by CP Bialois
Janessa’s question came as no surprise to him, “What are you going to do?”
Their gaze locked for a moment, they were all here because of him in one manner or another. Without flinching he answered, “To the dark.” Although gasps escaped the companions it wasn’t unexpected as each were struggling with their own decisions. Only Gilliam showed outward concern in the form of a gentle hand touching Berek’s arm. The cleric’s eyes were asking if Berek was sure that’s what he wanted. When Berek nodded Gilliam smiled, he wouldn’t leave his nephew no matter the circumstances.
Viola watched the two men, wondering if the bond between her and Janessa was as strong. She didn’t want her friend to choose because of her, to do so would put them both in danger. Viola’s emotions tried to push their way into her thoughts, but she slammed the door shut on them. She had to think, this was a test, nothing more. There was nothing to fear, she was sure of that. Truth was, Viola didn’t want to be there, she hadn’t a desire for such things as quests. All she wanted was to study her magic and cultivate her power.
This will do just that. A familiar voice whispered to her from the depths of her mind. It comforted her rather than scared her, offering courage and guidance she didn’t feel or have at the moment. Viola made her decision, it twisted her insides but she forced herself to relax. Everything would be fine, so long as they trusted their feelings.
Settled on her choice, Viola looked at Janessa. The Halfling smiled at her, Janessa seemed to have the decision made before asking Berek his choice.
Galin was the last to decide. He weighed the difficult, but safe climb to the surface against the terrors the darkened tunnel held hidden within its shadows. The young mage and Berek talked of fear, saying this was a test on each of their fears but he wondered if they came to the right decision. Perhaps by allowing their fears to dictate their actions, they were playing into whoever cast the spell’s hand. No, the Dwarf shook his head to clear out the doubt, he had to trust them. Out of necessity, he’d trust the girl, though he was certain she had no experience outside of a text book. Berek, he trusted due to the years they knew each other. While young, the fighter had an old soul, as the humans liked to say. Besides, the fact that he could meld magic and steel was something Galin would side with if given a chance despite his fears.
Their decisions made, the companions stood watching each other for a few moments. Of course, Berek was the one to break the silence. “I appreciate what all of you are willing to risk, but this is no ordinary quest. The rules seemed to have changed enough to make this dangerous.” He paused a moment as he finished organizing his thoughts. “If any of you want to turn back it is with honor, not cowardice.”
A bit late was the thought most would have in that moment but not a single companion had it enter their mind. Instead, they were grateful Berek thought so much of them but they’d come that far and the treasure was on the other side of the illusion. They were close to the end, the danger seemed distant. Thanking him, Viola and Janessa entered the tunnel leading to the surface. Galin was following them but he stopped short of the threshold, turning towards the two humans.
Galin moistened his lips and stroked his red beard. “How accurate was she?”
Berek smiled, but his eyes remained thoughtful. “Very, from what I can tell. But it’s still dangerous.”
Galin nodded, he thought so. “Take care of yourself, lad. I’d hate to be waiting too long.” Smiling, the Dwarf began singing an ancient Dwarven marching song as he stepped into the corridor.
The two could hear Galin making his way until his song grew faint, they then turned to the darkened tunnel. Before entering, Gilliam realized what had been bothering him since the Dwarf left. “Shouldn’t a Dwarf be going with us?” He knew he sounded like a disappointed child but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss.
Gilliam’s feeling of trepidation wasn’t helped at seeing his nephew smile. “Have no fear uncle. It’s only a ghost from his past, like those we try to avoid.” Gilliam nodded, though he didn’t feel better about it. The fact the tunnel was narrow and without impediments gave him the feeling they were expected. Nothing but smooth walls no matter where his hands touched and the torch light showed no imperfections. All he needed was a wrought iron gate to close behind them to make the feeling of a trap a reality.
*****
The cool night air bit through Mern’s robes when he stepped out into the darkness. The light from the inn and the lamppost seemed feeble in the darkness. Mern glanced at the top of the lamppost, his mind full of ideas and memories. He found himself wondering about the man that had concocted the idea to put long burning candles in the enclosed space of the lamppost to give passersby light to see. It seemed so simple with the small metallic box six inches in diameter with medium sized holes around its exterior and a single funneled hole at the top to draw the smoke out of the compartment.
Mern reprimanded himself for allowing his mind to wander. For all the centuries he lived, his mind only faltered when his age became greater than any mortal thing on Pyrain. The joys of getting old, he chided himself, sore, creaking joints and a weak mind. He chuckled at his own joke, for to him it was just that. He conquered death, sent it scurrying away like a whipped child. He managed to extend his own existence until it matched that of the longest lived of the Elven race and soon he’d outlive even the mighty dragons. Now that was a grand vision, one he fully intended to realize.
He milled around the side of the street by the inn, enjoying the night air on his skin and hair. He made sure not to walk too far away from the safety of the inn’s front door. To anyone that might’ve seen him, he would appear to be an old man wanting a breath of fresh air, nothing strange about that except the late hour. Most of Hope’s populace was already in bed, those that weren’t were either the city guards or ne’er-do-wells that tended to frequent the bars scattered throughout the city. Six, no seven if he remembered right.
For long minutes, Mern paced back and forth enjoying the feel of crisp air filling his lungs. Satisfied, he turned towards the door but paused as he was about to enter. Over his shoulder he muttered, “Try to keep warm.” Then he disappeared into the warmth of the inn, leaving the street quiet and still in the darkness of late night, early morning.
Mern’s words would’ve gone unheard had the one they were intended for not been watching. Across the way and towards the top of a prominent building a large creature sat unmoving in its chosen location. Fech had been watching the human for the better part of three hours. Every so often the wizard would come out and walk around for a few minutes before heading back inside the inn.
Until he heard the old man’s taunt, Fech thought Mern knew he was being spied upon, now the gargoyle knew for certain. Somehow the old man was watching him just as Fech was watching the old man. Most likely it was through magic, he reasoned, for Fech remained motionless upon his perch. It was a trait gargoyles mastered since their creation. While this newest development was unexpected, it didn’t do much to dampen the gargoyle’s spirit. Fech decided to watch this human out of fear he couldn’t explain. Unlike others of his kind, Fech could use magic and was quite skilled in the arcane art. More than a match for some human mage, he’d remain where he was. Mern could do nothing against him, the lack of a threat led to overconfidence, a trait that was unknown to the gargoyle race.
Through all his thinking Fech displayed a discipline few other creatures on Pyrain possessed. While most would’ve become excited and fidgeted, he remained motionless. The only hint of movement came from a rumble in Fech’s torso that started by his bowels and moved to his throat. He could taste the human‘s blood and feel the skin and muscles stretch and tear when he’d rip the old man apart. Even now that he had no element of surprise, Fech decided to remain and watch Mern. His master deserved to know what the human was planning. Once Fech learned what he needed, he’d deliver the human’s head to Renard. Satisfied with his plan, the gargoyle remained as still as a statue
but instead of a scowl or vicious growl, Fech’s face wore a pleased smile.
Chapter 17
The fact the tunnel was free of any obstructions and felt as smooth as ice continued to set warning bells off in Gilliam’s mind. Man-made tunnels would never be this smooth, humans took very little care when digging and wouldn’t think twice about polishing the walls in such a manner. He only saw two options, either it was built by Dwarven hands or through magic. The latter made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck rise. Gilliam didn’t like it, the feeling of that place wasn’t evil, it was more angry at their intrusion. He wasn’t as sensitive as Berek and Viola were, in fact, he didn’t care a thing about magic, but something there disturbed him and he wasn’t sure why.
“Do you feel that?” Gilliam spoke low, but due to the quiet the cleric’s voice boomed as though he shouted. The loudness of it startled him, nearly causing him to drop the torch. Once he regained his composure, he noticed Berek was gone. A moment earlier he could see his nephew’s back a couple of feet ahead of him but now there was nothing but darkness, even the sound of Berek’s footfalls were gone.
A moment of panic threatened to overtake the cleric while varying thoughts raced through his mind. Gilliam knew Berek wouldn’t have left him, but he never turned around or gave any indication he heard Gilliam’s question. Gilliam began wondering if what he saw had even been his nephew, then cursed himself for having such a thought.
He just continued ahead, Gilliam told himself as he quickened his pace. A short distance ahead he didn’t see Berek but the soft light of early morning instead. They must‘ve been in the tunnel longer than he thought, the hope that swelled in Gilliam dissipated when he drew closer to the light. It wasn’t a way out, but maybe a treasure room of sorts. The light was probably a reflection off of the gold and gems, which meant Berek was a step closer to his goal and that brought a smile to Gilliam’s face. The smile faded upon entering the chamber.
Across from him stood a figure he hadn’t seen in years. In his astonishment, Gilliam gazed at his surroundings. He was in the Temple of Fallor in Narisia. To be more exact, he stood in what was referred to as the Hall of Mirrors, the room where clerics took their final test of faith before being deemed fit to heal the outside world. Memories of his test came flooding back to him. He passed after healing an elderly woman possessed by some demonic force.
Gilliam remembered it so clearly that he was furious at the memory. The woman was truly inflicted, if he failed the master would’ve healed her body and soul but the fact the Council dared use such a pathetic wretch for a mere test appalled him. Though there were other reasons, that memory had been the driving force behind Gilliam as he wandered the world in search of… What exactly? Faith? He always had that, though at times he wondered. He cared little for glory, fame and riches; those were prizes of the lowest end of the vast pool of people.
Gilliam’s jaw tightened at the unwanted memories. Until that moment, he believed he answered those questions. He was at peace with himself and the world around him, or was that all a lie? Could it be he hadn’t found anything he searched for? It looked to him the only thing he learned was to tolerate such actions and that there were no answers. He felt shaken to his core and almost dropped to his knees, but somehow he remained standing. Gilliam supposed it had to do with his old mentor, Master Timble standing before him.
Master Thyrus Timble was a human that, at the time of Gilliam’s test all those years earlier, was approaching a hundred years of age. He looked the same that Gilliam remembered, a squat man standing five feet with small squinting eyes, flushed cheeks and a cleanly shaven, many believed, bald head. The image, or man, standing before Gilliam brought many unpleasant memories back to him. Even so, he couldn’t help but bow his head out of respect. “Greetings Master Timble.”
Timble watched him with a fury that was trying to force its way to the surface. “What did you say? Greetings?” Timble rubbed his red face with his right hand. “You’re nearly an hour late for your test and you have the audacity to address me as though nothing was the matter?” His thin, wispy voice broke with the strain of his anger until it sounded like a shriek.
Gilliam was taken aback by his former master’s shriek and the fevered look in his eyes. He wasn’t an apprentice anymore, hadn’t been for many years, but Gilliam felt like the young man he once was during the current reprimand. He knew better than to be late to one of Master Timble’s lectures, but especially for his final test. Gilliam looked down at the ground in shame. His gray robes were still covered in the dirt and blood from the tunnel and the fight with the Nursk Brothers.
Gilliam didn’t return to his youth, but yet Master Timble stood not more than three feet from him looking like he hadn’t aged a day, much less years. Another shriek caused Gilliam to bring his mind back to the present and out of his revelry enough to realize he missed an instruction. Deciding it was in his best interest to admit he was wrong, for why he had no clue, Gilliam bowed. “Forgive me Master, my thoughts were occupied.”
The look on Master Timble’s face changed to one of understanding but the irritation remained. “Yes, I suppose it would be excusable for another of Fallor’s chosen. But not you, Gilly boy.” Timble liked to use variations of his pupil’s names to embarrass them into trying harder. It was a practice Gilliam loathed. At least Timble’s voice stopped its shrieking. It was another item in a list of many Gilliam hadn’t missed. “No sir, you sure as hell don’t have any excuses here.” Timble motioned, “Come on boy, ain’t going to hurt you to hustle some. You’d think you never took one of these tests before.”
Gilliam paused for a moment, the curiosity in him bubbled to the surface. “Pardon me master, you remember my other test?” Confusion caused Gilliam’s mind to wander along the different paths of his imagination.
Master Timble shot him an impatient look that never bode well for the pupil seeing it. “Of course I do. Wonderful job, Gilly boy. Course, if you stumbled around then as you are now neither of the subjects would’ve been healed.”
Gilliam nodded, “Yes Master, forgive me.” Cowed by Master Timble, Gilliam lowered his head in a revered bow. Pleased, Master Timble turned, leading Gilliam into the main chamber in the mystic wing. Gilliam’s first question was answered, this recreation was aware of Gilliam’s previous test. Unnerving as it was, he was grateful to know he hadn’t lost his mind. But Gilliam’s main question, and greatest fear, was why was he brought back there? And though he wanted to know the answer, the possibility terrified him.
Master Timble appeared pleased by the respect, and apparent subjugation, of Gilliam. “It is not I you should ask forgiveness from, but him.” Timble opened the door into a dimly lit room.
Gilliam followed him, curious as to who “him” was. The moment he followed Master Timble into the small chamber all his curiosity was washed away. Forgotten was Gilliam’s time in Renard’s Company tending to the wounded, reunited with his nephew, and finding his way in the world. The confident cleric was replaced with a bumbling novice terrified of his former master. Across from the door they entered through was a young man chained to the wall and stripped of his clothing.
Gilliam thought he recognized the young man as he looked familiar. Some part of the young man reminded Gilliam that he already took the test, and that was someone else. But instead of having his guard up, the cleric remained relaxed. His body no longer felt the stiffness and sore joints a man in his forties should feel. That was enough proof to him that he was in the right place and time.
Gilliam came to a stop a few feet from the young man and watched him with a mixture of pity and curiosity. He looked so damn familiar, but why?
“He calls himself Berek.” Gilliam looked at Master Timble, he knew a Berek. At least, he thought he did. “Poor boy’s afflicted and he doesn’t believe it.” Master Timble’s voice continued in its wispy tone.
Gilliam’s eyes went back to the familiar, but strange, face contorted in pain. “What is prescribed, Master
?”
Master Timble shrugged, “We’ve done all we can for him.” Timble paused as he dabbed a handkerchief over his forehead, it was hot in the room. “He’s possessed by some sort of demon. We’ve tried to lure it out without success. He must now endure.”
Gilliam nodded his understanding. When an unfortunate refused to give up the demon within, he’s tortured until he does. Only then is the person afflicted healed, hence the name endure. But that practice was outlawed centuries earlier after a temple was cast into the Abyss by Fallor himself in retribution for the souls tortured in his name, at least that was the legend they were taught by the scholars.
Confused, Gilliam looked at Master Timble. “Master, surely you do not wish to inflict some torment on this poor soul. He’s already in agony.”
Master Timble smiled, “You’re correct, Gilly boy, I won’t be, it is your task.” He silenced Gilliam with a look before continuing. “I’ve already done so a dozen times. Now it’s your turn. Do as I say or you’ll be cast out of the order.”
It had already been done? Gilliam’s mind struggled to grasp that thought. It explained why the young man’s face looked so tormented; it wasn’t from some interior conflict. “Master, I’m sure that there must be…”
“You are here to be tested. Are you saying its been a waste of time, of my time, boy?” Timble’s voice reached its shrieking pitch as his temper flared.
Gilliam took a step back, he never saw his master so irate but what could he do? If he followed instructions he’d hurt someone he wished to help, but if he didn’t then he would be cast out of the school. Gilliam looked at the young man again as a pang of sorrow cut into his heart. Gilliam knew that man, he was certain of it.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Gilly boy?” Master Timble’s voice cracked.