“Here!” Elise called out from millions of kren away. “It’s barred, but it’s here!”
Ermolt bellowed, giving voice to the fury that wasn’t his own. He charged at the sound of Elise’s voice.
On instinct she ducked out of the way, which was good. His shoulder collided with stone. It was hard, but not unyielding, and he heard the sound of protesting wood.
A part of him knew that he could handle this logically. Running a blade, like Elise’s sword, into the gap of the door could dislodge what held the door in place. But that part of him was drowned out by the roaring bonfire of anger pounding in his skull.
The only solution he could think of was to hit it harder.
He reared back and then hurled himself at the door once more. There were sounds around him—of Elise moving, and of a strange hissing from the spirit—but his ears were seeking only the cracking of wood. All else faded to the background. Once more he slammed himself into the door, and the sound of cracking turned to splintering.
Elise screamed from nearby, and the spirit howled in response.
A final time, Ermolt pounded the door with his shoulder again, and the bar on the other side of the door gave way.
Ermolt was momentarily blinded as he stumbled into the room beyond. After being enveloped in complete darkness, even the murky illumination of the Temple’s dim white globes felt as brilliant as the sun. Elise stumbled out of the room behind him a moment later, and as soon as she could see, she turned on the door with her blade drawn.
But the spirit didn’t pursue them.
There was a vague shape in the darkness, and a thin feminine hand reached out of the doorway, but recoiled away from the light. It retreated from the doorway, and with it, the anger and sorrow parted like sound before a snowfall.
Ermolt let out a gasp of relief, and he sagged to his knees.
He didn’t move again for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Elise took a few hard, ragged breaths.
A fear of the darkness wasn’t a phobia she had, but after that experience, she wouldn’t be surprised if she developed one. Every blink plunged her in pure darkness, and she could hear the spirit’s fevered whispers bounce around her skull.
Shivers ran across her skin as the spirit’s thin hand reached out of the darkness again, stretching out for them. The fact that it recoiled back into the room did little to settle her.
They couldn’t go back that way.
Ever.
“Betrayal,” the spirit howled from the murky darkness, once again a faint whisper. “We have been deceived. Treason of the highest order! There can be no absolution! No mercy! Your kind must pay!”
The voice resonated in Elise’s skull, threatening to draw out the pain and rage the creature had inflicted upon her. But it was a distant threat, and one that had no teeth. Here—in this room, and in the light—Elise was safe from the unwanted emotions. She was thankful for the Temple’s glowing white globes.
“I wonder what happened to her,” Ermolt said casually, finally stirring from his crouched position. “What unfinished business could have possibly bound her spirit to this world?”
Elise carefully sheathed her sword, no longer needing to hold it against the threat of the spirit. “It could be anything—perhaps she left a fire blazing before her untimely death.”
The barbarian chuckled weakly at that, forcing himself back to his feet. He shook his head as if to clear it, and brought his hammer to rest across his shoulder.
“I too wonder, though,” she said, squinting into the darkness. The light from the room they were in seemed to be absorbed by the murky and unnatural shadow just beyond the doorway. But there was a vague outline of a woman within. She was sweeping her arms outward, as if trying to force the magical darkness she rested within out after her escaped victims. It, blessedly, had no effect. “I suspect the betrayal she’s crying might be related to the fate of the Temple.”
“Perhaps,” Ermolt said. He approached the door, though he stayed out of arm’s reach of the darkness. The barbarian leaned over to look at the shattered bar that had barred the door.
It looked impossibly thick to Elise, and she wondered how Ermolt had broken it.
“Whomever killed Isadon, and perhaps His dragon, must have first earned the Temple’s trust.” He grimaced, as if self-consciously. “I want to hate them for using such underhanded tactics, but would we not have done the same?”
He was thinking of Sirur, and Elise nodded. “Your hate isn’t your own though.” Another shudder ran through her body. “It was hers. Whatever they did, it involved her closely. The traitor was a good friend, or even a lover. For her to be so angry, and so sad at the same time, the betrayal had to be personal.”
She tried to not think of the Temple in Jalova. Of the people that had died. But her thoughts strayed, and Merylle’s face swam to the surface of her mind.
When the spirit had touched her, it had been the sorrowful look in Merylle’s eyes she remembered. The heartbroken mix of self-loathing and disappointment as she snapped her fingers, turning the Overseers against them. Merylle’s pain and confusion, the hurt of being turned aside. Of her heart dangling on a cut string in the moment before it would slap wetly to the floor.
“What I can’t figure out is what happened here,” Ermolt said, drawing Elise’s attention from those dark thoughts. “I know spirits are capable of strange things, but they aren’t usually inexplicable. If she can’t enter the light of this room, how did she slam the door? How did she bar it?”
“Could it be a trap?” Elise shrugged. “With the mechanical marvel that powered the teleporter, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some system at work here that puts even the most modern traps to shame.”
“That’s what I was thinking, but still, how?” He pointed to the remains of the bar, and then up at the wall around the door. “The bar had to come from somewhere. It wasn’t on a hinge next to the door, and there’s no hooks or racks up above that could have dropped it into place.” Elise followed his finger up towards the high ceiling. “And if it dropped from an unseen slot in the ceiling, there’s no way it would drop perfectly into place. At least, not without a loud sound that we would have heard from inside.”
Elise stared at him, puzzled. “What are you suggesting?”
“It’s possible that something else was working with the spirit. And that it closed us in there on purpose.”
“The Champion? But it’s on the other side of the Temple, right? What else could it have been?”
Almost in answer, there came a tinny scream from behind them.
Elise and Ermolt both whirled almost as one.
A frail old man was charging them. Elise’s first fear was that it was another undead, but his wild eyes and panicked scream made it clear that he was still among the living. Even if just only barely.
In his hands he was holding a fist-sized rock, held fast above his head. From the quaking of his frail arms, Elise could tell that even that small weight was nearly too much for him. His staggering charge veered from side to side, and Elise wasn’t sure who he was planning on attacking until he was upon them.
His scream was cut off abruptly as Ermolt reached out and grabbed the rock before the man’s scrawny arms could bring it down in an attack. The barbarian easily pulled the stone from the old man’s grip, and the frail attacker stumbled away.
“Nice rock,” Ermolt said, hefting it for a moment. It looked much smaller in Ermolt’s enormous grip than it had in the old man’s tiny hands. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
The man didn’t answer, but instead made that tinny scream again. He charged this time at Elise, his bare hands balled into fists.
Almost casually, Elise brought her shield up, allowing his fists to beat upon the surface. She winced at the unhealthy sound of his hands meeting metal. When he reared back again, she reached around, catching his tiny wrist before he could hit her a second time. She was aware of how frail the bones in h
is wrist felt. He cried out and tried to wrench himself away, but Elise held fast.
“Who are you?” she demanded, shoving his tiny body against the wall behind them. Gently, though, as she was afraid that she would break him. “What are you doing?”
“I am no one!” the old man replied in a voice that sounded unused for millennia. “And I am fighting you off!” His bony hands clawed at her grip, but he lacked the strength to move her fingers.
“Neither of those are true,” she said in a tone that was much more no-nonsense than she meant. Once more she pushed him against the wall, holding him into place with an extended elbow. “Tell me the truth!”
“Mercy! Mercy!” The man’s hand’s stopped scrabbling at her grip and he held his freed hand up in the air. “I surrender!”
Elise shoved him once more and then released him. He immediately crumbled to the ground, curling around himself.
While he wasn’t attacking her, Elise took a good luck at him. The man looked ancient. His hair was shock-white, and down to his shoulders. He sported a matching beard, although it was too unkept to be on purpose. Around his tiny frame was a robe, but it was threadbare and worn, and any color or pattern it held was long since washed-out by time. His hands and feet were bare, but calloused, and his limbs looked like nothing more than skin and bone.
Elise suspected that, if he didn’t have the beard, he would have looked positively skeletal.
“Alright,” Elise said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
“Trying to survive.” The old man looked up at her with glazed-over eyes. “I’ve been here for so long. I just want to live!”
“How long?” Ermolt asked as he stepped up beside Elise. He wasn’t holding the rock anymore, so he must have tossed it aside.
The old man looked to the barbarian as if he had just now noticed him. There was a moment of shock, but it passed quickly, lost under a pool of self-pity. “As long as I can remember.” He brought his knees to his chest and hugged them to himself. “This Temple has been my prison for so long. I no longer remember life outside of it.”
“What have you been eating?”
“Nothing.” The old man paused, nodded, and then shook his head, almost as if he argued with his own thoughts. “Yes. Nothing that I can remember.”
“You can’t have been here very long, then. Otherwise you would have starved.”
“Or I could have a poor memory,” the man quipped, a momentary grin on his lips. He scratched his bearded chin. “Which I might.”
Ermolt growled low in frustration. “Never mind it. Were you the one who locked us in there?” He pointed towards the darkness-filled doorway nearby.
“No!” the man said quickly, looking back and forth between Elise and Ermolt as if they were his capturers. “Well. I mean, yes, but no, if only because you survived.”
Elise blew out an aggravated sigh.
“We can’t leave him here,” Ermolt said, shaking his head. “He’s clearly lost touch with reality.” The barbarian brought his hammer to his shoulder, and the man visibly relaxed as if the weapon had been menacing him. “He needs help.”
“And how can we help?” Elise asked. “We can’t take him back the way we came. Even if we could get him through that room alive, the Champion will just find us. And it’ll be the end of him.”
“Us too.” Ermolt grimaced. “Perhaps we should take him with us. We can share our rations on the way up, get our hands on the Favor, and keep him safe on our way out.”
“No!” the old man screamed, flinching back. “No, please! Just let me go! Don’t make me go near the Favor again! Never! Never again!” He curled up against himself, looking absolutely pathetic. “Just let me go! Please!”
Elise winced and looked to Ermolt. “It may eventually be a death sentence for him, but perhaps we just let him go. He seems… um… comfortable?” She shook her head. “Not comfortable comfortable. But we’re in deep here. With the Champion after us, murderous undead around every corner, and traps all over the place, we can’t exactly afford to watch over him. Especially if he doesn’t want to go with us.”
The barbarian was silent for a moment before nodding. “I hate to say it, but you’re right.” Ermolt sighed and stepped back. “Alright old man. If you don’t want to come with us, we can’t make you.” He gestured with one hand towards the way the old man had come. “Do what you will.”
“Thank you,” the man said, quietly, as if he was worried that they would change their mind. Elise stepped back, and the old man scrambled between them, struggling to his feet as he tried to flee as fast as possible. “Thank you!” he called again. And then he was gone. Off into the depths of the Temple, or hiding around the corner. Whichever.
Elise shook her head. She didn’t like the idea of abandoning the old man to starve here, or else fall victim to the same undead and traps that they were struggling against. But they had no choice. They couldn’t force their help upon him, at least, not without putting their own lives in danger.
With a flustered sigh, Elise turned her attention to the room they were in. It was mostly intact, but whatever furniture had been in here was long gone. There was no hint to the room’s purpose.
Elise could sense a faint draft in the room coming from the far end, and she could smell salt on the air. There was a small gap in the room where the wall had crumbled to ruin, and the ocean breeze was entering the Tower from there. But there was a room beyond, and so it was likely that either the exterior wall had crumbled as well, or that there was a window.
The only other way out of the room, aside from the way they’d entered, was the door the old man had fled through. The stone door had been closed behind him.
As Elise considered their choices—between the broken gap in the wall and the door—she heard another tinny scream.
The door was thrown open, and the old man was in the doorway, once more with a rock in his hands. He charged at them again, and Elise could see that this rock was slightly larger than the last.
Perhaps he thought he had a better chance with it.
This encounter went almost the same as the last. The only difference was that Ermolt and Elise rolled their eyes through all of it. The barbarian set about slapping the rock out of the old man’s hands, and Elise grabbed him and shoved him against the wall again, hard enough to rattle his bones.
“Mercy! Mercy!” he cried, once more curling up into a ball on the floor. Elise wondered, briefly, if it was even the same spot. “I surrender!”
“So, what have we learned?” Elise asked, scowling down at the man.
“That we can’t let him go,” Ermolt responded, with a shake of his head.
“I meant him.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” Ermolt said, sighing as he kneeled down next to the old man. “We can’t let him go if he’s going to throw himself at us with a progressively larger rock as soon as he leaves our sight. Eventually he’ll break his wrists, or else dive at us while we’re examining a trap or something.”
“Alright. What do we do?”
Ermolt ignored her. He touched the old man’s shoulder. “We’ll let you go, but only after you help us get through this Temple.”
The old man swallowed hard enough for Elise to hear the click of his throat. He looked between the two of them. “Fine. I’ll help. But only as far as the third floor! Not one step after!”
“We’re on the second floor! Taking us to the third floor would just be walking us to the teleporter!”
Ermolt laughed sharply. “Honestly, that’s ideal. We can leave him behind at the teleporter, and with a quarter-bell lead, perhaps we can lose him before he can chase us down with another rock.”
Elise tried to imagine the old man stalking the many halls with a rock above his head. He’d pass out from exhaustion or breathlessness, if he aimed to maintain that tinny scream every time. “Alright, fine,” she said, relenting with a chuckle.
�
�You have a deal,” Ermolt said to the old man. “Get us to the third floor, and we’ll let you go.”
“Ha-ha! You fool! I got you!” The old man cackled, as if he was privy to some joke Elise hadn’t heard. “You’re on the second floor! The third floor is only four hundred fen away!” He got to his feet and started across the room. “Come on! This way!” He giggled to himself, as if Elise and Ermolt couldn’t hear him. “I’m such a brilliant negotiator. Brilliant!”
With a sigh, Elise patted Ermolt on the shoulder, and the two of them started off after their cackling guide.
It was going to be a long four hundred fen.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ermolt expected the old man to lead them back through the door he had exited previously. But instead he went through the collapsed gap in the wall. The room beyond was choked with rubble, with crushed furniture poking out from under the rocks.
Parts of the room were entirely filled, floor-to-ceiling, with piles of stone and crumbled mortar. They had to weave around the piles, and were even forced to climb over others. In places, Ermolt had to crouch to keep his head from brushing against the ceiling.
They walked in silence, with the old man occasionally giggling or muttering to himself in a tongue Ermolt didn’t understand. Ermolt didn’t mind. It wasn’t that annoying shriek, and there were way fewer rocks being held threateningly at him.
But it seemed to get to Elise. She made vague grumbling noises before finally addressing the old man, as if getting him to talk to her would make things any better. “I don’t suppose you’d like to hear news from outside the Temple, would you?”
“As if I couldn’t guess,” the old man said. He turned to her briefly and rolled his eyes. “King Ludowika is still trying to ask for prayers to Kildir before allowing travelers entry into Feldhok, and not even Dietrich can get the rest of the Lublis Council motivated to stop him. Right?”
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