by D. T. Kane
“You won’t need the locks once we’ve finished,” Devan said, starting forward and motioning for the others to follow.
The Keeper swallowed, as if preparing to question a god. “But certainly, great Aldur, certainly you’ll try to save—”
“There’s no coming back from this, friend,” Devan said without slowing his pace or looking back.
“Of course,” the Keeper said. His voice seemed unsteady. Heavy.
They made their way down a spiraling stone stair, air stale with age and much cooler than anywhere else in Trimale. That none came here seeking relief from the heat above spoke volumes about what lay below. Torches provided the only light, sometimes the bright, warming glow of mortal flame, sometimes the violet-hued flames of shadow power. The walls were unadorned, save for various scratches and scattered dark stains that Devan guessed were exactly what they appeared to be.
They descended until it seemed as if they must be at the base of the mountain itself. Then the stair ended without any pretense, admitting them to a single, narrow hall, illuminated by what seemed too-few torches, such that many patches of the passageway remained in darkness. Lining the hall were what at first seemed to be doors, but upon closer inspection were merely frames. Instead, water flowed from a gutter system above them that caused liquid to flow over the openings, obscuring whatever lay within.
“Why?” his pupil whispered.
Devan began forward. No use putting it off now they were here.
“Because,” he said, as he stepped onward, “of all the elements, the Elsewhere likes water the least. We’ve Tragnè to thank for that.” His pupil was smart enough to put that together, he knew. And smart enough to be frightened. Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.
They continued on, the sound of water flowing over the door frames as their only companion. He moved with shoulders unconsciously tucked in, as if touching the walls might burn. They reached the hall’s end sooner than he would have liked. Never would have been too soon. Facing them was a final opening, water blocking their view to what lay beyond just like all the others.
“Val? If you don’t mind.”
Val heaved a sigh, as if preparing for a great task. Devan noted with grim amusement that Val made no move to step in front of him. Then he felt the tingle of his friend’s channel. The veil of water before them lifted.
Devan was left staring into the face of evil itself. His pupil gasped. He sensed, more than saw, Val’s shoulders stiffen.
He stepped forward, eyeing what stood before him like a condemned man might inspect the gallows from which he’s about to hang.
The boy couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. Old enough that he had some size to him, young enough that the innocence of childhood ought to have still marked his features. But whatever innocence the face may once have held had long since fled. The boy’s lips were twisted in a sneer so severe it was painful to look upon.
And his eyes. Black as the deepest depths of any sea. They studied Devan with malice aforethought, as if the boy were plotting how many ways he could make him scream.
The child was secured in place, ankles manacled to the walls, arms stretched out to either side by chains that were driven into the adjacent walls with great, metal spikes. An iron collar weighed at the boy’s neck, also secured by chain to the wall at his back.
Devan took in this sight without expression, but inwardly his heart sought escape from his chest. He felt his pupil step up beside him.
“What have the Keepers done to him? Why would—”
“Isn’t she just lovely?” The voice that oozed from the boy’s mouth was pitched like fingernails on the lid of a coffin. He licked his lips, eyes perusing Devan’s pupil for head to toe. She bristled, an involuntary gasp escaping her lips.
“She needn’t be subjected to this.” Val had stepped into the chamber on Devan’s other side. “She’s seen it now. That’s enough. Send her back up. We can handle it without her.”
“Two Angels?” This time the boy spoke in a deep basso that shook the very foundations of the Cathedral above them. “I should be honored.”
Devan ignored the voice coming from the boy. “No, Val,” he replied, perhaps more harshly than he’d intended. Taking a deep breath, he went on. “No. If she’s to be raised, she must see what we face. What the Path’s true need for the Aldur is.”
“The Path?” This time it was the soprano voice of a young woman that emanated from the boy’s mouth. It spoke as if repeating the punchline of a bad joke. “The Path is nothing. Less than nothing. A fabrication of a fabrication, invented by the Conclave to perpetuate their position of power.”
Ignoring the not-boy’s insolence, Devan let his gaze move to meet Val’s eyes. His face was red with anger, brows drawn down. Clearly, he wasn’t convinced. But Val knew better than to further question Devan in front of his student. Val’s mouth thinned to a line, but he remained silent.
“What is it?” Devan’s pupil asked, gripping his arm with both hands.
Without taking his eyes from the boy, Devan eased her grip off his arm and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze.
“Your lessons. Recite them.”
“What? Here?” Her eyes darted to the boy, who’d gone back to ogling her and licking his lips. He now also gyrated his hips to the extent the chains allowed.
“In front of... of whatever that is?”
“Especially in front of whatever that is,” Devan said. “An Aldur can never forget the basic rules. A man may falter, causing other men may die. But if an Aldur falters, the consequences are far more dire.”
For a moment he thought she’d refuse. He’d seen it before. A Quintis of promise, a Linear who could channel all five elements and thus had the potential to become Aldur, falter in the face of this reality. But then she inhaled until her shoulders squared to what lay before her. She began to speak.
“All on the True Path is made of a combination of the five elements, each of which serves a purpose in the great order of time. Earth, for the path we walk; Light, to show the way; Fire, to bind it all; Water, dividing known from unknown; and Shadow, the mysteries that give purpose.”
“Good,” Devan said, eyes never leaving the boy. “Now tell me what you know of the Elsewhere.”
“I know nothing of the Elsewhere,” she responded without hesitation.
Devan nodded. “Yes. Good. But what do we believe of the Elsewhere?”
“It is ruled by the Seven, who were banished there by Stephan Falconwing. It is the origin of shadow, the fifth element, which the Seven twist to their ways.”
The boy lurched in his chains at this, the bindings around his ankles and wrists drawing blood. Devan ignored him.
“And what do we know of those attuned to the shadow?”
“Most are no different than any other attuned. They can manipulate shade, bend it to their will, though such talent has little practical use. Little known use anyway.”
She remained silent for a moment, considering. Then her eyes widened as if with revelation.
“But some, those most powerful in the shadow, they risk touching the Elsewhere when they channel. The Call of the Seven, some say.” Her face paled as she focused on the boy. “Channel too much, too long, and it’s said you can open yourself to the Seven, give them a glimpse of the True Path through your eyes.” Her voice grew to barely more than a whisper. “Most think it a tall tale. But those who study The Lessons know better.”
“You’ve trained her well, Angel.” This was another distinct voice, but very different from the others that had spewed from the boy’s mouth. It held neither menace nor petulance. It was level. Almost serene. Like a loving elder congratulating a young child. And yet, it induced more dread than whispered promises of a slow, excruciating death.
His pupil let out a low moan at the sound of the voice and staggered back. Val grimaced and clutched as his temples. Devan gulped, but took a step forward, keeping a firm grip on his free will.
“But
there is far more that an Angel cannot—or will not—teach you,” the voice continued. “Come closer, girl, and I’ll show you.”
His pupil’s back suddenly went rigid as a rod and she took several confident steps towards the boy. At the same instant, a haze came over Devan’s mind, as if he’d just awoke from a night of hard drinking. It only lasted a moment, but by the time he roused himself, his student was a stride past him, eyes fixed on the chained lad. He snatched at the collar of her tunic, impeding her forward progress.
“No,” cried Val. An instant later, a stream of water from the flow that cascaded over the room’s entrance hurtled over Devan’s shoulder as if shot from a cannon. It crashed into the child like an avalanche, slamming him into the wall. A guttural howl, more anger than pain, spewed from his mouth like vomit. Devan’s student dropped to her knees, gasping. Val rushed to her, murmuring in concerned tones.
Devan ignored the pair, eyes fixed on the monstrosity before him. It glared back through now-drenched hair that partially obscured its face.
“Enchantment is forbidden here,” Devan said, speaking in low tones. For the first time since they’d descended to this terrible place a hint of anger leached into his words. “The Conclave forbids use of channeling to break the free will of another.”
“Channeling?” it hissed back at him. The calm elder was gone, replaced by the crazed voice it had first used. “The powers of the Elsewhere are far beyond your meager manipulation of elements, skomn Angel.”
Devan sucked breath through his teeth at the pejorative. It was a word reserved for only the most despicable. Traitors. Kinslayers.
“What are you waiting for?” Val demanded, still stooped beside his beloved. She was crying now, face buried on his shoulder. “Banish it back to the Elsewhere. Free this poor Linear from their grasp.”
Devan didn’t think his expression had flickered perceptibly, but it must have been enough for Val. The already thin line of his mouth turned nearly invisible. His brows narrowed until they threatened to blind him. With a murmured reassurance to his love, Val stood.
“You don’t mean to save him, do you?”
The abomination chained to the wall cackled, a sound that reverberated through Devan’s bones like the tortured cry of a dear friend. He tore his stare from the once-boy to consider Val without compassion.
“There’s nothing left of the one who once occupied that body. The murder is already done. Only one option remains.”
Val regarded him with ice in his eyes. “You must at least try. There’d have been no point in bringing that, otherwise.” Val nodded to the satchel Devan still carried slung over his shoulder. “I should have put it together sooner, why you brought it with you.”
Devan glared back, repressing a frustrated sigh. He spared a glance for his student. She had managed to regain her feet and was wiping damp from her face. He wanted to reach out and comfort her. But that would be a disservice to her. She needed to learn.
“Fine.” Without further pretense he reached into his satchel, producing a glass orb just small enough to fit in one hand, if awkwardly. Its innards swirled with a mysterious, milky white substance. But as Devan handled the object, it began to glow with color, flows of red, blue, green, and black mixing with the pearly white, intertwining about one another until they settled on the color of Devan’s primary attunement. The bright hues it painted on the walls of the grim chamber seemed entirely out of place.
Val’s eyes darted to the orb, to his beloved, then back to Devan’s face. He nodded. Devan returned the gesture, then turned to his student.
“Hold the boy.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and she took a step towards the exit. “Me? How?”
“Use your strengths. Plenty of earth about us.”
She chewed at her lip for a moment, but then her face set with determination.
“I suppose this is one of the unpleasant sides of being a protector of the Path that I’ll need to become accustomed with?”
Devan inclined his head a mere fraction, but it was enough for her. She turned, regarding the creature-boy with a vehemence that caused Devan’s chest to swell with pride. It returned her look with a smile full of bloody teeth.
At first it seemed only a draft. But before long, a powerful wind began rushing through the door, forcing Devan to step aside. The boy’s grin turned to surprise, then a snarl. It strained against the gale, even seemed to prevail for a time, straining against the chains until they seemed certain to snap. Then all at once the creature flew back, up off its feet, smashed into the wall once more. It hung there, feet dangling above the ground, water dripping from its still-drenched form. It snarled, shouting curses that no child would ever even consider uttering.
Without wasting another moment, Devan hurried forward and pressed the orb into the thing’s hand, holding it there with a minor earth channel of his own before stepping back.
The pleasant glow the orb had held for him immediately dissipated until it was dark as the once-child’s eyes. Then it began to vibrate, shaking until it caused the boy’s entire arm to shake. Hairline fractures began to snake their way about the ball’s surface. Then it exploded, shattering like a vase dropped from great height. Devan shielded his eyes. When he looked again there was no trace of the orb, save for a sprinkling of fine powder scattered about the floor. To his pupil’s great credit, she’d maintained her channel. The no-longer boy was still pinned to the wall, off his feet.
“As you can see, Angel,” the child said, once more in the calm tones of the gentle elder, “We grow stronger. With every attuned who falls to our Call, we grow in power. The shackles of Falconwing’s prison will not hold us forever. One day soon, the right sort will fall into our grasp. We have seen it.”
“Your lies hold no sway with us.” Devan wished he felt as confident as he forced his voice to sound. “Stephan stripped you of the ability to see the Path. You’ve no more sense of the future than a Linear. And your prison has held for millennia. It will continue to bind you for all of time.”
A smile returned to the boy’s face. “We have learned patience. Millennia mean nothing in the Elsewhere. Time means nothing. The Path’s rules are motes on the wind of the Elsewhere. A wind that will soon storm down the Path like a maelstrom of acid, eradicating all you hold dear.”
“Enough.” Devan spoke with the vindiction of his entire race. “This ends now.” Intending no further pretense, he opened his mouth to give the final command to his student.
“So that’s it?” Val asked. “We just kill him?”
This time Devan couldn’t keep the exasperation from his voice. “This is what I do, Val. The work Stephan and the others have entrusted to me. We must keep the Path shielded from this threat.”
“Is there no other way? No other choice than the never-ending cycle of the Path that perpetuates this need? The slaughter of innocents who have fallen into the Seven’s trap?”
Devan shot a look of surprise at his friend. “Careful, Val. That sounds dangerously close to the thinking that led to the original Civil War. The Cataclysm. The Path flows forward in an ever-continuous cycle. It has always been so. You know that. Departure from that forward momentum is impossible. That way lays chaos.”
“No one’s ever tried,” Val muttered.
Devan could barely believe his friend’s words. “The Seven did, Val. And it nearly destroyed everything.”
He expected Val to nod in agreement. Even apologize. Instead he just continued to stare at the boy, face set in a stare of grim angst.
“Enough of this.” Devan turned to his student. “End him.”
Sweat had broken out on her brow from the exertion of holding the monstrosity for so long. Her eyes flicked to his own, then back to the boy. Devan felt her draw on even more power, focusing it on the once-boy’s chest. For a moment he thought she’d actually do it and concern gripped him. Then all of a sudden he sensed the power leave her and she staggered back with a sob. The boy immediately lurched forward until th
e chains restrained him, snarling like an animal. She turned to Devan, tears in her eyes once more. He took her into his arms, finally succumbing to his instinct to comfort her.
“I can’t,” she muttered into his robes. “Maybe I’m not made out for this after all.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, running a palm over her hair. “No one can do it the first time. I’d have been worried if you did.” He held her for a moment longer, before gently moving her away.
“Val, I don’t suppose you’ll do it?”
His friend only gave him a hard stare. Devan sighed.
“Fine. Take her back up. I’ll meet you in a moment.”
For a moment he thought Val was going to argue further, perhaps even try to stop him. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if that happened. But with a last glance at the boy, Val turned away. Putting an arm around his love, he led her from the room. Devan stared after them until their footfalls faded into the sounds of running water in the hall beyond. Then he turned back to the chained fiend. Immediately, the disorienting haze clouded his mind once more. He staggered and nearly lost his footing.
“So, it’s just us now, Angel.” This in the voice of a cooing female. Devan shuttered with a forbidden pleasure.
“Why not join us? With the power of an Angel joined with the Seven, we would be unstoppable. We could do as your friend says. Break the cycle of the Path, form a new world in whatever shape we desired. You could set us free.”
For a moment, perhaps even two or three moments, the prospect sounded like an amazing idea. What power he could hold. Maybe Val was right. Who was to say the Path couldn’t be altered from its cyclical nature?
With pure force of will, Devan shook himself free. He strode forward with purpose, sealing his ears to any further words. The boy’s eyes narrowed. The calm voice returned.
“What you do here is meaningless. The Conclave will fall. To treachery no less. One of your own will betray you. We have seen it and you cannot—”
Devan raised his arm, picturing in his mind a wicked, serrated hunting knife, and swiped it across the no-longer-boy’s neck. The fine chains connecting the rings on his fingers chimed as he did so, a dirge of finality. Whatever else the Seven may have sought to say was lost in the burble of red that spilled from the lad’s throat.