by Wil Clayton
Chapter 21
The stone continued to rise in the well.
"What are we after?" asked Raphtune from behind the white mask, lit only by the dim green light that came from above.
"You know," replied Shaol.
"I want to hear you say it."
"The cloaks."
"And then we're out."
Shaol felt the hilt of knife in his hand, he shifted the weight blade back and forth until it was comfortable.
"Take the box and hide," said Shaol, "I'll deal with the Grey Men."
"Shaol?"
"I don't want to hear what Raphtune the Lucky thinks, you can't understand this."
There was a moment between the two.
"If that's what you want," said Raphtune quietly.
Above the circle of green light grew larger until the stone finally came to a stop. The water that fell from the sky spun around the tower as the wind screamed around the pillars that held the level above.
Shaol looked out, the dead lands of Gart stretched out as far as he could see, even the tallest point in the city could not escape the stone and dirt it stood to protect.
Shaol went to the edge and looked down at the stone city, no water was falling beyond the black wall. He could see red fires burning large and bright in the open squares amongst the buildings, large banners being waved as they were marched through the tangled streets. Shaol knew what the Masters did below as the clouds roared above the fortress.
A stairway stuck out from the side of the tower, circled around the outside and up, the stray water drops splattered against the steps as green light from above danced across the wet stone.
The stone in the centre of the room started to drop.
"Shaol," shouted Raphtune as he leapt from the stone.
"Let it come," said Shaol pulling back from the edge and putting the wooden box on the ground next to some green leaves that were starting to turning to black powder in shallow beds of dirt.
"Don't be a fool," said Raphtune calmly.
"Get behind me."
"Shaol, you need to bring the stone back now."
Shaol took the knife and cut his left palm, the blood seeped through his fingers and drop to floor.
"Raphtune, you need to be behind me."
The white mask looked at Shaol for a moment and then found a place behind. The well started to vibrate as the stone rose inside.
Shaol found the song that took the bolt, it rose louder and faster than it did before and he found a form within it. The green eyes flew from the well, the black form came at Shaol.
There was an explosion of unseen energy as the sound found its life, a beast like Friend, large and winged, flew forward. The two collided, the winged form kept moving forward as the black stone of beast became nothing but a cloud of dust that was quickly scattered by the winds. The form of sound kept going, the columns at the side of the tower became nothing and the roof above cracked as it found there was no longer pillars to support it.
The form disappeared into the distance as it continued to fly straight and true. Shaol fell to his knees, he wanted to be with it, far from all these people he could not save. The stone cracked next to him and Shaol felt something moved against his hand, a small tree of green, curled its way up around his finger.
"Shaol," shouted Raphtune, "get up."
Shaol did not want to listen but he did, there was more to be done. Shaol rose, he felt Raphtune's hand on his as he tried to take the hilt from his hand.
"Not now, Shaol," said the white face calmly, "it's not time."
Shaol grabbed Raphtune's hand, the cut burned as blood slipped between his fingers and the boy's hand. Shaol did not loosen his grip on the blade.
"Keep the box safe," said Shaol, "I'll be back with the cloaks."
Raphtune pulled his hand away.
Shaol found the steps that circled the tower and followed them up and around to the top of tower. There should have been a pain in chest, the water should have stung his skin but he could not feel any of it now.
A green flame danced above a stone table. Grey Men knelt in front of it their heads tipped back to the sky, their hoods dropped exposing their shrunken, drained faces. Their skin pulsed with the same green light that took the rest of land, some of them had collapsed and lay still, motionless, dead at the bottom of the stone table their hands still grasping at creatures with wings and bodies of dogs while the others sat frozen in their place, their eyes open and vacant.
"You have not finished us," said a Grey Man emerging from the darkness into the green light of the flame, "more will come in our place. Zeria will hold against your assault."
"Do you die like normal men?" asked Shaol.
"Yes," replied the Grey Man, "do you?"
Shaol flexed his hand, reopened the cut and threw the blood on the floor, the Grey Man did not move or look away as Shaol found the song and the form. The knife of a butcher made of nothing but the sound flew through the air sliced into the Grey Man and two halves crumpled to ground, organs and blood spilling across the floor.
The blood screamed. It bellowed with a strength that made Shaol stumble back and drop to the floor. There was nothing to the Grey Man's song but the fact that it would not be denied, it would be listened too until it was done with a sound of pure aggression.
"It is a fearsome the song, but it is nothing when matched with yours" came the voice of the thing named Sulla cutting effortlessly over the thunderous wall of noise.
Shaol could not think, he could not speak, the song screamed away all of his thoughts.
The thing stood, motionless, in a stone arch next to the table but even in the light of the green flame, its face was a brilliant white framed by long, colourless hair. It was wrapped in a cloak that was blacker than anything could truly be, but shimmered as it reflected an unseen silver light.
Its face was hideous, a tight skin pulled over a skull that seemed to want to burst out of its restraints, its mouth stretched back making it too long and thin, its eyes invisible inside thin, long slits of black. It gripped its cloak with long fingers that were nothing but bone and skin, the fingertips nothing more than stumps without fingernails.
Shaol went to speak again but the song held back his words.
"Of course, the cloaks," said the spirit, "that one seems a little too bloody for use."
Shaol pulled himself from the floor, his body still worked and with it he moved towards the dead ones that lay sprawled on the ground.
"Death is something that has always come easy to Tarlnath as more are about to learn. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Shaol pulled at the grey cloak.
"Tarlnath does not give up anything without a price and the price has not yet been paid."
The song of force continued to assault Shaol's mind.
"How many for a cloak, Shaol?"
The body tumbled from the cloak wrapped in nothing but a dirty loincloth, its skin flacked and grey.
"It doesn't matter, there are always more to take."
Shaol needed three, no two, no. This was all he needed now.
"Thumbs will know, will they be poisoned like Loss-Eye or will they be bled like Pysuun or will they be cut a thousand times like Hassa?"
Shaol looked out at the fires that burnt red in the city beyond.
"It must be this way," said Shaol quietly his voice suddenly cut through the sound.
"As a child of the city, you knew it would end this way."
"It couldn't be different."
The boy wept into waters of the lake as his friend hovered beneath the smooth surface, her eyes burning from the depths.
"I'll kill 'em all," the boy had cried hitting the water.
"How many can you kill?"
"Enough."
"There are never enough, Shaol."
"I don't care."
"And when it is done you will be as dead as Loss-Eye."
The boy continued to cry into the water of the lake.
"Y
ou need to pull the water."
"No."
"Please, listen to me."
"Why?"
"Because I am your friend."
"Why did he?" the boy cried.
"These are the poison thoughts, Shaol, poison like the water that kills the land. It is easy to give in to them, it is easy to let the hatred take you but you have can't let yourself turn sour like the Old Ones. You can't let this change you, you are too important."
"I want my friend."
"He is gone, Shaol. He has been taken from you and you cannot change that, you cannot control what the Masters do, but you can be stronger than the others. You can keep the poison thoughts away."
"I won't."
"Today is hard but tomorrow will be better," she had told him.
"Drown him, Shaol, remember why you must live," she had told him.
"Only you can protect them," she had told him.
But who was he as stood at the end of it all. Who was Loss-Eye but a broken man powerless to stop the horrors that he knew would come to a boy who had been fed to a city. Who was Pysuun but a man powerless to find a loved son lost within the twisted maze of streets. Who was Hassa but a woman powerless to unearth a man buried in metal and stone.
"There is no way to end this," she had told him.
Who was his friend but a woman powerless to keep him from the madness of a city that stood for nothing.
The song of aggression and force was gone and all that was left was the roar of the wind and a distant song that climbed and all Shaol wanted was to be with it. He looked down at the flames in the city, he knew that if they could hear it they would want to be with it as well.
Shaol brought his hand out and the blood fell on to the stone and as it did he called the song forward and brought it into his mind. He felt something crack beneath him but he was not on top of a tower, he was home in the peace of his kitchen, his friends with him.
Something hit Shaol from behind and he was knocked to the ground. Another blow fell across his back, his legs went limp and his chest became tight.
"Damn you, Shaol," cursed Raphtune coming around from behind.
"Do not lose the song?" barked the spirit, "bring what needs to be."
Shaol saw the tree growing from stone, he tried to command the song but he lost his thoughts as Raphtune kicked him hard in the broken bone causing him to splutter and blood that rose in mouth. The boy jumped on his back and clamped his hand over Shaol's mouth.
"Swallow the blood, Shaol," barked Raphtune.
Shaol found the command, the floor cracked as the tree dug deeper and fruits exploded from its branches. Shaol spat blood onto the boy's hand, Raphtune howled as a thousand tiny roots dug into his hand. Raphtune brought the metal bar across the back of Shaol head with a weak blow, which pulled Shaol away from his demands.
Raphtune rolled to the side, flicked the blood against the stone and started to rubbed his hand, furiously, against his rough shirt. Shaol found the command again the stone started to break away.
"I'm sorry, Shaol," said Raphtune, "I won't hang for you."
Raphtune brought the bar down on the back of Shaol's head. Shaol head rang with a dull pain, he tried to find the song in haze but it fell away.
"Damn you."
There was a moment, the world became dark and the stone gave way to something soft. The pain in his head was gone and Shaol's legs moved again as he pulled himself from the grass. The world around him was black, given form by a silver that danced on the edge of the hills that rolled off into the distance.
A wind caught the silver and black grass that grew to Shaol's ankle. He looked down at his hand, the cut was gone, his skin was bright and clear against the dark world. A howl was carried on the wind.
Dark, grey and black trees erupt from the earth around him, tearing apart the soil and disrupted the silence.
"Come back to the city, Shaol," came the voice of the spirit, "Tarlnath still stands."
Shaol turned in the forest clearing that had engulfed him and there sat a shone a brilliant silver figure draped in red atop a rough stone which rose from the earth.
"Another chance, Shaol," said the spirit, "there is time to make it right."
Something was circling the edge of the clearing.
"You can return and let it be done" said the spirit as it stretched out its white, thin hand, "take my hand, Shaol."
The cloak of red fell like melted wax down the body of the spirit and onto the rock beneath, where it swam amongst the ridges in the stone. A low growl came from edge of the clearing.
"You must come with me now, Shaol. Once the dogs have you, there is nothing I can do."
Slowly, a dog, larger than a man, emerged from between the trees its head low to the ground, its coat shimmered silver as it moved.
"You are the only one who can save them," said the spirit.
Shaol looked at the dog and found the madness was gone. The torturous thoughts, the desire to fight another day, the need to save those he could not, gone and all there was now was a peace.
"No," said Shaol quietly, "no, I won't."
The dog stepped cautiously towards Shaol.
"Tarlnath will stand another thousand years."
"If it must," said Shaol calmly, "if it is to be different then let Raphtune take it, let Aksit take it, let the Grey Men tear it apart with the powers of their god. I have suffered enough, I will have my peace."
Shaol looked into the pure white of the dog's eyes and felt a fear run through him but he did not want to run. The beast pounced forward and with a single bite it took Shaol into its mouth. He was pulled from the ground as the fangs cut into his flesh, but there was no pain just a feeling of warmth that flowed through this body.
The spirit in red and its rough stone chair was gone from the clearing as the dog turned and found a way through the trunks and black leaves. The dog emerged from the small forest and bounded across the dark, barren hills as Shaol was held firm in its mouth.
The gentle slopes gave way to mountains. The dog did not stop, he leapt from one rocky shelf to next ascending the cliff. Soon both, were at the top looking out on the world as a moon of pure white shone from above.
The beast leapt from the top of the mountain and Shaol's vision blurred as the mountain rushed past. The journey continued across an open plain until the dog started to slow its pace to a gentle plod. Ahead, Shaol saw the world bend as the earth sloped inwards.
More dogs were approaching the slope and in their mouths were all manner of others, their colours brilliant against the black of the world. Shaol looked for Pysuun or Hassa or any the others he had led to this place but he did not see any that he knew. The world continue to fall away until it was nothing but a black pit.
This was where his path always led. Shaol had known that from the day he had seen the raiders come to his village, take his family and his life. In his last moments, he hoped for the day the city of stone would fall and the dance was finally done and he wished it would be with the Masters and Unders walking away from the city, together, to a land were none had suffered. But Shaol knew the city better than any and he knew the price it would demand for its an, a suffering that would eclipse all that came before.
The dog lowered its head and Shaol slipped from its jaws. There was nothing below and as Shaol fell he felt himself become nothing within it.