Crossroad

by Riley S. Keene

  The name of the city caused Elise to flinch. Her memories of the untimely betrayal were still a raw wound. “A good point. But I think they’ll avoid the Temple altogether unless we draw them there. They’ve made their camp as far away from it as possible. It might be they assume all who go near will perish.”

  “Let us hope it’s not beyond our own abilities then,” Ermolt said with a thin smile.

  With nothing more to say on the matter, they followed the road down the hill and into the city. Again, Elise was struck by how intact Marska seemed. It was true that they were surrounded by encroaching plant life, and every clink and clank of her splint mail echoed back on her in the silence of the dead city, but they were not exposed to the elements.

  The ruins of Marska may have needed an army of gardeners to handle the swarming wilds, but it could be reclaimed and made livable with only a few weeks of work.

  And the people to populate it.

  The deeper into the city they got, the more Elise grew worried that the sounds of her armor in the eerie silence would draw the attention of the bandits. But whatever discomfort the empty streets caused her seemed to be shared by the thieves to the north. She assumed they stayed clustered together around their camp to avoid the sense of haunted vacancy that filled the streets. Her suspicions were challenged though when Ermolt waved her into a building, where he dragged her into a room accented only by a rotted carpet, and what looked like the long-abandoned nest of a giant bird in one corner.

  “What is it?” she whispered. Elise was afraid to speak aloud, since she was positive her voice would have echoed through the entire city, somehow carrying for kren.

  “Patrol,” Ermolt whispered back, “at least three, but as many as five. We could take them, but not quietly.” He knelt down next to the outside wall, keeping still, but with his hammer ready.

  Elise dared a moment to peek out the window, but she ducked back down quickly. She hadn’t seen anything, but the clomp of a nearby booted foot had spooked her.

  Ermolt’s ears were more sensitive than hers when it came to picking up distant noises—a result of his upbringing in the frozen north, where any wildlife could become a deadly encounter—but when it came to identifying sounds and their sources, Elise had years of practice from her life in the streets of Khule.

  There were seven of them total, though only three walked openly down the middle of the empty street. Two more followed from the shadows of the buildings, disturbing the foliage as they passed through the undergrowth. The last two were on the rooftops, and Ermolt nearly jumped out of his skin when one landed on the roof of the building they were hiding in.

  Lucky for them, his hide armor made no noise with the sudden movement, and the contents of his pack were secured enough to not rattle or otherwise draw attention.

  The barbarian gripped his warhammer tighter, but Elise gave a very slight shake of her head, trying to avoid rustling her armor. Their footsteps were passing. They hadn’t been seen, and the bandits were moving away.

  As they waited in silence, Elise wondered why the patrol wasn’t making more noise. She had expected the bandits to be boisterous and noisy, to try and drown out the weight of the city’s emptiness. But they were just as unnerved as she was.

  It was instinct for most humans to remain quiet in silent surroundings. Some part of the brain whispered that making noise were alert something, even when there was nothing to alert. Nothing to fear.

  But bandits were notoriously fearless.

  What was different about this place?

  Ermolt held them there, hiding in that room for almost half a bell, until he was absolutely certain that there was no patrol after the first, or that the patrol wasn’t on a short loop. When Elise stood from her crouched position, her knees groaned with ache. The barbarian muttered a faint apology before walking over to the giant bird’s nest, inspecting it. After only a few breaths, he produced a white feather that was nearly three times the length of his hand.

  “What was it?” Elise whispered as he tucked the giant feather into his pack.

  “It’s called a dromorn,” Ermolt whispered as they moved out of the building. “Imagine a bird two fen taller than me, with a hooked beak that can crush bones.”

  “And they live here?”

  “They’re primarily scavengers, and opportunistic. Like a ten-fen ocean gull, instead of a feathered wolf.” After looking around for a moment, Ermolt led the way east towards the Temple. “I imagine when this place was abandoned, a large amount of food was left behind. The smell of rotting fish would have drawn flocks of them from all across the continent.” He inhaled once, deeply, through his nose. “They’re likely long gone by now.”

  “Died out?”

  Ermolt shook his head. “Migratory. Likely returned to more familiar territory in the south. Near Balsiya.”

  With a wary eye to the sky, Elise frowned. “Migratory—so they fly then?”

  “No, they swim. Probably went south around the coast, fishing on the way. Or else their abandon of a freshly picked-clean Marska would have been historically marked by some extremely alarming stories out of Lublis on the way back down the southern coast.” Ermolt chuckled, keeping it low to avoid echo. “They sometimes travel north, though usually not too far past Hyt Pass. Only when they’re really desperate, though. I assume their feathers don’t provide good insulation against the cold.”

  Elise made a small noise in response, unable to both hold a conversation and watch her step cautiously. The closer they got to the Temple, the more rubble there was in the streets. She didn’t want to turn an ankle or risk a broken bone.

  But they found the Temple easily enough, though its positioning was strange compared to what Elise expected. In other cities, the Temple was a central location, and the city sprawled around it. The Temple of Isadon was on the very edge of town, and was further separated by a long and arching ramp that lead up to the front door, which was nearly five fen off the ground. It was surrounded by thick foliage that threw harsh shadows against the pure white stone.

  Elise felt tension build in her neck and shoulders as they climbed the ramp to the tower. She felt exposed as they rose above the ground level, even if the ramp didn’t raise them up high enough to be visible across the city.

  They made it to the door without incident though. Elise didn’t relax until she turned around to look out over the streets. She remained that way for a long moment, searching for signs of activity. But there was nothing. The roads were so overgrown, it looked like any patrols that ventured out here were few and far between.

  They were safe for now.

  After she was sure they weren’t being watched, Elise returned her attention to the door. Ermolt had already been inspecting it. The thing was nearly fifteen fen tall, and it looked like it had a mosaic across it at some point—the heavy stone discolored with a grid-like pattern. It was almost perfectly smooth, either by design, or worn by the elements. A slice down the center of the stone marked when the doors would separate, but they were perfectly flush. There were dimples in places, and Elise recognized the marks as those made when someone was trying to force entry. The marks were focused around the middle of the doors were there should have been handles, but weren’t.

  Around the edge of the doors was an arch of stones, much more severely weathered than the door itself, with some of them broken or entirely missing.

  “And so we go,” Elise said quietly, “into the Temple of Death, to bring our dearest friend back to life.”

  “Been working on that one the whole trip?” Ermolt asked, arching an eyebrow.

  Elise blushed. “Open the Nether-touched door,” she said with a smirk. “I’m sure you miss having an audience for that wit when you direct it at me.”

  The barbarian smiled wide, and Elise found herself oddly feeling grateful. She enjoyed not being at odds with him.

  Ermolt stepped up to the door, holding his hammer out to her. Elise took it, and tried not to stumble under its weight. He didn’t
notice. Instead, he had put both of his hands against the door. Ermolt’s arms tensed as he pushed, and the hide armor around his shoulders strained audibly as his muscles bulged. With a grunt and a shove…

  Nothing happened.

  Ermolt redoubled his efforts, and redoubled them again, his pale features growing red with effort.

  The doors refused to budge.

  They didn’t even creak.

  There was no sound of a straining bar or a pressured lock, or even the faint grinding of rubble. The doors weren’t blocked. They just refused to part.

  With a growl of frustration, Ermolt adjusted his stance, lowering himself to put his back and legs into the push. When that failed, Elise set aside his hammer and stepped up next to him, adding her inferior strength to his.

  And still, nothing happened.

  The way before them was sealed shut.

  As they finally stepped away from the door, both breathing heavily from the effort, Elise set her jaw. She stared at the door, allowing her seething frustration to fuel her.

  They would not be stopped here.

  Whatever this was, they would overcome it.

  They just had to figure out how.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ermolt held out his hand. “Hammer.”

  “We can get through this without making a racket,” Elise said, although she put the haft of the weapon into his grip just the same. “There must be some force at work here that we can outsmart. We might not have to overpower it.”

  Ermolt slipped his pack off his shoulders and set it on the ground. While Elise was likely right, his frustration was building, and not in a way that Ermolt found particularly comforting. The coolness of the ocean air stopped at the very top layer of his skin. It didn’t permeate.

  His rage was hiding, and it made him mad.

  Ermolt was going to take it out on the door.

  His hammer arched around quickly, the head smashing against the door with a twanging thud. The sound of the impact felt deafening as the silent city echoed it back to his ears again and again.

  Ermolt hadn’t even wound up for that strike. He feared how much noise the next blow would make. Elise shared his worry, backing away and looking out over the city as the sound of the strike faded.

  He kept an eye on her, watching for alarm to cross her stoic features.

  But after a long moment, when silence once more blanketed the city like a sudden snowfall, there was no sign of trouble.

  If anyone was alerted by his attempt to breach the door, they weren’t showing themselves.

  And the door itself sat unmoving, unaffected by the strike except for a few small scratches in the stone.

  Ermolt brought his hammer back once more. He wound up this time, holding the head of the weapon behind his head for a long moment before putting his entire body into the motion as it swept down.

  The strike was a powerful one—one that would have crushed armor and bone if it landed on a living foe. Deadly even to those wearing plate. He could feel the vibrations up his arm as soon as it connected. The resulting sound was a physical thing. A crack of metal on stone rattled the air, echoing from wall to wall for what felt like an entire bell.

  As he lifted the hammer away from the door, Ermolt expected to seek cracks.

  A sign of impactful damage.

  But where the head of his weapon had struck was only a hatch match of scratches.

  Barely a scuff.

  Ermolt rolled his shoulders in frustration.

  He wasn’t sure what stone the door was made of, or how thick it was, or if some magic reinforced it.

  But what he did know was that it might be beyond his ability to breach.

  He stepped back from the door. First just a step, but then another. And another. When he was fifteen fen away he stopped and stared at the barely-damaged stone.

  Barely damaged? That gave him too much credit.

  It was nearly untouched.

  Unaffected.

  He had failed to make his efforts known.

  Ermolt took two deep breaths and tried to sooth his desire for rage. He wanted to find it. To bury himself under a snow so thick he would no longer see a door, but instead see the endless flutter of memories that fueled his anger. Things like Klav in ruins, or the corpses of his mother and sister lying in the snow. Like Meodryt’s jaws closing around Athala.

  But he steeled himself against the siren call. There would be no use in giving himself over to the rage, even if it was present. No good would come of it.

  “I do not admit defeat,” he said to Elise in a gruff voice, thick with the threat of snow. “But it is obvious to me there is another reason this door won’t open. I believe we should find out why.”

  When she said nothing in response, Ermolt dug around his furs to produce Athala’s book. “Perhaps this will hold our answer.”

  The ex-Conscript nodded. “I’ll check,” she said in a weak tone. “Give me a moment.”

  Elise took the book and settled down against the wall of the Temple. As she read over it, Ermolt approached the door again, examining the spots he had struck. The door would have stood up to any hit he could have thrown at it. As much as the failure chagrined him, he couldn’t help but be impressed.

  If only he had armor made from the stones of this.

  “I can’t find it. If there’s anything about the door, then it’s buried later in these notes. There’s no rhyme or reason to the ordering here.”

  “Of course not,” Ermolt said with a grimace, stepping away from the door to take a wider look at it. “The author wasn’t exactly known for staying on one topic for very long, and she was likely referencing multiple books at the time of her notes.”

  Elise frowned but said nothing. Instead she returned to the journal.

  Ermolt returned his attention to the door.

  He wondered what the missing mosaic on the surface had been before it was worn away, or the colorful stones composing it stolen.

  The size of the discolorations reminded him of the Temple of Dasis in Klav. In Her Temple there was a similar door. The mosaic was a pattern made in carved bone, teeth, and ivory, stained with blood and animal dyes in reverence for the God of Fauna, depicting Her opening Her arms and providing the beasts and birds that would give the northern tribes the meats, bones, feathers, and fur they needed to build a life in the harsh weather of the north.

  Perhaps the mosaic was something like that.

  He couldn’t imagine the God of Death presenting such a pleasant picture. Instead, perhaps it was Him dragging some evil soul to an unpleasant end. Or lighting the way to the Nether for the faithful.

  The Temple of Dasis had stood in the wilds for centuries, maintained by Dasis’ power and only entered on holy days. A procession would be led by the elders, who would open the sealed mosaic door in a special ceremony.

  Ermolt had very little memory of it, since he had not attended one of the ceremonies since he first ventured south to seek training and heroism. How had they opened the Temple again? What happened in the ceremony? Ermolt scratched at his chin. His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes.

  There was something with the door. They did something to it.

  He forced his memory back to that place, even though it didn’t want to go at first. The last time he saw Klav whole was before he left for Celnaer Hold. His memory of it wasn’t clear. He was smaller then, and he couldn’t see over or around the crowd that mobbed the Temple.

  But his family, the Ragan clan, had been the last to leave that year. Their elder had been the one to reseal it.

  He couldn’t picture what the elder had done, but Ermolt distinctly remembered there being a stepladder. For what, he couldn’t remember. But it seemed very much the opposite of holy.

  Ermolt opened his eyes and looked to the top of the arch. The stone that would have sat at the apex of the arch was missing. It wasn’t the only missing stone, but it was the only one that was entirely missing. The others were clearly broken, leaving parts in
the hollows they had been pulled from.

  Of course.

  “Elise,” he said, “I know how to get through the door.” He turned towards her and pointed over his shoulder at the missing piece of the arch. “There’s a door just like this one at the Temple of Dasis. I don’t know if it’s magic or machinery, but there’s a keystone that will unlock the door.”

  The ex-Conscript frowned down at the book, then looked up at the arch. “I wonder why it’s not in this text. Perhaps it was part of the bit Catarin didn’t translate? It might not have seemed important, since she would assume the abandoned Temple’s doors would be opened when we got here.” She closed the book and shook her head. “At any rate, the stone can’t have gone far. It’s a rock. They aren’t known for their mobility.”

  “I don’t think we’ll find it here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The bandits.” Ermolt pointed to the pattern on the door. “There was a mosaic here, like the one at the Temple in Klav. I don’t know what people would use to mark a door dedicated to the God of Death, but it might be valuable.”

  “Well, that would account for why it’s picked clean. But why take the keystone?”

  “The one in Klav wasn’t made of stone. It was a block of crystal, a clouded blue. Perhaps the keystone here was similar. It would look valuable enough to pry loose and steal.”

  “What if they sealed it on purpose?” Elise asked with a grimace. She looked at Athala’s book in her hand. “They could be raiding the place for relics and selling them. Sealing the place turns it into a vault for their profit.”

  Ermolt nodded grimly. “What do we do then? If we charge in there and scatter them before nightfall, we can find the thing before they return with daylight.”

  “I worry they’ll take the stone with them.” Elise looked out over the city, frowning at the encampment that seemed to be settling in for the night. “I believe we’ll need to handle this with a bit of discretion.”