The Blackened Yonder: Planar Lost: Book One (Planar Lost (Standard Edition) 1)

by J. Gibson

  They climbed further to his well-warded space in the side wing off the central vestibule. The Ennead must not be listening to me here. He could not bring himself to suspect Aramanth of allowing such invasions of his privacy and trust since they had shielded his mind.

  “Mythos?” Amun’s curiosity overflowed as she sat across from him in his bedchamber.

  “We could have snuffed them out. The threat of destruction once loomed over the followers of the schismatic groups. I presume they do not discuss it much in your lessons.”

  “Not as you do,” she said.

  “During the Century’s War, blasphemers, false prophets, and those practicing the magics of the heathen gods were to be gathered and executed. Another folly of the Andesite.”

  “Why didn’t they?”

  “An inability. Lack of resources. The Empire had won and lost the war with Abbisad. Then came the revolutions. The Andesite had no time to hunt down religious dissidents in their own state, let alone elsewhere. Cults became too many, and the cultists, too widespread.”

  “What reason would Mythos have for killing so?”

  “We do not always act in accordance with the balance, neither us nor them. We abhor their god, they detest ours. ‘Tis a deep and fierce contempt, in my view, rooted in a misunderstanding of the delicate equilibrium of the Celestia, persistent well from the early days of the Blest Writ, when Aros and Ankhev walked the Earth.

  “Every cult believes their god serves the highest calling, has the fairest nature. For some, such as the druids of Sitix, this comes easier. Their god is simple, gentle. His aspect is in everything around us, nature itself. His Incarnation guides the lost and forlorn in his forests. The minions of Vekshia see her as the agent of all change—that everything is born from someone’s hope or despair. In this, they may be right.” He paused. “If Archbishop Umbra is correct, that Mythos is behind these acts, we shall see greater hatred, horror, and bloodshed before the end of it.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing, as yet, except prepare for the worst.”

  Without Amun, Garron may have resided in intellectual solitude. It could be her in exclusion who shared his concerns. “It might be our task to convince the archbishops and magisters to act against what they view as the Empire’s interest, what the Vicar and Archmagister believe right, what the Andesite before us believed right. We must open our minds to learning truths not for the comfort of this institution.”

  A decisiveness swept over Amun’s face. “I am with you,” she said, “whatever the task.”

  “I suspect I shall need you.”

  For one day, we may be the only ones left.

  CHAPTER XIII: ORDER

  Athenne

  This is the last door. Eclih has to be here.

  A serpentine tunnel lay before them. This time, the pathway presented no illusion. It manifested neither outside nor elsewhere. Nothing more than dark stone walls, floor, and ceiling filled the space. Poor light from unknown sources illuminated the halls, as if through invisible torches, lanterns, or candles, perhaps the only evident magic or trickery. They walked forward, eyes searching for a door, to the sides, ahead, above. As in the last path, exhausting in its twisting course, there came nothing.

  The longer they ambled down the passageway, the wider the hall grew, and the taller. After miles, they came to a towering iron door. On the outside of the door, inches from its face, protruded the Matron Star.

  Athenne lay a hand against the metal.

  It shuddered.

  She backed away, until she stood next to Bhathric.

  The door opened, sliding into the floor by a groaning mechanism within, dirt and dust spilling down from the ceiling. Upon entering, they arrived at the fore of a long chamber. Pillars at both sides of them faded into the darkness overhead, wrapped in stone vines like veins with sculpted leaves.

  At the far end of the chamber stood a massive altar. A face like the one at the front of the temple decorated the wall behind the platform. In the center of the floor, another seven-sided star, filled with a crimson color and outlined in white. An orange light, hazy and blinking, wavered in the space, once more from imperceptible sources.

  Athenne’s heart pounded. They waited and listened. A kind of electricity hovered in the air, static enough that it prickled on her skin and caused the hair of her arms to stand on edge.

  They strode forth, passing pillars and statues of armored women and men. Knights of Faith.

  Each step they took sounded louder than the ones before in the empty room, filled with a spectral stillness. Tension clutched her, as though someone or something may accost them at any moment. She felt the many pupilless eyes of the sculptures on them. There were phantasms in this place, shadows dancing in her periphery, stirring and receding as she jerked her head to catch them; tricks of the mind, either from the columns, the statues, the deviant light, or all of these.

  When they reached the end of the path between the posts, the center of the room at the septagram and the altar lit up. The sculpted face appeared larger than it had from afar, so colossal Athenne had to tilt back to see its peak. Standing atop the star were three armored figures, not there before.

  Eclih knelt at their feet, his head drooped. They had bound his hands behind his back.

  Black, interlocking plates over mail and jackets, embossed with the Matron Star at the center of the breast, protected the Knights. The resemblance of a woman, likely Vekshia, adorned the face guards of their one-horned helms. Athenne had never beheld such immaculate armor, not even among the Renerin High Guard and Alterforce.

  “Eclih!” Bhathric sprinted in his direction.

  “Don’t come any nearer,” Eclih called, not looking at them.

  She halted. “Eclih, what have they done to you?”

  “Bhathric Ezeis,” said the soft voice of a woman, one of the Knights, “keep your wits, and no harm shall come to this one. The Matron has need of you”—she pointed past Bhathric—“and her.”

  Athenne moved closer. “What does your Matron want?”

  “They took me to ensure you would come,” Eclih said instead. “Since our departure from Ghora, they’ve been watching. They brought us here because they wanted you to see. The man in the visions, a priest of the Matrian Church. A guardian in the underlands. Undeath touches him. He has not long to live. They say a miserable demise awaits him. He is a sick man.” He paused a moment, slender shoulders slumped. “The Church has replaced their lunar tears. Ours no longer work. We won’t be able to gain access to the Priory without their new ones, not even with Aitrix’s help. The priest has the beads we require.”

  “How is it they came upon this information when Aitrix did not?” Bhathric shifted another step forward.

  “Aitrix Kravae is no god. The Matron has informed us so.” The voice of the Knight sounded different somehow. “We desire as the Matron does to aid your Saints in defying the Church.”

  “Why not undertake and fulfill the mission yourselves, if you know so much?”

  “We may act but so far. Our place is to guide.”

  Athenne stood abreast of Bhathric. “Why does Vekshia have any interest in this? Why help us?”

  “Because.”

  This interval carried longer.

  The Knight tapped the tip of her blade against the stone floor twice, the contact emitting a whistling resonance.

  “She can.”

  A force flung Athenne to the outside of the temple. She spilled onto the ground, landing hard on her back. The Knight had expelled Bhathric and Eclih along with her. She felt glad of the moonlight and night sky. Relief, warm and sweeping and dizzying, swathed her.

  Bhathric lurched to her feet and staggered over to Eclih, falling to her knees at his side. “Eclih,” she whispered. She unraveled the bindings at his wrists and he rolled over onto his back. “Are you harmed?”

  He swept back his long blonde hair. “I am well.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve lost your horse.” Athenn
e sat up.

  The temple has vanished.

  “It’s only a horse,” Eclih said.

  Eclih and Bhathric embraced and shared a kiss.

  Athenne averted her gaze after a time.

  Bhathric uncorked her waterskin and allowed Eclih to drink of it, which he did, in deep gulps. Her hands moved under his arms when he had finished and helped him to his feet.

  They untied their horses. Bhathric attached a riding cushion to the back of her saddle from her satchel. Eclih would have to ride pillion until they found another horse. Common for men.

  “As much as I’ve enjoyed this secondary venture,” Eclih said from horseback, “I’m not interested in a fast. We ought to find a campground, fetch something to eat.”

  “We’ve yet to reach the Black Canal,” Bhathric reminded them. “We’ll need to make haste if we want to arrive anywhere near schedule. The others are surely ahead of us.”

  Athenne chewed her lip. “We need to turn back.”

  “Turn back?” Eclih repositioned the sword at his hip. “To Aitrix’s fury—”

  “Aitrix is no fool, is she?” Athenne said. “We must tell her what we’ve seen, here and in Ghora. These events are of consequence to our mission. If she’s unable to see the need to inform her, she isn’t worthy of leading the Saints. The others will wait until they’ve had their signal.”

  “On second thought, Athenne is right.” Bhathric’s grey eyes gleamed in the starlight, her expression and tone stern. “There’s no value in fighting to maintain our time if we die before we get there, or if whatever it is that interests the Knights of Faith and steals away entire villages is elsewhere. This is an extraordinary circumstance. Our comrades may already have perished.”

  “One village, that we know,” Eclih corrected.

  “More importantly,” Athenne said, “if what they say is true, we’ll require new lunar tear beads to infiltrate the Grand Priory, which means finding members of the Clergy outside of it. We don’t know where that priest is.”

  Eclih’s face looked contemplative, but motionless as stone. “So be it.” He sighed. “Doubtless, you two utter truths.” He placed his hands on Bhathric’s hips. “Before anything else, I want to eat. I may fall out shortly.”

  “We’re not taking the same path back,” Bhathric said. “I can’t bear to see it again.”

  Eclih nodded. “It’s best to avoid major thoroughfares. Anything that might split another village. We’ll take the ruts through the tall timbers.”

  This delay would cost them weeks of travel. For the better, Athenne hoped. Their situation had altered such that she no longer felt confident in their trajectory, or less so than she already had. There would be so little traffic on the backwood routes that they were certain to avoid prying eyes. Then again, there had been no others to contend with since they left Uldyr, aside from the Knights.

  Uldyr.

  Would they find him alive?

  “We ought to check Uldyr on the way,” she said.

  “Certainly,” Bhathric answered. “If he’s well enough, we’ll bring him with us.”

  Eclih laughed. “The man will be a pillar of steel.”

  If only I could be as certain. Athenne would feel better with Uldyr at her side. Eclih and Bhathric were fine companions, but he endured as her first and dearest. She had come to find solace in his presence. Without him, that assuredness had evaporated like water set to a boil.

  The roads they found on their journey were more treacherous than those prior. They encountered detours from barely-beaten trails to paths nary beaten at all, forcing them to battle foliage and branches and brush. The woodland around them seemed peaceful enough, still too peaceful for her liking, but better than too full. There were inclines and declines, winding streams and jagged rock sides, which on one occasion required them to pursue a track hundreds of yards around before they found a pass. They stopped at another point to attach feedbags to their overworked horses. The time to establish a camp had yet to arrive.

  After a number of miles and hours, they ventured into a share of the Fausse Woods which few had seen. Clearings ceased, trails, paths, roads, and markers ended. Their horses trotted through damp weald and muck. She grew worn of the scenery in permanent repeat. You must push forward. This venture has scarcely begun.

  Her stomach gurgled.

  They had reserves with them, goods to stave off hunger for a time; rye and wheat bread, sun-dried fruits including raisins, apples, pears, and nuts and legumes, some raw, others salted or roasted. Despite that, Athenne weakened. A dull ache throbbed in her head at the right temple and around her eyes.

  As if born of the air, a white rabbit with stubby ears appeared from behind a tree, its nose twitching as it sniffed at the ground. An adult male. Enough to feed their meager cohort.

  “Look,” Athenne whispered to the others.

  This could be their sole opportunity at a decent meal for miles.

  They stopped.

  “By Sitix’s blessing.” Eclih lowered himself from Bhathric’s horse. A silver knife with a black handle emerged from his belt, squeezed between his fingers in a pinch grip. “No one move.” He eased toward the hare, drawing back the blade, trying not to spook it. The creature turned its side to them as if to give him a better target. He threw the knife, catching it in the neck. It let out a squeal, fell over, and spasmed. After a few final jerks of its legs, it came to a rest.

  Bhathric applauded. “Well done, dear.”

  He gave a bow, sauntering over to the defeated critter and retrieving his blade. “With the eye of an eagle, I suppose,” he jested. “Let’s find a place and start a fire.”

  They continued until they stumbled upon a clear patch of land adjacent to a narrow river, at the base of a cliffside, which jutted out at the top over the spot and receded at the base.

  Eclih skinned and prepared the rabbit while Bhathric gathered kindling, returning with logs, twigs, and pine needles. Snow and rain had soaked half the fodder she had collected. They spent a while working to catch a spark in any of it.

  With the hare ready—flayed, beheaded, gutted—they skewered it on a metal rod, encasing their modest flame in a fire ring of riverside rocks, their meal in a delicate balance over the heat.

  “Well.” Eclih sat down with a grunt on one side of the fire. “We neglected to double back and retrieve our other supplies. It’ll be cool earth for us this night.”

  Bhathric dropped next to him, crossing her legs. “I’ve one more mat in my saddle-bag. Anyone can have it. I don’t mind. I’ve slept on worse.”

  “Athenne.” Eclih set his focus on her through the fire as she lowered opposite them with veiled effort. Fatigue burdened her, but she refused to let it show, not when Eclih and Bhathric had rebounded so quickly after such a physical and emotional ordeal. “You have it. We’ll huddle for warmth. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you out.”

  “I couldn’t. You two take it.”

  “Eclih is right,” Bhathric said. “I insist. Have it.”

  Athenne smiled through sealed lips. “Fine, fine. If I must.”

  “We’ll refill our skins and water the horses.” Bhathric shook the last drops of liquid from her pouch onto her outstretched tongue, which had turned white in its center. “I could use a bath, but I fear I’d catch my death.”

  Eclih adjusted the rabbit over the flame to keep the grill even. The hind legs had charred already. “I’d enjoy a wash, but we can’t risk a fever out here. We’d have no way to help you. We’re still far from the Keep.”

  “Don’t you know healing?” Bhathric asked Athenne.

  “I can cure minor wounds, not deep illness or injuries like Uldyr had. Otherwise, he’d be here with us.”

  “What else’ve you studied, if I may?” Eclih turned the skewer over on the fire to help the flame get at the back of the rabbit, the underside already browned.

  “Theology, combat philosophy, primarily. I’m ignorant of a great deal. I wouldn’t consider myself a theologian.”
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  Bhathric grinned. “Combat philosophy?” Her pitch climbed higher than usual. She rested her chin on her palm, braced at the elbow by her knee. “How well can you fight?”

  “More theory than practice,” Athenne said. “I can watch a fight, name the motions, predict what one or the other might do. If it’d been me the daggerhand attacked, I would’ve perished.” I may have died if Uldyr had not bested the mercenary, she reminded herself. Not that she had forgotten.

  “An Abbisan dancer is no easy foe.” Eclih tugged a sliver of meat from their roast and slipped it into his mouth. “I could eat my weight in this.”

  Bhathric took a portion as well, tossing it to Athenne. She had another for herself. “One trained in Abbisad and in Forgebrand, presumably. It’s no wonder he gave Uldyr such trouble.” She dropped the charred meat into her mouth and chewed. “They say the leader of Forgebrand is a diavora.”

  “Diavora?” Athenne had heard of Forgebrand, but less about their leader. Few outside the highest ranks of the mercenary company had met or seen him, to her knowledge.

  “The last of an ancient kind, born of Old Earth magic. Half-dragon, half-human. Strong as ten men. Hard to kill as an indervorg.” Bhathric gathered a cloak around her. “They’re immune to most magic, but they don’t suppress it by their presence as true dragons do.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, given the concentration of hessants in Reneris.” Eclih pulled a bit of tendon out of his teeth. “Before the Primal Era, they say the diavora hunted the forestkinds to near extinction. The elves and druids came against them and wiped most of them out. Whispers claim more exist, hiding in the northeast mountains or the Forests of the Other Spirits. None besides Ikkath are confirmed, if he is.”

  That name rang familiar. “Ikkath the Mad?”