“In the darkness behind us—do you see the sickly yellow glow?” Tir asked as he strained to focus on the route ahead. The cart was moving much faster than it had been earlier. Keltin rubbed his eyes and scanned the blackness behind the cart with his fear mounting quickly. The smoke from the cart’s torches seemed to swallow the night itself.
“I don’t see any—” Keltin began, then a faint yellow glow materialized out of the nothingness. Another immediately formed beside it before they both vanished in a billow of smoke. “Yes!” Keltin yelled as he turned back to Tir. “I see the yellow lights. What’s happening?”
“Not now,” Tir said, as he focused even harder. “How close are they?” Keltin looked back again, and found three lights glowing steadily behind them. More winked in and out of the smoke as he watched.
“There are three within our trail of smoke,” Keltin reported. “And at least two more farther back.”
“Cast me twice!” Tir cursed. “It’s a full Hunting Watch. Hold on.” Tir made the cart lurch once again and Keltin watched a massive boulder rush past them in the night. Whatever pursued them was not shaken and slid easily past the obstacle as well. Turning briefly to confirm they were still being followed, Tir pulled a different handle in the canopy and once again the scraping metallic noise returned. The torchlight from the right side of the cart suddenly swung to face the plume of smoke trailing behind them. Keltin stared in amazement and terror as the yellow lights were replaced by at least six towering figures that appeared out of the darkness. They recoiled from the sudden brightness, raising what looked like long spike-covered arms up over their faces as the light struck them.
“Tir, what are they?” Keltin asked as the smoke overtook their frightening pursuers again.
“It is the Cynmeren,” Tir said with a sneer. “They’re twisted, vile beasts that plague the Penitent Faithful any time we venture into the Plateau Desert. We will either outrun them or they will kill us.” The casual way that Tir laid out the two possible outcomes made Keltin wonder how many times this man had faced death and somehow escaped its hold. A new light appeared in the far distance off of the right side of the cart, but its glow was different from that of the Cynmeren. This light had the familiar coloring of fire, and it flew in a long arc through the dark sky. A second light followed closely behind the first, then several more in rapid succession. The first few of these flying lights struck the sand behind one of the other carts like Tir’s, but the final two orbs of fire found their intended marks.
Keltin watched with morbid fascination as flames engulfed both nysks on the neighboring cart. Even at such a distance, he could hear the creatures bellowing wildly as they tried frantically to escape the fire. The thick beams holding the animals to the cart quickly snapped from the power of their flailing limbs, and each nysk then vanished beneath the desert sand. Only one torch remained lit after the nysks broke free, and from its light Keltin could see the other cart sliding to a stop. He saw its operator—presumably another Vessel Guard since he was dressed just like Tir—pull something from the back of his robes and turn to face the imminent threat. Then there was nothing, no cart, no fires, no operator, as all were overtaken in an instant by the wall of smoke. Shaken by what he had just witnessed, Keltin turned his gaze once more to the looming cloud of smoke behind Tir’s cart and found a line of flames speeding through the sky toward him. Keltin had no time to cry out a warning, so instead he turned, pushing Tir aside, and seized the controls.
“By the Call, newcomer, what—?” Tir shouted. Keltin did not reply as he slammed both guiding posts left and prayed it would be enough of a change to avoid the orbs of fire. One by one, the lights struck the sand behind and around their cart without causing any damage. The nearest sailed over the left support beam and landed between the nysk and the cart.
“Torch arrows,” Tir breathed. “Boy, if you hadn’t been watching our back, we’d be ashes for certain. Give me the handles, quickly now.” Keltin stepped aside as Tir resumed control.
“The cart on our right,” Keltin said in a daze. “It’s gone. That’s how I knew about the fires.”
“Venerates protect us,” Tir muttered sadly. “We’ll mourn them later. You keep eyes behind us, I’ll watch the way forward. With your help, we may outrun the Cynmeren yet.”
Keltin nodded and looked back again into the unwavering darkness for signs of their pursuers or another volley of “torch arrows” as Tir had called them. Nothing stirred within the smoke, an observation that caused Keltin just as much concern as it did relief. He surveyed the leading edge of the smoke and suddenly took note that the lights from all of the other carts in their group had disappeared.
“Tir,” Keltin said quietly. “We’re alone.” Tir let out a long sigh and Keltin noticed with alarm that the cart was beginning to slow down.
“No, Keltin,” Tir said as they came to a stop. “I’m afraid we’re not.” Keltin spun to face the front of the cart and felt the hope drain from his body. The figures of at least a dozen pacing Cynmeren shifted and blended into the shadows at the forward edge of the cart’s torch beam. The nysks churned the sand restlessly, seemingly begging Tir for guidance that would lead to an escape from such an overwhelming foe.
“You were a Fieldsman, yes?” Tir asked softly. It was the last question Keltin expected, given their current situation.
“Yes,” Keltin responded slowly. “Why?”
Tir passed him something heavy and metallic.
“This works just like a scythe, but it’s not for crops,” Tir whispered. “When the beasts reach the cart, swing for anything that glows.” Keltin felt the weight of the blade, but the burden that accompanied its usage felt much heavier. Even though Keltin had rejected the Venerates themselves, he still believed in most of the principles that they taught—particularly in the concept of peace and honor. In this forsaken land beyond Aldhagen, Keltin had expected to receive death, not take life.
“I’m counting on you, boy,” Tir said as he swiftly revealed a second scythe from beneath his layered robes. Without another word, he stirred the nysks into motion at full speed and charged through the mass of bewildered Cynmeren. At such close proximity, Keltin had to stoop quickly to avoid the swiping arms of the closest enemies to their path. When they realized the cart was trying to escape, the Cynmeren produced a loud mixture of bizarre clicks and hoots. One of the monsters managed to grab onto the support beam on the right side of the cart and began sliding towards Keltin and Tir. The cart veered left, then right sharply and sent the Cynmeren careening towards a well-placed blow from Tir’s scythe.
Keltin staggered at first, seeing part of the creature’s bulbous head and neck separate from its body, but he had little time for shock. Two more Cynmeren appeared at the back edge of the cart, gripping onto the floor despite being dragged through the sand. I will not die here, Keltin decided. And neither will Tir.
Looking from the scythe to the Cynmeren, Keltin noted with strange clarity the similarity to his daily tasks in the field. The reaching, clawing arms suddenly looked just like weeds, and the repulsive yellow glow marked the core of each invasive plant. Remove the core to wither the weed. Without hesitation, he swung the scythe and eliminated the nuisance before it could creep any farther into the cart. Glancing up as the two dying creatures slid into the dark sand, Keltin’s hope returned in part. The cart was gaining distance from the pack of Cynmeren, so much so that the wall of smoke had once again nearly overtaken the hideous beings. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like the main pack of Cynmeren hadn’t even tried to give chase. Keltin gripped the scythe tightly, staring into the smoke until he was certain the last glowing light had vanished. Exhaustion and relief took hold of Keltin’s body once again as the cart entered a narrow passageway between two jagged cliffs.
“We escaped them…didn’t we?” Keltin asked cautiously.
“Venerates willing, yes,” Tir muttered as he nervously scanned the route ahead and the cliffs surrounding them. “But those sounds they ma
de—that means that we have been marked for death at any cost. We’re still a half-day’s journey from Dism Slyde, and we’ve already encountered more than one full Hunting Watch. This is uncommon, and causes me great concern. Thankfully daylight is only a few hours away now—when it arrives, I will agree that we have escaped the Cynmeren. In the meantime, we need to stay alert. By the way, excellent work with that scythe.”
“Thank you,” Keltin replied with a hint of regret. “But I still feel unclean after taking the lives of those Cynmeren. I know it was necessary, I know they would have killed us otherwise, but the act still felt unnatural.”
“Welcome to the world beyond the walls,” Tir laughed darkly. Keltin turned back to monitor the smoke and think over the encounter with the Cynmeren. He could feel the motion of swinging the scythe as the recent memory echoed in his muscles—the sensation was nauseating.
As he fought his discomfort, Keltin saw a dark streak appear abruptly next to the passage wall. It looked like a straight stick or a sapling whip, but he was certain that it hadn’t been there just an instant before. Nothing can grow that quickly, Keltin thought. Another materialized in the same fashion, this time in the path directly behind the cart. He caught a brief glimpse of this stick in midair before it lodged itself into the sand. They aren’t growing, they’re falling, Keltin realized as several more dark streaks appeared within the trailing beam of light. Keltin heard a loud thunk and looked down at one of the falling sticks that was now wedged into the floor of the cart. He bent down to pull it free and heard another thunk, much more muted than the first. Tir cried out and the cart turned right sharply. In an instant, Keltin saw one of the sticks protruding from Tir’s right shoulder, then all he could see was the wall of the canyon as it rushed toward the front of the cart.
The nysks were intelligent enough to stop before running into something as stout as a solid wall of stone. Unfortunately, they stopped so abruptly that Keltin was flung against Tir before colliding with the front wall of the cart. The impact knocked the breath from Keltin and left him in a heap on top of Tir’s legs. Keltin shook away the spots of color that pulsed at the edges of his vision and attempted to stand. The spots of color were replaced immediately by a ring of solid black that threatened to overtake his sight in its entirety. Keltin breathed slowly as he fell to his knees. As his vision returned, he tried to make sense of the current situation. He saw the torchlight bouncing against the canyon wall as one of the metal light directors swung wildly around its torch. Through the ringing inside his head, Keltin heard the now-familiar sounds of the Cynmeren from somewhere high up the canyon walls. They grew louder with each second that passed.
“Tir,” Keltin whispered, still trying to force his eyes to focus. “Tir, we have to move.” There was no response from the Vessel Guard. Keltin crawled over to the man’s side and shook him with all the strength he could muster, but Tir still did not stir. There was a warm wetness on Keltin’s hands when he pulled them away, and as the torchlight swung over them he could see they were covered in Tir’s blood.
“Slag!” Keltin hissed as he quickly rolled Tir onto his side. He could now see with unsettling clarity that the stick in Tir’s back had passed all the way through his right shoulder. A sharp tapered stone was lashed against the end of the stick—Keltin shuddered to think of the pain it must have caused when it ripped into Tir. Though the man’s entire body was limp, Keltin’s breath caught when he saw that Tir’s eyes were still moving. The look of unbearable agony confirmed Keltin’s suspicion about the pain that the stick carried with it. If Tir had been able to scream, Keltin was certain the man would be deafening the stars themselves right now.
“Tir!” Keltin whispered hoarsely. “What is it? Why can’t you speak?” Tears welled in the corners of the Vessel Guard’s eyes as he looked desperately from his blood-soaked shoulder to Keltin over and over.
“I don’t know what you want me to do!” Keltin said frantically as he stood in a panic. Tir’s eyes ceased their rapid movement and suddenly grew wide as Keltin rose. He’s not looking at me, Keltin thought as a terrifying apprehension swept over him. Before he could turn to the rear of the cart, a jagged, glowing arm swung out from behind Keltin and slammed against his chest. The force sent him tumbling end over end into the sand of the canyon just behind the cart.
Dazed but still conscious, Keltin looked up as one of the Cynmeren climbed into the cart and loomed over Tir. It seemed to be studying him, or possibly just relishing the moment of imminent victory. Whatever the reason for the pause, it gave Keltin just enough time to reach for the stick that was wedged in the floor of the cart. Thankfully, it slid out of the wooden slats without great effort, and Keltin immediately thrust the sharpened stone end into a glowing patch on the Cynmeren’s leg. The beast howled with as much outrage as pain and spun to confront whoever had dared to attack it. As the Cynmeren stooped down, Keltin’s mindset shifted from fear to a sudden unexpected peace. At least I died with honor, Keltin thought as he closed his eyes.
Thud. There was no sensation of pain, no cry of victory from his attacker. Keltin opened his eyes carefully and found that the beast had fallen into the sand beside him. It struggled to remain propped up on one arm and was panting furiously from the effort. Keltin seized the opportunity and crawled back into the cart. As he stood on unsteady legs to push the nysks into motion, Keltin heard his attacker fully collapse and begin making a sound that was more terrifying than anything he had witnessed so far. The Cynmeren was laughing.
7
Minutes passed in silence as Wyand sat on his bed, struggling through ideas of how to approach his imminent meeting with the Venerates. The ideal solution would be to find a way to show the Venerates the stone but avoid revealing his memory of the collapse altogether. This would fulfill his promise to Grefstan and keep Wyand safe from any accusations of madness. The major flaw in this plan was that the Venerates would surely seize the stone and thus remove Wyand’s only tangible proof that his memories were true. A secondary issue was that he had no explanation for how he came by the stone without implicating Scur. The Venerates had taken Wyand from the mine after the collapse, and they would have noticed if he had such a peculiar stone on his person. He had to keep Scur removed from the Venerates’ attention, both out of friendship and for the sake of containing their shared secret memories. He knew Scur would confess everything to the Venerates if they pressed him for the truth, and that was a risk Wyand could not take.
Another, more extreme idea was to tell the Venerates the entire truth—about the stone, about the memories, about his knowledge of Haemlan’s death—but that was certain to be labeled as madness. Before he could truly confront the Venerates about their murderous ways, he needed to slowly spread the truth and rally every worker in Aldhagen that he could. There just wasn’t enough time. Wyand strained with focus as Reflection steadily slipped away, but no other ideas came to him. I’m not ready for this, he thought, but he knew that he had no choice: Reflection couldn’t end without revealing the truth to the Venerates about the strange stone and, by extension, his new-found memories. Wyand stood reluctantly and suddenly noticed a figure standing in his doorway.
“This is your fault, rock breaker,” a familiar voice declared scornfully.
“Silax?” Wyand said with surprise. “What are you doing here? What’s my fault?”
“Hirst!” Silax whispered loudly. “My Pathshaper was cast out because of your careless accusations. Don’t try to deny it.” He stepped close enough for Wyand to clearly see the hatred in his dark eyes. To even speak the name of someone who had been cast out was forbidden, so Wyand was very uneasy as he considered what other prohibited things Silax might be willing to do in his current state. Wyand searched carefully for a response.
“I did speak with the Venerates, that is true,” he admitted. “But I never accused anyone—neither you nor the Pathshaper—of anything directly. Even though you accosted me during Last Calling and openly belittled all miners, I still only suggest
ed that the Venerates investigate your group’s view of the other Tasks.” Wyand took a step back as Silax visibly tensed from hearing the truth so plainly delivered. “Obviously they did investigate,” Wyand continued with a note of pity, “and they must have uncovered something much worse than simple disrespect when they questioned your Pathshaper. His Casting was the will of the Venerates.”
Silax fumed with indignation as Wyand spoke, until he suddenly lowered his head and breathed in and out very slowly. The tension vanished from his stance and he looked up with an expression of eerie calm.
“We’ll see what you think of the will of the Venerates when it’s your name that can no longer be spoken here,” Silax said quietly as he studied Wyand with a keen gaze and a faint smile. The anger hadn’t disappeared from his eyes; there were brief moments where Wyand could see it plainly smoldering beneath the surface. Obscuring it from view, however, was a veil of something much more dangerous than even hatred itself.
“Madness,” Wyand whispered after Silax backed through the darkened doorway and joined the welcoming shadows. Wyand was shaken by what he had just witnessed, but there was no time tonight for him to worry about Silax. Wyand caged his thoughts and finally left the comfort of his room.
During Reflection, workers seeking guidance could find the Venerates in the area just outside the Hall, so that was the direction that Wyand began walking. His panic grew with each step because he was still searching for a plan. In such a distracted state, Wyand unknowingly wandered off of the edge of the main path to the Hall and stumbled when his foot caught against something.
“Slag and slurry!” Wyand whispered through clenched teeth. He looked down to see what had caused his foot to falter, and found that it was the edge of a stone sticking out of the ground. He kicked the stone smartly out of frustration, and gained a small measure of satisfaction when he felt the nuisance rock break free from the dirt and clatter down the path. It stopped within the light radius of one of the torches on the pathway, and Wyand stopped with it. Relief and hope flooded into his mind as he approached the fist-sized stone. Wyand finally had a plan.
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