Bloom & Dark

by Regina Watts

  “Very good,” said the creature. “Your thoughts are extremely interesting to me. One last question for you, Rorke Burningsoul, Son of Weltyr: Who is watching you think, right this very moment?”

  Once more, I faltered. I stared the creature down. It was not telling me to guess its name, I was sure. Beyond that, I felt lost. What could it mean? Who was watching me think? Who was I? A son of Weltyr—an ape-man blessed beyond all reason with consciousness. With the gifts of Weltyr’s two great birds, Thought and Memory. Those feathered saints flitted around in my head, seeking for the means by which to help me in my predicament. I glanced away, my thoughts no doubt a fascinating cascade of reason for the creature before me to observe.

  In the end, the only answer I could give was, “Weltyr.”

  I expected the creature to say something—to mark me either right or wrong.

  Instead, I glanced back to the point where this duplication of Hildolfr sat. To my wonder, it had disappeared entirely.

  With a glance around—and a certainty that it had only retired to some other dimension of reality so as to oversee my harvest of its garden—I got on my hands and knees to avoid ruining so much as one of the precious fungi. After a few paces, my fingers brushed the cool, moist flesh of a ruffled mushroom: my heart soaring, I plucked up that one plus three more and made my slow way back through the dark.

  As I emerged from the cave, all three durrow cried out with pleasure. Valeria in particular almost sang my name, dashing forward with an astonished laugh for the mushrooms in my clutches. Beaming with approval into my face, she fit her hands to my cheekbones and kissed me. “Well done, my beloved! I heard not the least sound of struggle.”

  “There was none. The being gave them freely, in exchange for the asking of some questions.”

  “What a relief,” said Adonisius, straightening the helmet and waving a hand. “I’ve heard it said the creature turns men to ash.”

  “You didn’t tell us that,” Odile complained in a tone of supreme annoyance as the misshapen led us back the way we’d come.

  It was only a matter of a few hours before we once more found ourselves by that crystal river, but it felt to me like an eternity—no doubt, everyone else took it much the same. I thought the whole time only of how powerful the spirit-thief had proven in combat at the Palace. Were there more than one spirit-thief, we might have been in trouble. Frankly, even if he had only the wadjita by his side, the challenge and danger would both be significantly increased. We therefore spent the way there speaking softly: developing a general plan to send Indra and Odile forth in a scout capacity, for me to use their advice with their back-up in battle, and for Valeria to stay behind and involve her magic only if necessary.

  “How long do these mushrooms last?”

  I asked this of the misshapen before we parted ways, the pleasantries he exchanged with the elves much more light-hearted on both sides now that the ladies knew he was not a traitor.

  Looking thoughtfully at the one in my hand, he suggested, “I’ve heard it said they last variably depending on the size of the person, but that six hours is the average. I can’t imagine it will be that much swimming, though. The spirit-thieves’ den is south from here, so if you can avoid getting disoriented and focus on heading that way”—he gestured in the mentioned direction—“you should find yourselves there soon enough.”

  “It’s almost an hour to the front door of the den from here by land,” Odile answered, at least now on relative speaking terms with the misshapen.

  He nodded in response. “Yes, that’s about right. I would expect it to be about as much underwater—more or less, depending exactly on whether the current is with or against you.”

  Praise Weltyr, we would find it to be with us. One at a time, we ate our mushrooms, then looked queasily at one another to feel a strange effect in the depths off our throats. While the mouth salivated, the windpipe opened and gill slits emerged on the inside of the windpipe. The queer experience stung only a few seconds, then passed by quickly and left us able to take in water just the same as we did air.

  Then, all together, we dove into the waters of the subterranean creek. Owing to the weight of their armor and their packs, Indra and Odile had to leave these things behind—hidden among a patch of boulders at a juncture of the cavern tunnels. Free of these burdens but for a pair of necessary pouches at their hips, they swam gaily as mermaids. Each laughed in astonishment to look around beneath the water with the unhurried leisure of a tourist admiring the neat streets of Skythorn. Even I confess I had a bit of fun experimenting with flips and various swimming strokes.

  Only Valeria seemed too driven to enjoy the novelty of water-breathing. For her it was a means to an end—the end of ridding herself of the entity so eager and willing to bring her death that it had risked its own life to live among us in the Palace. I fully understood why the task was at such a high stake for her, and so, seeing her grim expression, I let Indra and Odile have the fun. I reached out and squeezed Valeria’s hand beneath the waters where we swam, then urged forward to make our way through the Nightlands river as directed by our guide.

  Though our lungs may have been temporarily equipped to process the water through which we navigated, our mortal bodies remained subject to hypothermia—and our weapons, to rust. Blessed as it was by Weltyr, Strife would be unharmed by such corrosion, but I felt concern for Indra and Odile. Hopefully they would sell off some of Valeria’s jewelry to buy better weapons when they returned to El’ryh.

  Would I ever know if they did? I was not sure. Then again…I was not sure of anything that would happen once we had taken the life of Al-listux. I tried to stay focused as we swam with the current to the flooded temple of the spirit-thieves, but my mind constantly wandered to other concerns.

  Mostly, that concern was singular: Valeria.

  Now I understood a little better the dilemma previously described to me, about slaves earning freedom through the love of mistresses they could not leave. Though we had not long been together I couldn’t help but find the idea of abandoning her to be reprehensible. After what she had told me of her dreams, and after her heartfelt confession of love, it would have been a betrayal of romance itself were I to leave her standing in the temple of the spirit-thieves where I had once been saved from certain death.

  Yet…how could I ask a queen to leave her people? How abhorrently selfish would it be were I to ask her to abdicate her throne and fulfill her dream of seeing the surface with me? There were many other, far more pressing matters, but these issues set themselves heavily upon my mind and lurked more heavily still in the background when, at last, the environment around changed.

  The riverbed through which we swam was a strange, dark surface, deeply cracked and flanked on either side with similarly marred panels of gray concrete. These cracks were not the host of plants or vents as one might find in the ocean, but rather provided evidence of the water’s impact on a surface that seemed to have once been deliberately paved—at least, that was the impression the caverns through which these waters ran gave off. At times it even seemed the walls and ceiling were crafted with some form of brick, but my eyes were weak in those dark waters and I could not always make sense of what I saw or thought as a result of the sure hypothermia into which my body descended while we swam to the temple.

  In fact, I was beginning to worry that the well-meaning misshapen had sent us to our doom—but then, like the glow of gold in the waters of that helpful river, light shown down ahead of us. Odile made a noise that seemed to be one of excitement as much as relief: sure enough, the four of us broke the surface there to realize we had discovered a set of stairs.

  One at a time, we happy travelers hurried from the water. My elfin friends at once perched upon the stone steps, shivering, praising Roserpine, calling from distant regions of spacetime the blue heat of their wisp fires. Three lapping flames merged into one that, owing to its magic, required no wood to settle safely upon the stones between us. We huddled together, shudde
ring in each other’s arms and gathering as much strength from the fire as we could.

  “What fun that was,” enthused Indra, meriting both an eyeroll and a sharp shushing from Odile.

  “Quiet, you! You want us to be detected before we’ve even scouted this place out? Anyway, who could find such a thing fun! If elves had been made to swim, Roserpine would have given us fins.”

  “Some elves were made to swim,” I advised, remembering with fondness the lovely naiad maid who served my lady in the baths. Now Odile looked sourly at me, her generally cross mood having grown all the more irritable for nearly freezing to death in the unlit Nightland waters.

  “That may be so, but durrow aren’t among them. All right—” Having reached the limit of her annoyance with us, it would seem, Odile stood and smoothed her tangled hair from her stern face. “Indra? Come along, let’s see what we can find. Burningsoul, come running if you hear us imperiled.”

  Drawing her dagger, Odile led the way up the algae-coated stone steps and into the depths of the temple. Close behind, Indra waved to us, pressed her finger to her lips, and disappeared behind her friend as they rounded a curve.

  Alone with me, Valeria began again to tremble. I took her hands in mine, kissing her fingers and murmuring softly to her, “Soon enough it will all be over, Madame—Al-listux will be dead and you, free of these many attempts on your life.”

  “And then?”

  I looked up from her hands to find those splendid opaline eyes staring deeply into me, attempting to divine my thoughts either metaphorically or literally. Hands still around hers, I confessed with a glance to the waters lapping the stones beneath us that, “I was just wondering the same thing.”

  She took my meaning. Her next words were soft with conflicted pain. “How am I to free from service the slave I’ve been shown in dreams all my life?”

  “By remembering the slave is also a man, perhaps, and that men do best when granted liberty.”

  She snorted slightly, following my gaze into the sloshing black abyss. “I suppose so. I’ve heard it said that Skythorn is a place where all men and women, all races and creeds, are considered free and equal.”

  “In concept, yes. Not always in practice, but we do our best.” My rubbing of her hands slowing slightly, I dared tell her, “You should let me show it to you.”

  The indigo ring of Roserpine glowed beneath my caress. Valeria looked sorrowful even without having to see it, her head lowering.

  “Nothing would please me more, Rorke,” she told me softly. “To see the stars I’ve glimpsed in dreams…to see the rising of the sun. To see you—oh, Rorke.”

  Tears dropped down her cheeks and stirred my heart to action. I enfolded her in my arms and drew her head to my heart. She wept there, her shoulders trembling while she whispered, “How can I be parted from you?”

  “You don’t need to be,” I told her. “Whatever you choose, I’ll remain with you.”

  “I cannot ask you to continue to choose slavery for my sake, Rorke.”

  She had not used my first name so much in all the time I’d known her. My lips brushed the top of her head.

  “Then don’t,” was all I said.

  To that, my lady had no response. We sat quietly in one another’s embrace, watching the crackling blue flames, each of our bodies tense with anticipation for what was to come—for either our scouts to return with news, or to be beset upon by the tentacled demons of that unholy temple.

  At last, we were startled by the almost completely silent appearance of Indra. The two of them were truly the finest rogues I’d ever known, and I marveled at that aptitude for silent motion even while the breathless woman urged us upright.

  “We’ve found them,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder as if afraid she’d been followed. “You’d ought to come look for yourselves first—I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered, those three simple words awash with bafflement. “Some sort of altar, Odile thinks…but I don’t know. You’d better take a look.”

  Exchanging a glance, Valeria and I set off after Indra, our steps a great deal less silent than hers. Thankfully, as we reached the floor to which the spiral staircase led, we discovered a moss green carpet that cut the stone floor in half and led throughout the rooms. This helpfully muted our strides. All the chambers through which we passed were dimly-lit—but even my poor human eyes could recognize in faded tapestries and painted frescoes the tentacled faces of the demonic spirit-thieves, their pulsating hivemind, their hideous god that resembled them in innumerable ways but was said to sleep beneath the ocean and therefore was depicted in their heretical artworks with green, algae-covered flesh. I shuddered, averting my gaze from the awful depictions, and let Indra lead the way until we found Odile alert before a half-shut door. As soon as we set eyes upon it, Indra pulled us to the side and bade us move all the quieter, all the slower.

  Soon enough, I perceived why. Kyrie evidently spoke to her master, who projected responses into her mind. Without the spirit-thief’s half of the conversation, the meaning of it all was difficult to divine—but it left more space for a strange tap-tap-tapping sound that emanated from the room. While Odile waved us over, Kyrie could be heard asking, “What of the lantern we sold to Odile? If they don’t come to us here, we may never get it back.”

  The durrow all exchanged looks and continued listening closely. I peered around the edge of the door to see what it was that had so baffled Indra…and I must admit, I fared no better in discerning what the object was.

  As best as I could tell, Al-listux stood, back to us, worshiping before a strange glowing box. Given the shape, I understood why Indra had perceived it to be a kind of altar—but the general cubic form was where the resemblance ended, for never had I seen an altar of dull beige substance, nor one that glowed so brightly from what seemed only one side. As to what produced the tapping, I could not be sure…but it seemed to me after a few seconds’ study that, while Al-listux’s good hand moved, the tapping filling the air. When the creature’s movement paused, so did the tapping.

  “Master won’t like that,” Kyrie said in response to the creature’s statement, whatever it was. Her tail thrashing, the wadjita sighed at the scimitar sheathed at her waist and added, “At any rate, he was such a fine lover. One does rather hate the thought of removing a man so appealing from the world.”

  Having had a moment to grow accustomed to the bizarre box, my eyes were at last able to perceive other contents of the room. Namely, what looked to be a great doorway of stone and metal, a frame twice the height and breadth of a normal one. It stood in the center of the room, providing no entrance or exit to anywhere. Valeria exchanged some form of sign language with the rogues while I struggled to make sense of everything I saw. As softly as she could, Indra loaded her crossbow.

  Having been ruined by the waters through which we swam—and, perhaps, some time of under-use—the string snapped with an unfortunate twang.

  Both our enemies’ heads whipped in my direction.

  I drew Strife without delay.

  SACRIFICE

  THE WADJITA DREW her scimitar, but did not immediately advance. Perhaps that was because Al-listux, still with that one hand upon the platform before the glowing box, did not advance either. It only stood in study of me.

  Back again, Burningsoul, the creature observed, the tendrils of its words writhing through my mind. Back again, to the site of your murders.

  “I kill only when it is in the name and will of Weltyr. Were your broodmates not responsible for the theft and heretical misuse of a sacred artifact, I would not have had to vanquish the lot of them.”

  Then you ought to be hunting down those so-called friends of yours, rather than wasting time with me. The demon turned its back on me to tap along that strange flange of the box again. From the corner of my eye, Indra—beneath the savage glower of Odile—bit her lip and, quietly as possible, restrung her crossbow from a
replacement pulled from the (thankfully, water-proof) pouch attached to her hip. Al-listux, meanwhile, continued, My people’s rivalry with the durrow should not concern you.

  “Should’nt it?” I stepped out from behind the door, glancing at Kyrie as she lifted her blade to show me she was ready. While the women operated behind the door, I took one step into the room. “If the spirit-thieves claim the Nightlands, it will only be a matter of time before you crave all of Urde. You say you wish equality and the abolition of slavery here beneath the ground, but it is evident to me that is only because you consider all sentient beings slaves to your unnatural wills.”

  ‘Unnatural!’

  Hideously, Al-listux laughed—not just with mind, but with body. Its tentacles shivered and, with a gooey wet noise like the repeated popping of some aquatic organ, the spirit-thief showed whatever mirth it could.

  ‘Unnatural,’ it repeated, shaking its bulbous head and resuming its tapping. You have no idea, Paladin…it is your durrow friends who are unnatural. The elves and dwarves and orcs of your world, these things would never have come to be in the first place were it not for my people. Even you, Burningsoul, are unnatural. You have me and my kind to thank for the love of your life…for your own life, and your so-called ‘natural’ will.

  “So you would equate yourselves to gods? At least you’re doing it out loud for once, I suppose.”

  We are gods, insisted the sacrilegious demon. We are, all of us, descended from the Dreamer’s flesh—and you, from its mind. As the body controls the dream, it is our duty to shepherd the flesh of Urde to its destiny.

  “And what destiny is that?”

  Transcendence, it answered, producing one more hefty tap from the flange it touched.

  The building quaked beneath my feet and a strange smell filled the air—the scent of a thunderstorm. I recalled Valeria’s description of the presence of magic and realized only belatedly that this was what I experienced now. The notion occurred to me a second before a bright blue strand of light bolted from the top to the bottom of the empty doorframe at the center of the room: a beam of magical energy so thin at first that I was not sure I correctly perceived the sight. Only when it began to bob out on either side did I realize I was looking at some form of portal, slow-growing but no doubt meant to serve the demon as a method of escape. I braced myself, Strife gleaming before me.