by Aaron Bunce
“What is happening?” Roman asked, but they wrenched him through a doorway and into a dark hallway.
The soldiers grunted and cursed, pulling him towards a solitary door at the far end. Two crackling torches illuminated a pair of guards, their leather caps pulled down so low they almost covered their eyes. As soon as they neared, the two soldiers unlocked the heavy iron door and swung it open.
Down they went, sliding into the darkness of the descending stairwell. Roman smelled the sour odor of the men straining next to him, but also the sweating rock and damp air. The iron gate crashed closed behind them with ringing note of finality.
Roman’s feet slipped and he stumbled, trying desperately to navigate the winding stair in the dark. The soldiers cursed him, throwing elbows into his sides, but would not slow.
A scrawny guard met them at the bottom of the stairwell, his face covered in soot and grease.
“A guest for Minos’s finest cell,” the soldier to his right said.
“He’s been so lonely. Tis bout time they sent us someone new!” the guard spat, exposing splotchy gums and only a few yellowed teeth.
“Oh, but this one is a special guest. He’s a killer, a cold-blooded killer who likes to set monsters on people. Only your finest room for him!” the soldier on Roman’s right said sarcastically.
“Well then, welcome to the deep dark, sir, or what they used to call the dyp mork!” the jailer said, falling into step behind them.
The air in the stairwell had been pleasantly warm, but now, it was cold and horribly damp. The two soldiers pulled Roman around a corner, dragging him along so that the tops of his feet scraped against the stone.
“Put him in that one, second to the end, the permanent cell,” the jailer said, wheezing behind them.
They passed several stout doors, hewn out of heavy timber and banded with thick iron. A door lay perpendicular to the rest, facing them, its door hanging open. The soldiers pulled straight to the dark opening and propped him up onto his feet.
“My hands…” Roman started to say, but something struck him hard in the back, and he toppled ungainly forward, into the darkness. Stars burst before his eyes as he collapsed onto the stone.
Roman pushed up onto an elbow and managed to turn. The jailor stood in the open doorway, allowing the warm light of his torch to spill over Roman. He wasn’t either of the men that carried him down the stairs, or the sickly one that greeted him. His face was wide and his eyes dark.
“The world is full of rules. This down here…this is my world! No yelling. No screaming. And as sure as I’m flogging people, no whimpering or crying! No crapping outside of your bucket. I ain’t no page, so don’t try and give me no messages. I ain’t a constable, so don’t blubber yer story all over my shoes. You do something I don’t like. You don’t eat. You say something I don’t like. You don’t eat. There’s two ways out of this place,” the man said, turning sideways and pointing down the hall. “Down that passage there is the real deep dark. It makes this cell here look like a noble’s stateroom. The other way is up the way you came. Either way, they’re both the way of dying. Live to die another day.”
The jailer slammed the cell door shut, bathing Roman in darkness.
Chapter 17
Dark truths
Tanea froze, even when every ounce of her being screamed at her to move. Father Pallum came at her, the dagger clutched tightly in his claw-like, withered hand, but he was not the only one moving. The shadow next to the table seemed to come alive, washing up toward the priest.
A figure in brown streaked out of the shadow, colliding with Father Pallum. Tanea rolled backwards onto the table, finally managing to claim some control. The dagger came down hard, sinking into the aged wood of the table, narrowly missing her back.
Tanea threw her legs up and tried to cartwheel across the tables, but the two figures toppled into her. They all tumbled off the end, landing hard in a tangle of arms, legs, and snarled robe on the dusty ground.
Father Pallum snarled and cursed, his voice breaking in an unintelligible string. He sounded more feral animal than man. Tanea kicked and punched to get free, but the priest and the mysterious brown robed figure were tangled atop her. The dagger flashed again as a hand shot out of the tangle and smashed into her face. Tanea’s head was rocked back with the impact and her vision temporarily went fuzzy.
“Argh!” the mysterious figure cried out and shoved clear of the pile.
Tanea felt the weight shift above her and she acted. With grace she didn’t know she had, Tanea picked her feet straight up off of the ground. As she lifted her legs she thrust upwards and twisted. Her weight carried her over, rolling off of her back and then shoulders. She planted her hands as her feet came down, effectively transitioning from her back to her feet in a single graceful maneuver.
Father Pallum worked to regain his feet. “You!” he growled, apparently recognizing the smaller figure.
“I won’t let you harm her,” the figure in the brown robe replied defiantly.
Father Pallum stood, untangling his robes. “Get out of the way, boy! It must happen!” he hissed in response. And then, with the veins in his beck bulging slightly, he said, “she must die.”
Father Pallum lurched toward Tanea suddenly. The smaller figure dashed forward, jumping between them. Tanea watched as the two weaved and danced, but there was something wrong with her protector. His left arm drooped at his side, and as he hopped into one of the columns of light she could see that his brown robe was torn and blood glistened beneath.
“You dare interfere…rah!” Father Pallum snarled and came forward, cutting savagely with the short blade. Tanea staggered to her feet as she watched the young man in the brown robe feint to his right before ducking back in the opposite direction, just as her elder priest came in.
Panic made her legs shake and her hands go numb. She wiped trembling palms against her tunic as Father Pallum swiped hard with the blade again. The young man in the brown robe jumped aside, ducked and turned, but his movements had slowed. She watched as Father Pallum snagged the younger man by the robes, his hand sliding through the fabric until it wrenched the cowl from his head. Tanea lunged toward a table as the younger man’s face came into view. It was the young man she had met in the hall.
Tanea’s hand slid through the thick dust coating the table, her thoughts spinning in an endless and seemingly worthless loop. Her fingers brushed against a hard object. She caught sight of the tome out of the corner of her eye and didn’t afford it a second thought; instead, she wrapped her fingers around it and pulled it to her.
Tanea heaved the heavy, wood-clad book off of the table as Father Pallum wrenched the young man around. She lifted the enormous tome over her head as the dagger drew back, poised to plunge into the young man’s chest.
Tanea’s heart fluttered as she swung as hard as she could. Father Pallum grunted as the book dropped onto his head, his body instantly crumpling beneath the weight. The weight of the tome, along with her momentum carried her forward as Father Pallum fell. She released her grip on the heavy book, letting it fall with her former priest. She hopped and turned, nearly trampling on the old man as he fell.
“Come with me,” she said, helping the young man to his feet. Tanea started to pull him along, but before they had gone a dozen paces he pulled back.
“No, wait. It’s not safe. Here,” he said, pulling Tanea off toward the back of the library. “It will not be safe for you here, not now. I know another way out.”
Tanea let the young man guide her, and together they wove their way through the warren of low tables. They reached the rear of the massive library. The young man pulled her in one direction, and then back in the other as if searching for something in the dark.
“It is one of these, I think it is…” he said, releasing his hold on her arm as he pawed at the oversized bookshelves. And then he skidded to a halt, so abruptly that Tanea ran into his back.
She watched the young man fiddle with several large, dusty tomes. “Yes,�
�� he hissed and a large, leather bound book hit the ground with a thud. She watched him reach into the space the book had just occupied, and was surprised when his entire arm disappeared. A heartbeat later she heard a loud click from behind the bookcase, just as she heard a groan from behind them.
“Hurry,” Tanea hissed, glancing back to where they left Father Pallum on the ground.
The young man bent over and picked up the leather book off of the ground and hastily shoved it back into its space. She watched as he wrapped his fingers around the thick frame and pulled. Without a noise the bookshelf shifted, swinging away from the wall and exposing a passageway.
“Follow me,” he hissed and disappeared into the darkness. Tanea followed him through into the darkness.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, and she heard him pull the bookcase closed behind them. Tanea could hear the young man moving and then he was next to her. She jumped as he grabbed ahold of her.
“Shhh,” he whispered into her ear.
She heard a crash from the room beyond the bookshelf, followed by a groan and a curse. Tanea and the young man leaned forward, drawn to a sliver of shining light. The crack in the bookshelf allowed them to see through to the room beyond. The room appeared to be empty, but she could still hear someone moving. She barely stifled a gasp as Father Pallum appeared suddenly.
He turned on his heels, making to move in one direction only to spin back again. Blood ran down over one eye from a gash just above his hairline. The blood, mixed with the wild look in his eyes, scared Tanea, but even more so when he brought his hand up and shoved the gleaming dagger into a dark-leather sheathe. The same dagger he had tried to kill her with.
“Damn,” Father Pallum spat as he spun around on his heels one last time, and then he was gone. Tanea let her breath out slowly and eased back from the shelf, still terrified of making any noise. She felt the young man grab ahold of her hand and then they were moving.
“It’s this way,” he breathed quietly and led her forward. They moved slowly, picking their way through the oppressive darkness for several moments before the young man finally stopped and lit a small lantern.
“He shouldn’t be able to see the light now. That is, if he is still back there,” the young man said, gesturing back towards the library.
“But, Father Pallum…why?” Tanea stammered quietly. The young man simply shook his head.
“I would tell you, but you would not understand. It is best if you see for yourself,” he whispered and turned.
They moved forward through the darkness, the young man using the paltry light of the lantern to guide them. Finally, after a short trek through barren and confusing passageways they came upon a door.
“I found this place by accident,” the young man said as he handed Tanea the lantern. “It was almost impossible to open,” he said as he drove his shoulder into the stout door. “Now, it is just very hard!” Hinges squelched, grating loudly together as the door popped free and eased open.
“The smell, it can be quite,” and he paused, “I don’t know the right word.”
“Unpleasant,” Tanea offered, and the young man nodded. My elder priest just tried to kill me. I think I can tolerate some foul odors.
They stepped through the doorway together and Tanea instantly understood what he meant. The air was stuffy and cold, but it also smelled odd, like a bad combination of dust and soured food.
Something or someone died in here. Tanea shuddered, considering the possibility of being trapped in such a place.
“Thank you, for what you did back there,” she offered tentatively, “but I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is El’bryliz, and no thanks are necessary.”
“And you are…” she started to say, chewing over the young man’s name.
“Yes, Ishmandi,” he spat defiantly, a determined glint in his dark eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say…” Tanea backpedaled a bit, but his harsh expression cracked and he gave her a toothy grin.
“It is alright. Living here, I had to get used to it quickly,” he said with a smirk. “The stories aren’t true. History is far more complicated than the Council would lead you to believe.”
“I can only imagine,” Tanea replied softly. El’bryliz smiled simply and lifted the lantern to lead her forward.
“They used this place quite often I think. I found these scattered all over the place,” he said, stooping over and kicking a massive pile of candle stubs. “But it doesn’t look like they have used it for many thaws.”
“But who? You say, they. Who are they?” Tanea asked, frowning as she took in the jumble of candles.
El’bryliz dragged a finger over the top of a short bookshelf, breaking the thick encrustment of dust.
“The who may be the harder part for you to believe. Here, I will show you,” he offered, leading her down the hall. The path curved to the right, ending in an abrupt wall straight ahead and a solitary door, frozen halfway open, to the left.
Tanea followed the young man through the gap formed when the hinges pulled away from the wall. This room was quite different than the others. The air was drier, and Tanea thought she smelled dried herbs. Sage?
El’bryliz opened the lantern’s cage and used the meager flame inside to light a number of stubby candles placed around the room. Tanea watched as the darkness retreated, chased away by the candle’s subtle glow.
“How old is this place?” Tanea breathed, taking in the room. It seemed to grow around her as more candles were lit, their light reclaiming the space from the greedy shadows. “I’ve never heard of this place. And it was here the whole time?”
El’bryliz lit the last of the candles. “Yes. I believe it was here long before the rest of the Chapterhouse was constructed.”
“But how did you find this place?” Tanea asked, stooping down to look at a pile of scrolls. Those on the bottom of the pile had been crushed to dust, while those left intact looked as fragile as fireplace ash.
“There are those who would want me to tell you that I stumbled across it, purely by luck. But I don’t think you would believe me. I think you are too smart for that, Tanea,” El’bryliz offered as he used one of the dripping candles to light a bundle he pulled from his robes.
She watched the bundle flare suddenly and then go dark as the young man blew it out. El’bryliz walked a wide circle in the room, wafting the smoke from the small bundle as he went. Tanea smelled what she thought was sage, and perhaps spearmint. It was a pungent mixture of herbs that made her eyes burn a little.
“My people believe that spirits linger in this world. Especially in places like this…places of horrible deeds,” El’bryliz offered before she could ask.
“Horrible deeds? But this Chapterhouse has ever been a place of healing and rest,” Tanea said, the air in the room suddenly feeling that much colder against her skin.
“Yes, healing for the sick…rest for the weary. But, perhaps there were some who operated here, unbeknownst to the others, who served an altogether different purpose,” El’bryliz pondered out loud.
Tanea’s mind reeled as she turned on the spot, taking in the large and bizarre chamber. It felt so foreign from the Chapterhouse, which served as the only home she had ever known.
A large square table sat at the chamber’s center. It was longer than she was tall, and at least half her height in width. Its flat surface was covered in crumpled scrolls and several sheaf of stained parchment.
“What purpose?” she asked, raising her hand to cover her heart. “What makes you think that the people who used this place were not just the early priests and clerics of my order? Perhaps they used this place before the larger building was constructed?”
“I considered that. But then I saw this,” he said quickly and waved her over towards the far wall. Tanea picked up a wide candle, and cupping her hand protectively around the flame, joined him.
El’bryliz lifted the lantern so that the light fell upon the wall. He reached up and
wiped the thick dusk from the wall, exposing something that glimmered in the warm light. She saw simple and subtle variations of gold and silver at first, but the longer she looked, the more colors started to appear.
“They’re murals,” Tanea whispered and stepped closer to draw the image more fully into her candlelight.
“Yes, and I think that these people pictured here,” El’bryliz said, pointing to a spot on the wall some paces away, “are the ones that used this place.”
Tanea saw a small group of men depicted. They appeared as robed figures, shown in humble poses. Strange, she thought, as she considered how similar they appeared to her order’s priests.
“Yes. I found them by mistake at first. This one shows a group of figures, but do you see how they are all looking to one spot?” he asked and moved down the wall with the lantern.
Tanea followed, noticing that the mural continued on down the wall. She rested her hand on a pile of parchment coils, only to have them collapse into dust.
“I did the same thing,” El’bryliz chuckled quietly.
Tanea covered her mouth with her robe and swept the entire contents of the shelf onto the ground, exposing a bit of the mural previously hidden. Some of the paint had chipped away, but enough remained that she could make it out.
The image depicted a large circle of robed men, surrounded by row upon row of dark, twisted, monstrous figures. At the center of the circle stood a single figure, its arms held to the sky. A single, gold line connected the solitary figure to a golden eye amidst puffy clouds.
“Does it…could it?” Tanea stammered, considering the implications of the image and her own strange bond. She leaned in and brushed more dust from the wall, trying to digest what it all meant.
“I heard what you told the priest. About your connection…” El’bryliz said, seemingly cognizant of the turmoil raging inside her.
“You heard what?” Tanea asked, backing away a step.
The young man pulled at the sleeve of his robe nervously, but took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I heard you tell Father Pallum about the young man, the soldier…and the Jo’dane.”