told me why.”

“It doesn’t matter. We—”

“No! You’ve been keeping your precious secrets since we started this, and I’ve permitted it, but it ends now!”

Death rose, smoothly, lithely, from his crouch, so that the two Riders stood face-to-face. “You’ve
permitted
it, War?”

If the younger Horseman felt any trepidation at that tone, he managed to keep it from his expression. “Yes. But no more. I need to know whatever it is you’ve kept from me.”

“No, you don’t. Now step back.”

“No, Death.”

“Step. Back.”

“No.”

Death’s uppercut did not merely lift War off his feet, it sent him hurtling up and back with enough force to shatter the ground where he finally fell. A pink-frothed puss puddled in the shallow crater, soiling the ornate armor and the crimson cloak.

By the time he’d struggled to his feet, his jaw already coming over a mottled purple, Death had closed the distance between them.

“Am I clear?” he demanded.

War’s hand clenched of its own accord, his entire body trembled with rage, but he refused either to lash out or draw Chaoseater. “No.”

A second blow, this one to the chest, threw him back farther still. Again he split the crust of the world with the impact, and again he staggered upright.

This time, when Death approached, he held Harvester in both hands. “And now?” he asked. “Consider, before you answer, that I’m done with my fists.”

“So be it,” War said, then paused to spit a mouthful of blood. “Cripple me. Kill me. Discard your greatest ally in this, to keep your precious secret. Because that’s the only way you will.”

Harvester quivered. Death’s eyes blazed bright enough to reflect in his brother’s armor … And then he began trudging back toward the horses.

A moment’s delay, and War was on his heels.

“You reminded me of me, just then,” Death said softly.

“Well, of course.” War managed a faint grin with his split lips. “Since you were behaving more like
me
, someone had to be you.”

Death’s chuckle was one of courtesy, not amusement, but at least he managed it. “I do appreciate you keeping Ruin out of it.”

“It was everything I could do. I’d not turn my back on him for a while, were I you.”

“Understood.” He lay Harvester over Despair’s saddle, then gazed over the leather toward the clouded horizon. “War … 
I
did this.”

“It wasn’t you alone, Death. You told us that the Firstborn—”

“I was one of their primary crafters. We certainly could not
turn to the Makers for aid with this, so all of us with any skill were involved. You already knew, did you not, that it was I who imbued the power of the Nephilim into Harvester and Affliction, as well as some of our other ancient weapons? I was the nearest thing to a crafter—a ‘maker’—that we had. So of course I was involved in the birth of the Abominations.”

“Even so, that hardly makes it your—”

“It was
my idea
!”

War, who had held fast against Death’s earlier assault, fell back before the power of that declaration.

“All of it,” he continued more softly. “Using the Ravaiim themselves as a basis for the weapons; feeding not only on the magics and creations they’d achieved, but all the potential they
should
have achieved, had we not exterminated them … My idea. Oh, I only helped craft a few of the Abominations personally, but that they exist at all is my responsibility.

“I rarely feel guilt for any of the countless lives I’ve taken, brother. I’m not certain I’m even capable of it any longer. But for
this
obscenity …”

He turned, finally, away from Despair to face his younger brother. “So, yes, I take this personally, War. Because it
is
personal. And
private
. I have just trusted you, however reluctantly, with secrets that nobody else knows—not Strife, not Fury, not the Council. I don’t believe even Samael or the Crowfather can possibly have discovered this. And I am asking you, without threat or demand, to keep it that way.”

“And is this everything, then?”

“Everything you do not know about me? Not even a fraction. Everything you did not know about my involvement with the Grand Abominations? Yes.”

War, his features screwed tight in an expression of disgust, still managed to force through the faintest vestige of what might, under other circumstances, have been a smile. “Then I see no reason I should ever need to speak of it, brother.”

Death clapped a hand on his companion’s cloak-covered shoulder, then hauled himself back into Despair’s saddle. “Come on, then. We’ve a way to go yet.”

The decayed beast set off at a brisk trot, War and Ruin swiftly pulling alongside.

For a time they rode in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Eventually, however, when one of the nearby dunes split to reveal a weeping, bloodshot eye that stared at them as they passed, War spoke once more.

“What you’ve not yet explained,” he said, very deliberately not meeting that gruesome gaze, “is why we need ride overland at all. Why did we not just step into this world nearer our destination?”

“You felt that abnormal pressure building around us as we crossed the veil?” Death asked.

“I did.”

“Anywhere other than where we appeared, and a few other specific spots, the resistance is even stronger. The Firstborn warded this world, back when we were first creating the Grand Abominations. We left only a few entry points accessible. It’s possible that this world’s time in the Abyss has weakened some of those barriers—but then, it’s equally possible that it’s made them dangerous and unpredictable. Not a chance I’d care to take.”

“Understandable.”

“I thought you’d find it so.”

Long they rode, ignoring, as best they could, the bizarre horrors of this corrupt realm: the cracked and oozing terrain, smoldering beneath Ruin’s hooves; the ever-present stench of putrefaction; the shifting of the landscape, as veins bulged from beneath the dead soil and boils the size of hills shriveled as they drained.

On occasion, the shifting of the terrain suggested the presence of something else, some separate and distinct creature
burrowing through the ground, but whatever it was seemed disinclined to emerge.

Finally, the pair reined in their mounts in unison.

“We’re here,” Death said.

“I’d rather assumed,” his brother replied.

It almost appeared as though the world simply ended. A rough precipice dropped away until it was lost to the ubiquitous haze. It wasn’t precisely jagged so much as
torn;
it looked less like the edge of an escarpment than the edge of a wound. Indeed, rubble accumulated along the rift revealed itself to be, not rock, but dried and crusted secretions bubbling up from pockets within the cliff face itself.

“On the plains below,” Death said, “the Ravaiim once made their homes. Mostly, though not exclusively, within the shadow of the ridgeline. They mined it for raw materials back when anyone would actually want something dug from this world.

“This region we’re looking over now is where the greatest number of them died. But some of them fell all throughout their territory, and we’re going to have to scour every bit of it for signs of Belisatra’s minions.”

“You’re certain they’ll come?”

“Absolutely. Thanks to my carelessness, they know, now, that they require the blood of the Ravaiim to awaken the Grand Abominations. This is the only sizable source left in Creation.”

War reached down, absently patting Ruin’s neck. “But if they died here
eons
ago …”

“I have means of drawing the essence from the earth, no matter how long or how widely dispersed, and reconstituting it. We have to assume the enemy can come up with their own methods.”

“Hmm.” War dismounted and stepped to the very edge,
struggling and failing to see any sign of the ground so far below. “If the enemy arrives before our own reinforcements do, we may be hard-pressed to locate them in this muck.”

“If your tactical concerns are our biggest problem, War, I’ll be well pleased.” Then, at his brother’s furrowed brow, “
My
concern is that Hadrimon or Belisatra might have enough historical knowledge to realize that while this is the only
substantial
source of Ravaiim blood, there are a few others, small but viable. Anywhere the Ravaiim fell in significant numbers—and you may recall that the Nephilim did indeed battle some of them in other realms, before we closed in on their own.

“It would only be enough to awaken a few of them, and only for a short while. Nevertheless, we need to prepare for the possibility that our enemies may arrive with one or more of the Grand Abominations
fully empowered
.”

War began walking the edge of the escarpment, looking for the best spot to climb down. He said nothing in response to that warning, and Death could hardly blame him.

There was, really, precious little to say.

W
HY THE BLOOD?
”

The Riders now stood on a thick lip of what might have been stone, or might have been desiccated, rigid flesh, protruding from the face of the cliff. It was part of a large network of ledges and tunnels they had just scouted, and which might as well have been carved specifically for their purposes: defensible, low enough to see the plains below even through the murk, and with as broad a view as one could possibly hope for. They could not have asked for a better base camp from which to launch their wider efforts.

It was also hideously unpleasant, as the rough contours, leathery surfaces, foul air, and occasional unexplained gusts all combined to suggest that they’d taken shelter in something’s bronchial system, or perhaps its sinuses, but one couldn’t have everything.

“Hmm?” Death tore his attention from the sheer wall, where he’d been contemplating the notion of a ramp that the horses could climb. “What?”

“It would seem to me that you and the other Firstborn could have chosen any manner of safeguards for the Abominations,
including constructing them so they’d only work for you and nobody else. Why design the safeguards around Ravaiim blood?”

“Not that simple.” Death resumed his examination of the escarpment. “Building in recognition of who was Firstborn Nephilim and who was not would have proved difficult, at best. And then, what if the time came when we wanted some of the following generations to wield these weapons against our enemies? You wouldn’t be able to, if the weapons only functioned for the Firstborn, but if the weapons functioned for
all
Nephilim, we’d lose our mastery over them. No, it had to be a resource that we could control, but could be disseminated when we wished.

“Once we’d decided that much, Ravaiim blood was the obvious choice. We’d slain most of the race; we knew where their remains were and had total control over the realm. And since the Grand Abominations themselves were constructed from Ravaiim remains, the use of their blood both was easier to incorporate and enhanced their innate power.”

“I see. Makes sense, I suppose.”

“Is there anything else I can enlighten you on, as long as we’re standing around failing to accomplish anything?”

War either missed the irritated sarcasm in the question or—more likely—had become so inured that ignoring it was now second nature. “Actually, yes, since you’re in such a forthcoming mood. Why hasn’t the world on which you’re building your new home slid into the Abyss? I’ve heard it’s just as dead as any other we left in our wake.”

“It’s anchored,” Death said curtly, and refused to elaborate any further.

War might well have continued his barrage of questions, much to Death’s mounting exasperation, had the conversation not been interrupted by the sudden flutter of feathers. Dust
appeared from the cloaking fog with a series of sharp squawks and settled on the elder Horseman’s outstretched arm.

“Well, you certainly took your time. Enjoyed our little journey, did we?”

Squawk!

“So you’ve said.” Then, more loudly, “War, I believe our reinforcements have arrived.”

Precisely on cue, the light—already gray and diffuse—turned black as night. High above but swiftly descending, something blotted the sun from the sky. Dirt and flakes of what might almost have been dried skin swirled around their ankles, dancing in the sudden downdraft, and the world was all but flooded with the sound of wings. Great wings, far larger than Dust’s, numbering a hundred if not more.

For the first time in living memory, angels had come to the realm of the Ravaiim.

Armor of rich silvers and golds, incandescent even in the near darkness, descended on all sides. Some of the White City’s warriors landed on the ledges and trails around the two Horsemen; others descended to the earth below, setting up a perimeter guard before their feet had so much as disturbed the dust. Redemption cannons and halberds—some placed in rotating racks that allowed a single angel to fire six or eight in rapid succession—abruptly sprouted, almost fungus-like, from the corrupt soil.