Chapter 38
After scoring some red rashovik from the murk that surrounded us, I was ready to approach my final goal.
The lonely flight of stairs to the temple of Kyrie was narrow and uneven, weaving in and out of the raw stone that surrounded the base of the Eyrie. The shadows of all the flying creatures that called this place home spiraled over the ground as I climbed up to the front of the building, a small castle-like fort carved straight into the rock. The huge double doors were made of the same bronze-colored metal as the ones in Cham Garai.
Feeling bitter and tired, I opened the door just enough to slip inside. It boomed as I closed it behind me, and took a moment to look around the arched room. The church was warm and smoky, lit by the golden glow of a hundred thousand candles. Graceful pillars wrapped by carved wings supported the high vaulted ceiling, and rows of statues marched from beside the door all the way to the altar at the other end. There, a huge round window perfectly framed the yellow orb of the moon outside. The statues were all of women: slender women with elegant hands, their heads lowered, their faces obscured by long floating veils perfectly rendered in marble. Each one of them carried a different item: a book, a globe, scales and a compass, a sword... tools of justice, learning, and wisdom. The room smelled like wax and old roses.
The candle flames flickered as the door shut with a small gust of wind, but quickly settled back to their smooth tapers. At the end of the chapel room, one of the statues moved.
A woman who looked like a pillar of silver veils and robes turned to face me as I advanced. As I grew closer, I could see the suggestion of her face beneath the sheer material. She was older, middle-aged, her hair bound away out of sight. All that was clearly visible of her was her hands, but by moonlight, her outfit made the dim outline of her body seem to glow.
"Welcome, aspirant," she said. Her voice was croaky, but her tone was gentle. "Have you brought the ingredients for the ritual?"
"Yes," I replied.
"And are you prepared to undergo the Trial of Marantha, the gauntlet through which all dragon knights must pass??
"Yes," I said, quickly. "But I-"
"Come with me." She didn't seem to hear the last part. The priestess moved away, her veils billowing out softly behind her.
I hurried to catch up. "Ma'am, before we do this, I need to report something that happened in the field. There was an incident-"
"This is something you must report to the knight-commander," the priestess replied. She sounded benevolent, but firm. "I am not of the Skyrdon, boy. I serve Kyrie alone."
Shit. “Can you send a message up to them? While I’m… uhh… convulsing in agony?”
“If you can write one in the time we have, I will. But we do not have long. Once the infusions are made, they must be administered immediately.”
I checked my Inventory for parchment and a pencil or something, but of all the stupid things I was lugging around with me, paper wasn’t one of them. Well, there was nothing to do but go through the Trial, come out the other side, and hope I woke up soon enough to tell Skyr Tymos what had happened. “Here… here’s the ingredients.”
The priestess extended her hands, and I passed over the quest items. She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Follow me.”
She led me through a smaller bronze door into a library, and from there, through another, less ornate oak door and down a flight of stairs. As we descended, the scent of old roses and incense was replaced by a mixture of earthy chemical smells... the faint odors of battery acid and oxidized metal.
She opened the way into a chamber that was lit only by the moon from overhead. A deep skylight focused a beam of soft golden light onto a harsh metal and leather chair in the center of the room, like something out of a dentist-themed horror movie. The sight of it made me recoil. My dad had been a dentist, and I was pretty sure I’d had nightmares about this exact chair.
"This is the chamber where I will administer the Trial," the priestess said quietly. "You will have a few minutes to collect yourself and pray. You are allowed to refuse at any time, with no loss of honor."
"Am I the first to arrive?" I steeled myself and went over to the chair, laying a hand on it. It had a headrest and straps. The padding was in good condition, at least.
"No," she replied. "Another young man arrived before you."
“Pravoslav? Did he make it?"
The woman hesitated, then bowed her head and left the room without replying.
When the door closed, I was left in the near darkness by myself. That's when the nerves finally set in. Weirdly, the first thing I worried about was Cutthroat. I'd left her sniffing around a mostly-empty trough in a crude stable at the base of the Eyrie. She was probably capable of taking care of herself, but… ugh. Then I began to worry about Baldr and Lucien. Baldr's HP ring had been grayed out - hadn't it? If he was dead, he'd have respawned somewhere away from here, because you couldn’t take the Trial if you died. Lucien, I wasn't sure about. He'd been caught in the explosion, but I couldn't remember seeing or hearing him after he screamed. I was the second ‘young man’ to come here, which meant Violetta was still in the ruins... and which also meant that I should be the first to rouse in the event Lucien came here and tried to give a different account of events.
As the anger and bewilderment and anxiety cooled, I found myself thinking back to the past. I sat on the edge of the horrible chair and wrapped a bandage around my branded hand while I brooded on all the things that had led to me being here. The dragons were so close that I could hear them distantly through the walls of this place, their roars and bugles, the thunder of their wings. It was like going into the pod with Steve and Temperance all over again. It was like going home after sitting through an exam at school, the weird mixture of relief, anxiety, and wondering of "did I do everything right? And what do I do now?" It was like being in the transport plane on my first tour. The future was a terrifying dark void. The only things pushing me on were faith and hope.
I balled my hands into fists, feeling them clench and relax, and drew a deep, steadying breath. I wasn’t a praying man, but I could get behind hoping for a better future. Loneliness sucked. So did war. Maybe a dragon would be the catalyst for me, propelling me to literal and symbolic heights, or maybe I’d learn that it couldn’t do that for me… but either way, I planned to survive to find out.
The priestess came back about fifteen minutes later with a small tray on wheels. There were five glass syringes: two red, one yellow, one white, one gray. All of them except the white one had a shifting, ambient glow. Beside the magical solutions, she had needles and tubing immersed in a vial of clear alcohol, tools for a medieval IV. She was wearing a gauntlet, like the 'witchglove' Rutha wore to perform magic. I stood up restlessly.
"The Trial of Marantha is very dangerous," she said, picking up the tubing and needles and laying them out on a clean cloth to dry. "Only the strongest survive. Not the strongest of body - the strongest of will."
"Then it's good that I'm a stubborn ass," I replied. "Pardon my language."
“You must suffer through the pain and remain conscious as long as you are able.” Without commenting on my choice of words, she set up a needle and tube. "This is your final chance, aspirant. If you wish to proceed, shed your weapons and armor, lay down, and rest your head back."
I eyed the chair. Memories of my father rose from the deep, dark past like shadows.
I shucked my armor off, and lay the Spear down on the floor beside the chair. Then I eased onto it, and lay back.
"Focus on your desire to stand before the eggs and serve the people of Ilia." The priestess's voice had shifted to the rhythmic tone of recital. "Focus on your goal of meeting the Matriarch of the Eyrie. Focus on what it will be like when a wyrmling runs to you across the sand of the hatching ground, its eyes full of love and trust. Can you see him? Can you see his eyes? Can you feel his regard for you, you who endured so much pain to be with him?"
I'd never seen a baby dragon, but I could
imagine a tiny Talenth, with big blue eyes and little stubs for horns. And I could imagine what it would be like to bond with something like him. It was a powerful feeling, the kind that picked my heart up and made my blood pound. "Yes."
"You don't have to answer me. Answer yourself... feel it until it burns in your heart."
I closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply.
"I will insert the needle and administer an anesthetic." She moved around me in the dark, silk whispering against skin. "It will numb the pain somewhat, but it will make you feel cold and dizzy. After that, you will be given the first of the mana-tainted serums. Once I have begun, it cannot stop, no matter the pain."
I nodded. "I understand."
"Once I begin the spell, do not interrupt me." The woman's hand closed on my arm as she buckled the straps of the chair over my limbs. "Not for any reason. Scream if you must... but do not stop the chant."
Swallowing, I let the waves of fear wash through me. There was no reassurance - only the certainty that yes, this was dangerous, and yes, I probably was going to die, at least for a little while.
The priestess came around to my left side once I was strapped down. "And now, we begin."
The needle was nothing: a cold pinch, a small ache, and it was done. I lay there and stared up at the skylight and the half-visible moon, watching the clouds swirl across its surface. A whole other planet. I remembered Rutha's face when I told her that Archemi was actually the moon to another, larger planet, and that made me smile. I hoped Matir was right... I hoped that anything Rutha was doing on behalf of that crazy dead Dev, Orogael, was being done in innocence.
I felt the priestess ready the IV, and glanced over to see her depressing the plunger on the first of the syringes, the one with the white fluid. It hit my veins like ice, spreading up my arm in a cooling, numbing wave. When it reached my chest, my whole body relaxed, slumping down. I felt distant and strange within a couple of minutes... conscious, but floaty.
There was a clink and rustle, and then the priestess began to drone a soft chant under her breath. The sound rose and fell, rose and fell, and I found myself lost in it as my breathing slowed and my muscles slumped. It was peaceful, even pleasant. I smelled ozone, and then a sharp, bitter, unpleasant smell, like rotten broccoli. Slowly, I looked over to see her attach the darker of the two red vials to the IV. I was sure this was the king's sorrow decoction.
She began to chant louder as she pressed the plunger down, her witchglove glowing out of the corner of my eye. I braced for it, but nothing could prepare me for when it hit. It was like being injected with lava. I jerked like I'd been burned, only to fall back dizzily. As I struggled to remain conscious, to breathe, a mixture of agony, nausea, and a terrible sense of wrongness rolled over me like a storm blowing in over the ocean, and when it reached my heart, the agony shocked my mind out of my body.
I fought it, but I only lasted for so long before I threw up and passed out into the black.
Chapter 39
The first thing I felt was water. It rolled down my cheeks, warm and itchy. Irritably, I tried to reach up and brush the droplets away. But nothing happened. My hand lay there, limp by my side. Unmoving.
My pulse lifted with panic. Every heartbeat felt like someone was pressing on a huge bruise deep inside my chest, but I struggled against the heaviness, the inability to move. Something had gone wrong. I was paralyzed.
I tried opening my eyes, but the world was nothing but a dark blurry swirl that turned brown, then red, then black. Sleep rolled me under like a high-speed train... and took me back to the Total War.
The jungle. I was running in a half-crouch, and yelling at the top of my lungs. "Get the fuck down, Spot! What the fuck are you doing! Get your motherfucking head down! Stay close!"
Spot was a dim shadowy blur in the foliage beside me, seemingly unable to duck and sprint at the same time.
"Fuck! Where are they!? Did anyone see where that came from?" Starwars - otherwise known as Private Lucas - called from somewhere further back.
A roar from somewhere to my right. "WHERE THE FUCK IS JOHNSON!?"
...TATATATATAT... The purr-rattle of machineguns boomed around us, seemingly from every direction, but the spat-spat-thwip of rounds blowing the leaves and bark off trees were only coming from one direction: southeast.
"Johnson! Where the fuck is Johnson!? We have to call this shit up!" Corporal Washington yelled.
"Johnson isn't on fucking COMMO! Starwars is! Why the fuck are you so far behind, Wash!?" I bellowed back.
...spit-spang-brrrrrrrTATATATATAT... The guns sounded almost like toys, or like people slamming dictionaries down onto tables. Lots of dictionaries, lots of tables.
"I was trying to find fucking Johnson! Starwars, call this fucking thing up!"
"Okay! Where are they fucking shooting from? Can you see them?!"
It was just past sunset, which meant that it was already night in the jungle. My vision had narrowed down to a tunnel through my helmet. The radio was blasting off in my ear, I was drenched in sweat, hands hot and white-knuckled around my rifle. It was my first tour. I’d been a soldier for about five months. Somehow I was thinking about nothing and everything at the same time.
…Where is the enemy? Are those tracer rounds? Can they see us? Is anyone hit? Do they have…
-BRRRRRRRRRRRR- I heard wood splinter and crash as a red light lit behind us, and then the awful sound of living wood being torn apart by something with too much strength to be human. The vibrations through the ground had been masked by the tremors in my own body.
Fuck.
They had a Scorpion. Powered armor.
"DOWN! DOWN! GET THE FUCK DOWN!" Screaming at the top of my lungs, I could barely hear myself. I saw Washington trip over the edge of an unseen ravine and faceplant his way down the steep slope, and a moment later, I stumbled over the same edge myself. I slid down on my ass through ferns and plants, overtaken by Spot, who tumbled bonelessly past me and smashed into a rotten log. Panicking and confused, I skidded over to him. "Spot! Fucking hell! Starwars call a..."
Spot's entire face was gone, replaced by a bloody mash.
"MEDVAC." The word came out in a whisper.
Sweat ran down my face.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling overhead was a curved mosaic of dragons in flight. White dragons, a dark swirling sky, with stars and beautiful glass-like glyphs worked into the patterns around the edge. The light was dim and yellowish, but I could see every variation in tint and hue... the way the tiles shifted between indigo and sky-blue, the tiny opalescent flaws in the glass, the specks of grout that had escaped the artist's notice.
I breathed in deeply, very deeply, unusually so. A prickling rush spread through my limbs, and as my eyes widened, the mosaic came into sharper focus. I didn’t have to turn my head to see what was on the dresser beside me - a lamp with a candle burning inside. The fire rippled with a holographic aura that caught the glass and bathed the table in rainbow light. I'd never seen fire like it.
"Easy, now." A low voice said from my other side.
Slowly, I turned my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. It was Skyr Tymos. The old man leaned over me and took a damp cloth from my forehead, setting it aside in a steaming bowl on the dresser beside my bed. The details of the room filtered in. I was laying in an elegant wooden bed under layers of tanned furs. The lamp was on the bedside table by my left, Tymos by my right, and the mosaic overhead.
"I'm alive?" I rasped, blinking away invasive memories of Spot’s smashed strawberry face.
"Yes." The Skyr uncorked a small flask and held it to my lips. "And now, your final test. Drink."
I was so nauseated that the odor of the herbal potion made me retch, but I obeyed. While he supported my head, I drank... and cool relief washed through my gut. My breathing steadied, the pain in my chest began to subside. Some of the weakness left my limbs. My gray HP ring filled red to about a quarter, and then began to throb.
"Good," he said.
"Can you sit?"
Grunting, I struggled up until I leaned against the headboard. Just that much effort was exhausting. While he prepared a second and third potion, I reviewed my HUD. No fewer than five debuff icons had appeared, their cooldowns slowly draining away. "What was that?"
"Brightlace potion," Tymos replied. "It's toxic to normal men, but you're a dragonman now, Hector. Mana cannot harm you. Here – two more."
He helped me drink the second brightlace potion, which made me strong enough to drink the third on my own. They healed 75 HP and removed three of the debuffs: Fatigue, Bleeding, and Internal Trauma. Lovely.
"I made it." I looked over my hands. I could see the pores of my skin by the light of a single candle. Now that I was healed, I felt... different. Better, stronger. My lungs could draw an obscene amount of air. My heart was slower, my body so light I felt like I would float if I tried to stand. And I could see. I felt like I could see for miles. "Holy fuck. I made it."
"Yes, you did." Tymos smiled, and I saw that, too – even though I wasn't facing him. My peripheral vision was now all the way back to my shoulders, even a little beyond that. I could almost look behind my own head.
"Wow." I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"I have vague memories of the day I woke up from the transmutation fever," Skyr Tymos said wistfully. "The knight who kept vigil for me said something I've never forgotten. 'Don’t you think this is what it feels like to become a butterfly?’"
Somehow, that was what brought me back. Three crises all pushed their way into my awareness at once. "Skyr Tymos, I need to tell you something. It’s…”
I trailed off.
“What?” He waited expectantly.
“It’s…” I wracked my brains for what I was supposed to tell him. I knew there was something, but when I tried to think of what had happened in the last day, all I saw was fog. I rubbed my face, wincing. “Damn. I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything.”
“Amnesia is a common side effect. Don’t be alarmed if you’re foggy for a few days. The Trial is immensely stressful on the body.”
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