by Aaron Bunce
“Before the Council took power, our Chapterhouse boasted one of the largest and most frequently visited libraries in the province. We hosted visiting nobles and dignitaries alike. We allowed access to any, and all, from the highest of the high, to the lowliest of commoners,” Father Pallum said as they stopped before a massive door.
The wooden portal was finely crafted out of dark, red wood. A heavy chain stretched from wall to wall, fastened to the stone by thick, iron rivets. The chain had rusted heavily over the thaws, turning the iron links the color of maple leaves in autumn.
Tanea stepped forward and let her hand come to rest on the chain. It didn’t sag under the weight, so she looked over doubtfully to where Father Pallum put his hand upon the heavy door.
“They were serious about keeping people out,” Tanea said, following the heavy chain over to the rounded door handles.
Father Pallum chuckled as he caught her eye. “To some, knowledge is more threatening than armies and soldiers,” he said, and then pushed. The heavy door, which looked to be effectively barred and chained, gave way under the old man’s pressure. The door eased open with only the slightest groan.
Father Pallum ducked under the chain, and into the space beyond. Tanea moved to follow him through and paused to consider the sizable door. Someone had cut away a small piece of the door’s handle, right where the chain had been looped through. If she hadn’t been looking directly at it, she would have never seen it.
Tanea’s heart fluttered in her chest as she ducked under the chain. She stepped into a cavernous space in both height and breadth. Half of the room was left in inky shadow, while the other was bathed in cool light from above.
“This is in the mountain?” Tanea asked, looking around.
Father Pallum nodded, smiling. “They cut these spaces into the mountain to protect this knowledge from wind, fire, and war,” he said.
The walls had been chiseled from the stone of the mountain, and spanning from the ground all the way up to the distant ceiling were enormous wooden bookshelves. Above that, the rock had been hollowed out, and wide windows of colored glass inserted.
Tanea pulled her gaze back toward the ground and moved to follow Father Pallum. The older man seemed to float through the room, disappearing one moment in a pool of shadow, only to reappear in a brilliant pool of light the next.
She followed the aged priest and settled next to him when he stopped at a low table. The space was covered in dust covered tomes and scrolls. Some looked so old Tanea thought they might break apart at the slightest touch, while others looked crisp and new.
Father Pallum moved a stack of heavy, leather bound books aside. White dust plumed in the air as he set them down out of the way. The dust hit a column of light, and seemed to sparkle.
“Right here, this is the one,” the priest said, and slid an enormous volume in front of them.
He curled his fingers under the wooden cover and pulled it open, exposing thin sheets of parchment inside. Father Pallum carefully flipped through several pages before leaning in close, his nose hovering right over the page.
“Yes…yes, here it is. Come here, read this passage right here.”
Tanea stepped in as Father Pallum moved aside. He directed her attention to a spot on the page, and then moved over as to not block the limited light. Tanea leaned in.
The page was beautifully detailed. Glittering gold paint framed the page in a stylized box. The text glimmered in shimmering ink, written by hand in a curving script. She leaned in closer, savoring every ounce of light that splashed across the bleached parchment. She recognized the words. They were written in Fanorian, the language of old Fanfir, the land of her ancestors.
“I haven’t read old Fanorian since my clerical trials,” Tanea said quietly, working through the script.
She pulled her hand up to her chest as her heart fluttered. She felt the sickly feeling surge back up inside, but it was stronger than before, nearly overwhelming. The hair on her arms stood on end, and then her back and neck started to tingle and crawl.
Tanea pulled her attention away from the text on the page, driven by a compulsion to turn. She felt a presence behind her, a heartbeat before the shadow fell over her. Tanea spun on the spot, her heart suddenly filling with panic. Father Pallum stood just a few paces away, his arm raised above his head, a dagger glinting in the dim light.
Chapter 9
Both ways
The crowd bunched up before him, bottlenecked by a stout, twenty-pace-high wall. People bundled in furs and knitted headscarves squeezed through a narrow gate, sloshing ale and mead from metal or clay tankards.
A quick visit to the Spear Point market had given Wraithman the means to join the merrymaking. After wiping his runny nose on his glove, he took a sizable gulp of the local ale. Buoyed by its familiar taste, he elbowed one person aside and pushed past another, his confidence building with every step forward. The crowd thinned out after he cleared the gate, which made for a more comfortable passage.
A massive, sunken pit loomed before him, its outer wall lined in tall, smooth stone. He stopped and took in a healthy breath. The air of the fighting pit smelled of mountain pines, blood, ale, and animal urine. It made his fingers tingle and his heart race. To Wraithman, it was a wonderful smell. It was the smell of life and death, but also gold.
A crowd of people cheered, followed by the pained, angry yelp of an animal. Two men in red tunics ran out into the pit. The taller of the two, whom wore a fur hat with earflaps, shooed a large, mangy wolf back into a cage. The other man started dragging the other animal out of the pit. It was an almost indistinguishable mass of bloody fur.
Once the two animals were removed, boys ran out through a gated entrance, scattering fresh straw over the ground. Wraithman took another drink, letting the spectacle sink in. Row upon row of plank seats sat in almost a full circle, dominating the space between the edge of the pit and the wall enclosing it.
“It is good to be home!” Wraithman whispered. As much as he liked the wilds, he loved the fighting pit even more. It was the excitement of life and death, wealth and poverty, in the blink of an eye.
“Wraithman,” a woman said as two arms appeared, wrapping around his waist.
“Briga,” Wraithman said, wrenching and twisting out of the woman’s grasp.
“Come on, Wraith. Don’t push a girl away. I hear tell that you’re about to become king of the pit. That kind of gold gives a girl all kinds of ideas,” Briga said, worming in close and trying to wriggle her hands into his trousers.
“Not here, Briga. Sigmere might see,” Wraithman hissed, scanning the raucous crowd for signs of his friend.
“Oh, toss it! I only laid with Siggie once, and he didn’t pay in full. Thinks I owe him charity, or some’it. Plus, he’s kinda slow, and he stinks. He’s not like you, Wraith, you’re different. Strong, an’ charming. Plus, the kind of gold you’re bound to win gets a girl all excited!” Briga said, grinding against him suggestively.
Wraithman pulled Briga back through the gated entrance and behind the wall, until they were blocked off from the rowdy crowd.
“Oh yeah, baby,” Briga said lewdly, but Wraithman snapped, and pushed her hard, sending her sprawling into the snow.
“Ow, you son of a…” she started to curse, but Wraithman struck her across the face with his left hand. His right hand came forward and clamped around her throat. He pushed back, silencing her and pinning her against the wall.
“Listen to me, whore. Sigmere is my chum. He worships you. It crushes him to think that you’re lying with other men. He doesn’t know about us, an' I aim to keep it that way,” he said, releasing his grip and taking a step back.
“I ain’t married to the man. A girl has to earn her keep somehow, Wraith,” Briga said defensively, rubbing her neck.
“I ain’t saying you can’t…I’m only saying I don’t need him knowing about us, ‘tis all. So don’t go grinding on me where the whole damn lot can see.”
“I can’t
help it, Wraith. I keep hearing your name around town. They say your next to be big man of the pit. Big man of Spear Point. That means gold, and privilege. You put in your time, so you’re due,” Briga said, straightening her fur shawl.
Wraithman nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the seemingly endless moons he spent in the wilds, tracking and working to capture the beast. It was an animal unlike any other, and it was going to make him a very wealthy man.
“This place hasn’t seen the like of what I found. It’s mine now, and it’s gonna win me the pit,” Wraithman said with a wicked smile.
“I like hearing you talk about it. All confident and high-minded. Kinda like you’re a noble amongst the lowly,” Briga said, running her hands over his cheeks.
“My beast is gonna win the pit. It’s gonna kill Benik's champion, and land me a bursting sack of coin. People around here are finally gonna take me seriously. They’ll listen, they’ll bow, and they’ll fear me.”
Briga drew Wraithman closer as he spoke, and hooked one of her legs around his to worm closer still. He could smell the sweet oils wafting off her body, and feel the warmth radiating from between her legs.
The cretins here don’t deserve her, especially Sigmere, that simple fool. She needs to be mine. To take whenever I want, and parade around like the trophy she is, he thought, lustful memories of her curvy body creeping unbidden into his thoughts.
He reached down and released the clasp holding her shawl together. The wolf fur pulled apart, exposing her black bodice and more than a hint of creamy white skin and amble breasts.
He leaned forward, kissing her cleavage, and worked his way up to the nape of her neck. She turned her head and sunk into him, a moan vibrating deep in her throat. Wraithman licked her neck and nibbled on her ear, causing her body to shiver against his.
“I’m gonna own this place. Pit an’ all. And I’m gonna make you mine. All mine,” he whispered into her ear.
* * * *
Julian came to, gasping a painful breath.
It became a struggle to simply move, to breathe, and to hope. He pulled his body off the floor of the cave and followed his captors out into the light. He reached up and favored the throbbing lump on his head. He pulled his hand back, only to find more of his hair stuck to his fingers, a lot more hair.
He longed for the freedom to curl back up and give in to sleep, to forget the struggle, if only for a short time longer. At least he could see Tanea in his dreams, and be free of the blistering embrace of ropes and commands.
The Nymradic, the voice, was silent. Anymore, it was quiet more than not, but he still remembered his reflection in the mirror. He was split in two, on the inside, but also on the outside.
The warriors pulled him along, progressing through the mountain trails, pushing through the rugged terrain as hard as the tumultuous weather would allow.
Julian pushed his body in order to keep up. Gritting through their painful jabs and prods, all the while wishing he could drop into the snow and vanish. He longed to disappear from their harsh commands, their broken speech, but most of all, from the gut wrenching hunger.
It wasn’t like any hunger he had ever experienced before. It radiated like a hollow pit inside of him. One that felt like it could never be filled, and worse, it crept into the rest of his body and stole the strength from his muscles, the air from his lungs, and the clarity from his thoughts.
“I have to…I…have…to…stop,” Julian gasped, his heart hammering in his chest and his wind completely gone.
The warrior ahead of him took several long strides before even acknowledging him, and then only reluctantly, he turned. With the rope tied around his hands slack Julian wavered and slumped to the ground. His legs shook beneath him, no longer willing, or able, to support him.
“I need to rest,” Julian spat, gagging on the words.
The two soldiers came together over him, their hands resting lightly on the pummels of their curved swords. They spoke softly, their backs turning against the wind. Finally, the larger of the two warriors nodded his head and they broke apart. The smaller warrior tromped over to him in the snow, his face hidden beneath his fur-lined cowl.
“You rest long enough. You get up…we move now,” he said and reached down to retrieve the rope out of the snow. Julian sucked in a cold breath and moved to get up, but his legs refused to respond.
“Up,” the warrior growled, and wrapped the rope around his hand and pulled. Julian lifted off the ground, his legs swinging painfully into position beneath him. For a moment he hung there, dangling like caught-game from the end of the warrior’s rope. His weight pulled at the bindings as his arms stretched out, but there was no way for him to get his feet on the ground to relieve the pressure, the warrior was simply too tall.
“You will walk, soft-skin. You will move when I say so. You will stop when I say so. You will walk until we get to the whispering stones,” the warrior hissed threateningly.
Julian stared into the strange figure’s almond-shaped eyes. He tried to return the glare, to throw back every ounce of hatred, but he had to break eye contact as he let his head droop toward the ground. Julian instinctively looked to the warrior’s waist, where his sword hung and felt a pang as he longed to cut himself free.
“Mareda tanik lenosi dar hashan, ne nasa mareda,” the warrior growled. Julian looked up and realized that he had been watching him as he eyed the weapon.
With a growl the warrior dropped Julian into the snow hard. His legs buckled and he fell straight back onto his ass. The warrior laughed a deep, throaty bellow and backed away.
He wants you to reach for his sword, the voice chimed in suddenly. Julian had been so distracted by the large warrior that he had not noticed the pressure building in his mind.
What do you mean? Does he want me to attack him? Julian responded.
Want it? Perhaps, but the Yu are never that straight forward. He meant it as a challenge, and as a promise. The next time you eye his blade be prepared to take it, otherwise he will kill us. “A warrior whose blade ends up in the hand of another is no warrior,” is what he said. It is an old saying.
Wait, Yu? Julian thought back frantically, hoping to get some answers before the mysterious Nymradic went silent again.
Yes, they are the Yu’urei. I have many memories of their kind, although, nothing like this. They have changed, civilized, and evolved.
Julian watched the two Yu’urei warriors as they stood talking half a dozen paces away. They whispered quietly but never took their eyes off of him.
The shorter one’s name is Ghadarzehi, I believe. He distrusts you, just like he distrusts anyone who is not Yu, the Nymradic offered. The other is Histarian…he makes the decisions, the Nymradic continued as the two warriors finished their conversation and walked his way.
How do you know that? Julian inquired, considering the Nymradic’s relative absence since their time in the cave. He pressed forward, hoping to learn more but its voice rang in weakly.
I am always watching, always listening…even when you aren’t. But I am losing…control. Weakening. The Nymradic wavered, and Julian could feel the pressure dissipating, he could feel it slipping away. Julian considered the Nymradic’s weakening voice in his mind, and couldn’t help by think of the horrible hunger gnawing at his insides.
I feel it. I feel your weakness, Julian thought, and for the first time since emerging from the underground caves, he felt the Nymradic move. He felt the creature’s putrid presence inside of him, and then he felt it consider him. Before he knew it Julian was thinking of Sky. Pain, remorse, and anger flooded through him as he thought of Djaron Algast driving his boot through Sky’s ruined body.
There will be many more that are taken. It is…their way, The Nymradic quietly added, after considering his memory.
“I want to kill them all,” Julian growled quietly.
You will die. We will die. One Nym is powerful, together…they are unstoppable. They are legion.
Help me get free, Julian pl
eaded desperately, tugging at his bound wrists.
That would take strength neither of us possess. I am too weak, the Nymradic answered feebly. Julian pushed up onto a knee, and then stood as they started moving again. He conjured up Spider’s wretched and emotionless mask in his mind and then thought of Tanea and his friends in Craymore.
Yes, it will fall. They will die if they are not useful, or worse…the Nymradic finished his thought for him.
I need to get back to them, I need to help them. What do you need me to do? Julian asked, doing something he told himself he would never do. He was giving in.
The voice was quiet for a moment. He trudged through the snow, his boots barely breaking the surface with each step. He felt the Nymradic shift, and then his hands started to tingle, just as they had done before in the cave.
Feed, it whispered into his mind, and Julian felt its desire to slide back into its eerie slumber. Julian swallowed down the lump in his throat as he considered the implications of what that meant. He considered the food the Yu’urei warriors had been giving him. It was meager, hardly what any reasonable person would consider scraps, but it should have sustained him. Instead, he grew hungrier and hungrier.
Why do I get the feeling you are not talking about venison or bread, he thought, but there was no immediate response.
Julian reached down and heaved himself over a fallen tree, pausing for a moment to look at his bound hands. The smaller Yu warrior, Ghadarzehi, jerked the rope hard and Julian almost tumbled face first into the snow.
He set his jaw as he stumbled forward to pace the striding figure. Yes, Julian agreed quietly. He would do whatever it took to gain the strength he needed to be free and return to Tanea. Whatever feeding the Nymradic required, Julian would oblige.
Chapter 10
A new direction