“We’re in a hurry,” Elise said between gasps for breath.
“Oh.” He looked down at the coin again, blinking as if he was finally processing the amount. “Oh! Right. Yes. Right away, miss.” Arms nearly as thick as Ermolt’s worked the crank, those practiced muscles and ingenious mechanisms quickly lifting them off the ground.
“Halt!” a voice from below bellowed. “Stop that lift!”
Ermolt looked down over the edge of the lift to the mob of guards below. It was a dizzying height, even now, but the vertigo was only momentary. At the head of the group was a man still dripping from his unwanted swim in the market’s water.
“They’re likely talking to someone else,” the lift operator said quickly, and Ermolt turned to see that Elise had drawn Merylle’s dagger from her belt.
“That they are, friend,” Ermolt said with a rumbling laugh. He looked back down at the dampened guard and his companions and offered his best smile and a jaunty wave.
A part of him knew he would see the man again, and he would come to regret his moment of levity.
But it was worth it.
It would make for a better story to tell Athala later.
Ermolt had wanted to lay low at the Temple of Dasis. He knew he could find barbarian folks to protect them from Malger’s hired goons long enough for Elise to catch her breath. But she insisted that the guards would be swarming the other lifts onto the Rise, and the longer they lingered, the more of a chance they’d be surrounded and caught.
They found a lift on the northern end of the stone spire and returned to the ground level as quickly as possible. Elise led Ermolt through the backstreets of Lublis for nearly two bells, just to keep them from running into any other guards. It was late afternoon when they finally returned to The Darkest Night.
Catarin was waiting for them.
“You’re finished already?” Elise asked before taking a seat at the table beside her.
Catarin nodded once and pushed the thin black book across the table. “Athala does good work but she’s… distractible?” Catarin smiled, but Ermolt could see the sadness lurking in her eyes. “I translated the parts that are important, but almost a third of the book are notes she left to herself. I thought they wouldn’t be important. Or if they will be, you should have her with you to help by then.”
“What did you find?” Ermolt asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Anything you can tell us immediately?”
“There is—” Catarin paused and she looked around the tavern.
Ermolt was aware of the murmuring. Of the angry hisses and snapped comments. He felt the tension in the air.
“What’s happened here?” Elise asked.
“I’m uncertain,” Catarin said, lowering her voice. “I haven’t been paying attention, but the barkeep said something about a messenger arriving from Jirda with news. I’ve been trying to keep my nose out of it.”
Elise grimaced, and Ermolt pressed his lips into a thin line. Neither of them said anything.
“You know something.”
“It’s not important,” Elise said, quickly. “What is important is that we get Athala back. Please. Tell us what you can.”
“The book makes some ridiculous claims,” Catarin began, tapping the cover for emphasis. “If it hadn’t been written in Athala’s own hand, I would have called it fiction. She claims there’s a Temple to a dead God in Marska, but that’s preposterous, right? There are only seven Gods, and Gods don’t die.”
Once more, Elise and Ermolt sat in silence, but this time Catarin glared at them and refused to continue. Ermolt cleared his throat. “You don’t have to believe it. But Athala does—did—and her belief is our only hope.”
Catarin looked at the book for a dark moment before nodding. “She theorized a lot outside of transcribing whatever book she found.” With shaking hands, Catarin fetched the journal from the middle of the table and opened it. In between each pair of pages was a loose sheet of paper where Catarin’s smooth and neat handwriting pointed out various things on each page in direct contrast to Athala’s tight scrawl. “The God, Isadon, had some relationship with Ydia. Athala theorized it was a rivalry, but she had no evidence of that. In His fall, Khule took in the refugees from Marska that escaped whatever calamity occurred. But what’s important to you is what was left behind.”
“The Favor of Isadon,” Elise said, almost in a whisper.
“And more, besides.” Catarin turned a few more pages. “The Favor itself is contained within a relic at the top of the Temple. Though traversing it will be dangerous. Athala mentions that the reason most of the information about the Temple comes from forbidden texts instead of a direct study is due to the guardians attacking anyone who approach the Temple. Descriptions of the Temple also discuss some unusual mechanisms, and Athala wanted to study them.”
“Perhaps she will,” Ermolt said with a smile. “If she sees something really interesting, I doubt we could drag her away from it anyway.”
“But you must!” Catarin said, snatching the book away in fear. “Malger must be stopped! Athala is the only one who can do it within the confines of the law.”
“Of course,” Elise said, reaching out and putting her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “We haven’t forgotten. You’ve held up your end of the bargain, and we intend to keep ours as well.”
Catarin hesitated for the briefest moments before returning the book to the table. “Alright. And… well, I have one more thing for you.” She paused, drawing a vial out of her apron pocket. “The book doesn’t mention anything specific about the guardians, or about the Favor itself. There’s no mention of what state Athala will be in after, either.” She held the vial out, almost as if it was an item to be revered.
“What is it?” Elise asked, reaching out to take it before the answer was given.
“A healing potion. And a special one, besides.” Catarin smirked, and Ermolt found himself mirroring it. “One of Malger’s own recipes. I don’t know who helped him come up with it—I hate to think that he might be this brilliant on his own—but it’s significantly more potent than the common ones we sell to the public.”
“How did you get it, then?” Ermolt asked as Elise turned it over in her hands, looking through the red glass to the viscous fluid within. “Did you buy it?”
“Hah! Malger doesn’t pay us well enough to afford what he has us making.” She lowered her voice, leaning in towards them. “But he also doesn’t pay us well enough to not sneak the ingredients out of the manufacturing house.”
Ermolt clasped the small woman on the shoulder. She flinched away from his touch, almost as if she was expecting a hit to follow it up, but relaxed when she looked up to see his beaming smile. “Thank you. I hope we do not need it, but we appreciate it just the same.”
“Of course,” Catarin said before touching Ermolt’s hand ever so gently. “Anything for Athala. Bring her back. Please.”
Chapter Seven
They said their goodbyes and shared the momentary tears of new friends who might never see one another again. But there was hope, and that hope would fuel them.
Elise wasn’t sure what it was about Catarin that she found so endearing. Perhaps it was the woman’s strength while enduring, or it was the blistering emotions that thrived despite the world of cold logic and frequent beatings.
But more likely it was the connection. The friendship they shared with a woman who was above all others, and who deserved happiness and life.
Elise looked to the book still sitting in the center of the table. It sat motionless against the wooden surface, mocking her by being both the catalyst that drove them forward, and yet not a magical object that could solve every problem.
“It’s not dark yet,” Ermolt observed, casually, although Elise heard the tension in his tone.
“Did you have something else to do before nightfall?”
“Leave.”
Elise looked up at the barbarian, frowning. “You want to go early?”
“Ther
e is nothing here for us any longer. And the sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get to Marska.”
Elise nodded, although she found her eyes returning to the book in the center of the table. She had hoped to read Catarin’s notes before they went, to have some idea of what they’d be up against. Reading on the road was hard, and Elise was worried she’d miss an important detail.
“We also won’t have to worry about guards,” Ermolt said, his voice automatically dropping into a low whisper. “We can make it far enough out of the city that they won’t catch us. And with no sign of us for days, Malger will forget who he’s looking for before we return.”
“You have the right of it,” Elise said, “but we should eat before we go.” She reached across the table, drawing the book towards her being. “It will give me the chance to get a good look at these notes so I can know what to expect.”
Ermolt looked over his shoulder to the mid-afternoon light. “Alright. A good plan. I’ll fetch us an early dinner while you get started.”
She barely waited for him to walk away before she dove into the book.
There were far fewer notes than she was hoping for. Huge swaths of the book went untranslated, but there were small summaries at the ends of those sections to give an understanding of Athala’s ramblings.
The whole thing felt disappointing, however.
After a few pages, Elise stopped trying to read every bit of text. This may have been a translation of her friend’s last work before her untimely death, but there was nothing of Athala to be found in these translated words. Catarin’s own purpose and voice shined through, blocking the last connection Elise had to her missing friend.
It should have hurt, but Elise found she had few tears left.
Instead, determination filled her. The world needed Athala. And it was up to Elise and Ermolt to bring her back.
Elise wasn’t sure how long Ermolt was gone for, but he returned much sooner than she expected with two plates overfilled with a spiced chicken and twice-baked potatoes. He slid the plate in front of her, interrupting her concentration with the delicious scent.
“Anything so far?” Ermolt asked as she lowered the book to the side.
“Mostly what Sieghard and Catarin already told us,” Elise said, pulling her plate close and scooping a spoonful of potato into her mouth. It was still scalding, but the creamy texture just under the crisped surface was inviting. “Early notes are about Isadon and His Temple in Marska, and there’s a few mentions of the religious aspects of His worship. There’s nothing about the Favor so early, but it does mention the guardians.”
“Anything specific about them?”
“Nothing confirmed—only what Athala believed.” Elise grimaced and glanced at the book. “As the God of Death, Athala theorized He employed the, um, undead.”
“That would explain why they are still there after centuries.”
“I wish there were just more details,” Elise said, flipping through the note pages. “Perhaps there’s something farther in?”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Ermolt said, his voice muffled by the mouthful of chicken and potatoes he had shoved into it.
With a smile and shake of her head, Elise returned to skimming the pages. Another three pages in and she reached another part where Catarin hadn’t translated. There was just a small note that read ‘She starts writing about Temple architecture here, and none of it seems important to Isadon’s Temple.’ And then the next five pages were just more of Athala’s tight script dancing across the page. After the second page there was a note from Catarin that read: “She’s still going on. The Temple in Teis was a sight to see, I guess?”
Pain blossomed in Elise’s chest. She almost wished Catarin had translated the whole thing just to have that little bit of Athala’s scattered brain on paper.
Eventually, Catarin’s notes picked back up talking about the construction of the Temple, and it seemed like Catarin had a bit of Athala’s bug for over explaining, since she went into some weird details about mechanisms interacting with the magic of the Temple. Elise skimmed ahead. She didn’t need all the details.
Instead, she needed to know if there was anything they would require for the journey.
There was mention of traps being used in rituals, as well as something about a giant pit built into the Temple.
But neither of those required more preparation than they’d already had.
Much of the middle of the thin tome was about the philosophy and worship of Isadon. Catarin put a note in the margin of her translation that called out how this had been important to whatever Athala had been doing with the original text, though she wasn’t sure if it would be important to the exploration of the Temple. Apparently Isadon was not just the God of the dead, but also of death itself. His clergy were expected to embrace death, and the risk of it at every turn and in every moment.
Death was unpredictable.
Life must be lived with no regrets.
Any words left unsaid, or deeds left undone, could go unfinished forever with one wrong move.
These were philosophies Elise could agree with. Things she’d lived her life by.
Because they were the foundations of Ydia’s teachings.
Elise continued to skim over the text. It caught her eye that the Priests of Isadon faced death daily within the Temple. Athala had commented that it meant the Temple was dangerous before whatever had happened to awaken the guardians. She hadn’t been certain if it meant some number of the guardians were already loose in the Temple, or that the place was loaded with traps.
Possibly both.
“Elise?” Ermolt said, interrupting her reading. He reached over and closed the book in front of her. “It’s been almost a bell. Eat your dinner. You need your strength, and we need to get going.”
“You’re right,” Elise said, blinking a few times. She hadn’t realized how long she had spent pouring over the text. Her food was cold, but it was still dense and filling, and would keep her going through the night until they made camp well out of sight of the city. “Thank you,” she added belatedly, after a couple of bites had passed between her lips.
“Of course. Did you learn anything interesting?” Ermolt asked, his voice low. He looked over his shoulder, uncomfortably, and Elise finally began to notice that an argument was breaking out.
They’d overstayed their welcome.
“Just all of our worst fears,” Elise said, trying to both shovel food in her face and listen to what the argument was about. “Guardians. Traps. Giant pits.” She nodded to the pack of supplies they had picked up at the market. “Your climbing gear might be our salvation.”
“Good. So, we should be ready to go as soon as we’re done here?” Ermolt jerked his head back towards the argument. “Sooner is better.”
“What started it?”
“Something about Numara. It seems like whatever they’ve heard about in Jirda has opened some old wounds.” He grimaced. “I can’t help but feel responsible for their plight.”
Elise only nodded in response. There was nothing they could do about it. They should just try not to think about their involvement. The Age of Mortals was nothing more than a lie, and they had no hope of stopping Ibeyar without Athala.
After they had Athala back, they’d focus on revenge. But after that? Would they take on the dragons? Plan an attack against Meodryt?
Destroy the Gods?
Elise didn’t know. And she didn’t want to think about it, as pleasant as the thoughts were. One particular dragon writhing under Ermolt’s axes would be a dream come true.
But that seemed so far away.
“We should leave soon,” Elise said eventually. “I can feel the mood of this place, and we don’t want to be here when it comes to blows.”
“Agreed. Even if they don’t turn their ire on us for our involvement, then we at least want to be long gone before the guards arrive to clean it up.”
Chapter Eight
The trip to Marska would theoretically t
ake them only three days, based purely on the distance between the two cities. But Elise and Ermolt weren’t birds or dragons, and they would have to stick to the roads. The quickest—and most maintained—route was to the north, taking them up through Jalova and down into Khule, before cutting east to Marska.
But that would mean they’d need to pass through, or by, Jalova. And Elise wasn’t ready for that yet. There was still too much raw temptation to stay and help the Overseers. And too many thoughts of Merylle’s soft hair beneath her fingers.
Instead they decided to take the southern of the two routes. It was not well kept, and it did meander quite a bit more than the northern route, but they still made decent time. Ermolt was very accustomed to traversing rough terrains, and Elise was likewise accustomed to keeping up with the barbarian to stop him from getting too far ahead of her.
The road they traveled was poorly maintained, since it only connected Lublis to Khule, and much of the trade between the two cities was transported by river barge instead. There was much coarse vegetation that encroached on the edges of the path, and in places Ermolt had to duck low under thorny branches that stretched out over the road.
Halfway to Marska, they wasted nearly a quarter of a day going the wrong way. While the road from Lublis to Khule had fallen into disrepair, they didn’t realize they had passed the fork that would lead to Marska until the road curved northward to the river. They’d missed it because the road to Marska was so overgrown it hadn’t looked like a road at all. The only marker had been an old wooden sign—made by whatever scholars and researchers had found Marska worth study—which had been engulfed by a briar bush.
“I do not often complain about my choices in weapons,” Ermolt grunted as they shoved through the dense overgrowth,” but I would trade this mattock for a machete in a heartbeat right now.”
“Our plans were made for the Temple, not the road.” Elise wrestled with a low branch, eventually breaking it to open the path before her. “We had no way of knowing it was going to be this bad.”
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