Karnov

by Matthew Knight

  “Certainly,” the abbot said.

  “Guided by a strange oracle, Asenthine and I traversed the Plains of Gnathongules to find a doorway through Time so that we might seek the witch D’vartha. We were told by said oracle that the woman is here in your world and that she is fey and ran off in the middle of the night.”

  Eothoclemes stiffened in his chair, his blue eyes fixed intently on me. “Is this fey woman of whom you speak a red-haired wench with green eyes like a cat that shine with madness as though a demon resides within her?”

  “Aye. I am told that she is possessed now. We came here to take her back to our world. If she has caused any trouble, we will—”

  “Caused any trouble? My good man! We have had nothing but trouble since that one arrived. She appeared here in the middle of the night and cast a glamour on Debrackle. The poor man hasn’t had his wits about him since he laid eyes on her. He still sees her everywhere he looks. Word has it he has even been seen rutting with the barn animals, such is the glamour that still lingers here. The whole castle is gone insane. The kitchen maids were caught cooking human flesh. A few of their husbands have gone missing, so draw your conclusions. Debrackle’s castle has descended into madness because of this woman and her black witchery.”

  “Where is she now, Abbot? I must see her at once. Is she there in the castle?” I asked.

  “No. With much pressure from our holy order, Count Debrackle had agreed that she be confined to a room on the west wing of the castle to undergo an exorcism, but she is now gone. Debrackle has taken to his bed and won’t move. He says he is dying. Some days ago, I sent a letter summoning Hegumen Hordane the Hierophant. The hierophant is the head of our most holy Order of the Divine Goddess Mirkrash. We anticipate his arrival on the morrow in response to our request for exorcism to remove the malevolent force from the woman.

  “I myself had attempted a number of litanies and psalms, but I am sorry to say that all efforts on my part have amounted to only a failed extraction. A strange entity, unlike any I have encountered. The manifestation of a runic force that is feminine and destructive in nature. I thought I had made some progress; things were settling down in the castle. Anon, all changed drastically for the worse one day. I entered her chambers to recite the litanies of Mirkrash. Objects were moving about the room seemingly of their own volition and hurled violently in my direction amidst a barrage of curses and obscenities spewing forth from the woman. It was then that the knight arrived and took her. He rode in on his great white steed and slew man after man, then rode away with her on the back of his mount. I believe the knight is a dark runic force that wears a strange hard suit of shining jet like a man. I believe the witch summoned the knight to rescue her from exorcism, although Count Debrackle believes otherwise.”

  “What does Debrackle believe?” I asked.

  “Debrackle believes she loves him. He believes she was kidnapped by the knight, and he hurls host after host against the knight, chasing his dark demesne through the countryside, hoping to reclaim his damsel in distress. Such is the glamour cast over his eyes that he cannot see his kingdom fallen to ruin and the wholesale slaughter and ultimate destruction of his army. D’vartha’s insanity has been… quite infectious.”

  I finished telling Eothoclemes of our quest to find D’vartha so that he would understand the urgency of our plight.

  “What you have told me is fantastic,” he said. “But I am not such a fool as to doubt that there are worlds beyond this one, much like our own. There are worlds superimposed on top of worlds. And I understand the severity of your situation, but I am afraid that nothing can be done until the hierophant arrives on the morrow. Although I am erudite regarding dark forces, the hierophant has explored the benighted abysses of the arcane much deeper than has anyone else in these lands.”

  I cast an alarming glance at Asenthine, and I could tell by his expression that he shared my thoughts. The Abbot Eothoclemes caught what passed between the two of us and spoke. “It is our belief in the Divine Order of the Goddess Mirkrash that one must first explore the darkness to be exalted in light. This means exploring both the pleasures of the flesh as well as spiritual darkness through the black arts.”

  Asenthine and I nodded our understanding, and the abbot replied with a faint smile and closed eyes.

  “And now, if the two of you would care to imbibe some of our excellent spiced wine, you are welcome to do so. We brew it ourselves here at the monastery, as well as our own ale,” Abbot Eothoclemes said. He called out to the kitchener, and a man in his early twenties appeared in a plain brown robe with ornate turquoise amphorae and goblets of stone, into which he poured the ruby wine. The abbot ordered food for us, and Asenthine sat in silence as I greedily scarfed down roast duck, boiled potatoes, and freshly baked bread. I realized that I hadn’t eaten in days and was famished. I hoped, however, that Asenthine wasn’t, because that could mean trouble. But I did not linger on this thought (and no one was reported missing the next day). Thus far, the vampyre had proven himself an honorable and noble companion.

  After I had eaten, Abbot Eothoclemes showed Asenthine and me to our sleeping quarters, and they were more than satisfactory for a monastery. On the morrow, we would meet with Hegumen Hordane the Hierophant in hopes that he could help us rescue D’vartha. Until then, there was nothing to do but wait and sleep.

  Chapter V: The Hierophant

  Hegumen Hordane the Hierophant sat the high-backed oak chair as regal as any emperor had ever sat his throne. Upon his head was the tall miter-shaped headdress proclaiming his office. “The exorcism itself will not be as difficult as one might think.” The sleeve to his ornate robe of azure and vermillion billowed as he smoothly gestured with his left hand. In his right fist, he gripped an ebon staff. Topaz, beryl, diamonds, and chrysolite gleamed and twinkled along the length of the haft. On the top of the staff, the claw of a wyvern gripped a large chunk of green luminescence that flashed and ebbed in the dimly lit chamber. Asenthine, the abbot, and I were seated in chairs opposite the hierophant.

  “I would hear all regarding the woman’s possession from the mouth of the oracle of which you speak.” The hierophant’s baritone voice rang sonorously throughout the small secret chamber where we now held assembly.

  Asenthine proffered the casket wherein Xycanthia’s severed head was immured, and I opened the lid and brought forth the hideous abomination. “Have a care. She is as dangerous as an asp in the dark. It usually takes a dunk or two in Vampyre’s Bane to procure her cooperation,” I said.

  The hierophant nodded and studied the shriveled, rune-carved head of Xycanthia as it let out a loud cackle and danced of its own volition where I held it aloft by a strand of its crimson locks.

  The hierophant’s billowing sleeve flowed as his left hand waved a legerdemain in the direction of the oracle, and his staff rocked deosil in circles where he held it at his side.

  “Now, Oracle. I would hear of your part in D’vartha’s wyrd,” his baritone voice boomed.

  Xycanthia’s dead eyes closed as if she had fallen asleep, and she spake calmly in the voice of a dreamer longing to return to the land of the dead.

  “Karnov killed me. He struck my head from my body and gave it to my sister, D’vartha. D’vartha, the witch. She thirsted for black knowledge as I thirsted for blood and the suffering of those around me. She buried my head in her eldritch garden outside her cottage wherein she called upon the Earthly Demonic… called upon the Earthly Demonic more and more.” Xycanthia sounded as weak and faltering as the nails of someone buried alive, scratching at the inside of a coffin lid.

  The phosphorescence gripped in the claw at the top of the hierophant’s staff glowed scintillantly, and he said softly, “Continue.”

  Xycanthia’s head resumed the tale. “She had obtained a copy of The Book of Dead Runes. She said she obtained it from the author and rune incarnate, Thorn himself, though when I looked into Hagal, the world crystal, I could not see all. With a spell of binding, she limited the info
rmation I was privy to. I was only her slave, but I still had some wiles about me and tricked her.”

  “I knew it,” I said.

  The hierophant held up his hand to silence me and bade Xycanthia continue.

  “I told her that a great event would occur. There was an alignment of planets in another dimension that would be presaged by a blazing orb that would pass our world. I told her that she must hurry to take advantage of it. She believed that she had me completely enspelled as her oracle, and she did not study the first part of the grimoire as thoroughly as she should have. I told her there was a short path to the mastery of the runes that lay in darkness. I compared it to the Qlippothic powers of other, weaker systems, so she would understand and believe that I had plumbed the depths of gramarye and returned with the gems of knowledge she needed to master The Book of Dead Runes before the great convergence that I alluded to was to come. She called on the tilted runes before she had taken… ah… precautions…”

  The oracle fell silent. The hierophant cast another legerdemain and rocked his staff in a circle again. Xycanthia continued. “The shadow of the Yr rune’s realm, which is also named Yr, took possession of D’vartha—Yr being the feminine demonic in the heart of the very realms of creation.”

  Hegumen Hordane the Hierophant nodded in comprehension and as a gesture for Xycanthia to continue.

  “D’vartha’s descent into madness was swift and terrible. I, of course, encouraged it as I had my own agenda, even from beyond the grave.”

  “And what was that agenda?” the hierophant asked.

  “With D’vartha gone, I would build a coven of followers to exalt me. I, in turn, would feed upon the cult’s energy and instruct them in my own art to resurrect me in the body of a pretty young thing that would ascend to a throne, where I would rule as their queen for one thousand years. Perchance a thousand thousand years.”

  “And D’vartha’s agenda?” asked the hierophant.

  “Driven mad by the husk of the Yr rune, which I told you is its… her shadow, D’vartha ran off to the Plain of Gnathongules. I told her of the place… the place where she could step back in time, work her way back to the beginning, where all of the myths about the fall of man originate with a woman, there to corrupt man in his holiest and drag him down into the unclean mire wherein sits upon the throne the very incarnation of the fall of man.

  “As D’vartha entered the plain of Gnathongules, her intellect and reason became as that of a wild beast. She is powerful and seeks the final fall of man, whereupon he shall not rise again,” Xycanthia croaked.

  With a wave of his hand, the hierophant tapped the bottom of his staff on the floor, and Xycanthia’s eyes fluttered open, then closed again.

  My own eyes met the hierophant’s cerulean gaze as he spoke. “In our order, the exploration of the darkness within ourselves is encouraged, even mandatory, as to find the light, one must first traverse the darkness. I am from the Northlands. The priests of Wuotan there are masters of the runes. The Book of Dead Runes is not unfamiliar to me. Neither is the bouleversement of the rune row and its gramarye, the tilted runes, as Xycanthia called them. By your swords,” he nodded to me and Asenthine, “and my staff, we shall vanquish this malignity that has invaded our world and exorcise your friend.”

  A messenger was let into the room and, gasping for breath, hastily ejected, “Count Debrackle has died in his bed only moments agone!”

  “We must make haste and leave for Darkling Reich immediately,” said the hierophant.

  Chapter VI: Lost in Darkling Reich

  Having traversed the pathway through the Korava forest, Abbot Eothoclemes threw up his hand, signaling us to stop. Asenthine and I, along with Hegumen Hordane the Hierophant and a band of the newly deceased Count Debrackle’s most formidable swordsmen and archers, reined in our mounts. As we surveyed the eldritch expanse that lay beyond, the abbot spake. “None of this was here previously. Verily, Darkling Reich looms nigh.”

  With a bow of his head, the hierophant gestured for us to move forward as he took the lead on his piebald roan. The phosphorescent orb atop his staff flared and glowed. The sky turned wine dark, and under its dim radiance, we traversed a sinuous path past scintillating dolomitic pillars of abalone, green, pink, black, orange, and red. We rode past Irminsuls with faces in their bellies twisted and frozen in the throes of pain and suffering. The air became colder the farther we went. And off to either side of us jutted up from the gelid earth the colossal rib cages and skulls of atavisms that had ruled their demesne long before man the beast had ever strode forth. On we rode, past shining caves of gold and silver, wherefrom issued beckoning calls like sirens pining for the death of wayward sailors. The hierophant told us to cover our ears until we were out of hearing range or we would surely go mad.

  Anon, we came to a great chasm wherefrom gelid fog rose and obscured what lay below. The hierophant closed his eyes and bade us wait. There we sat in silence, and the wine dark sky was extinguished and left us in utter darkness. Before we could light our torches, an argent orb rose from the abyss and cried silver tears of glistening molten metal. The silvery moon shewed a lake that filled the abyss to the brim and sank into the watery depths. The hierophant rode his mount into the cold lake. We sauntered our mounts in line behind him and entered the waters that led I knew not where.

  No sooner had I led Wrathmane into the abyssal waters than I felt myself sinking, and yet I breathed air, and my mount’s hooves strode solid ground. An alleyway opened into a deserted street before us. The silvery moon loomed low and ominous before us, illuminating the city and its bizarre alien architecture. It receded, drawing us forward, and we ever followed the shining metallic orb.

  The buildings shewed an eldritch geometry that cast me into a drunken stupor to look upon. With but a glance, visions and voices assailed me to where I thought myself in the throes of the euphoria induced by the purple dedeim. I quickly looked away and fixed my gaze on the road that lay ahead as I heard the hierophant urge the others of our band to do the same.

  Of a sudden, I heard far behind a rattling threnody such as a roomful of wind chimes might make. I turned to see a horde of skeletons formed of crystal with burning crimson eyes set back in opaque skulls crowned by gold and silver horned casques. They brandished sword and buckler and had stealthily slit the throats of those soldiers bringing up the rear. More crystal skeletons burst from the ground.

  Those men who rode in advance of the dead soldiers had by now turned and loosed a fusillade upon the crystal warriors. The arrows sounded musical notes where they found purchase. Some of the skeletons fell to the ground, but they quickly found their feet and paced forward to meet us. I drew my broadsword, and Asenthine produced his rapier. We raced to join the other men who were by now engaging the assassins with their swords. Glaives sundered crystalline limbs, and translucent skulls toppled from necks, but on the things fought, dragging down the horses and stabbing into flesh, piercing vital organs and leaving many of Debrackle’s men choking on the frothing crimson that gushed from their mouths.

  I slashed and parried, slashed again, and a skeleton warrior’s head went rolling. I turned aside a thrust as still the thing came at me. I kicked the skeleton from where I sat my steed and it fell, ribcage separating from its hips and rolling on the ground.

  I saw Asenthine thrust his rapier into one of the skeleton’s jeweled eyes, then another. The vampyre maneuvered his mount (one given him by the abbey) out of the skeleton’s path and it walked blindly in circles, slashing and hacking at empty air. I had noticed some moments agone a chaunting growing to the rear of us; then I heard the hierophant shout, “Out of the way!” The hooves of his piebald roan drummed the earth as he came charging in, his robes of azure and vermillion billowing like bat wings. His staff burned a phosphorescent arc and whipped around to strike a crystalline skeleton that had just driven a sword through a soldier. A stream of crimson painted the air, followed by the glowing green that swung around and sizzled on the opaque sku
ll of the assassin. The skeleton dropped.

  The hierophant dismounted and drove the haft of his staff into the ground. The atmosphere exploded with a dazzling effulgence. I was momentarily blinded. When my sight returned, all the skeleton men lay inanimate. I hesitate to say “dead” because I was never sure they were truly alive. But as we know a man dies, so had the crystal skeletons, for they never rose to harry us again. As I gazed about I saw all Debrackle’s men but one lying dead, despatched to the House of Shades by the blades of the crystalline warriors. I myself, Asenthine, the abbot, and the hierophant were all that remained, along with one lone bowman, hight Abnon.

  Plunging my broadsword into its scabbard, I drew in a deep breath and expelled it as just then I heard whistling as if a missile had blown low over my head. There was a thump as a winged figure hove into view and lifted the hierophant from his saddle, bearing him away into the strange welkin wherein loomed the argent lunar orb that had lured us here.

  “Nay!” I shouted, but before I could stop him, Abnon the archer had already sent a volley speeding into the night sky. The arrow found its mark, and the winged one faltered, plummeting earthward and dropping its prey. Hierophant and arcane staff separated and hurtled toward us far below. I watched with gritted teeth as the hierophant fell to his inexorable doom. He flailed his arms and almost seemed to shift shape as his voluminous robes fluttered in the light of the great metallic moon, but there was no time to witness his death, for another of the things lighted on Abnon and drove him onto his back.

  Asenthine and I wrenched swords from scabbards, and even as we did, we heard the sickening wet sound of the winged one wrenching the heart from Abnon’s chest. The head of the demoniacal creature turned a curious glance upon Asenthine, the abbot, and me. Large red eyes like rubies were set back in an alabaster feminine face framed by long straight sable locks. She regarded the three of us curiously as she devoured the archer’s heart with relish. Fangs like the teeth of a great jungle cat shewed pearly in the beams of that wicked eldritch moon.