Just before a tidal wave of darkness crashed down on Dirk, his hand curled around a cold chunk of stone—the thing he’d come here for, his prize. A smile quirked his lips. He could feel those coins sliding through his hands, hear them clinking in his pocket, see the gleam in that Seeker bitch’s greedy eyes. Something scaly slithered past Dirk, delivering a full body caress before unconsciousness punched him in the face.
Darkness Rises
Far below, at the bottom of the long-abandoned mine, the Ægeldar stirred. The seal imprisoning the antithesis of all things magical broke. Through that crack, true darkness leaked as magic-fortified air touched black lumir for the first time in an age.
And it drank that magic in, stripping it from the air as it belched more stygian gloom. Black tentacles burst out of that crack, sending feelers into and through Mount Eredren’s bowels seeking more magic to steal, more light to drink, more fuel for the Eam’eritol neem’eye, the light-stealer and its nullification process.
Far above, where the music of the spheres still plays the song of creation, a note of discord entered its harmony. The world’s Balance tipped toward Armageddon causing its Bearer, the Son of Man, to sink to his knees in that space between stars, his airless tomb.
The cross He bore tugged at the scars on His back. But the Son of Man rose as the blue-green world called for help.
A thousand voices rolled the stones in their hearts aside, inviting Him to enter. Before he could, their fearful cries were suddenly silenced. It had begun.
A rough beast was slouching toward Shayari. It must not enter.
The Son of Man shouldered His burden and jumped from star to star. Every step took Him closer to a conflict He could neither influence nor aid because free will trumped all. His Father’s covenant guaranteed it.
Shayari had to stand or fall on its own.
Long ago, I placed all our hopes in mankind. Belief will save them. And the Son of Man would be there to witness that triumph.
Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Snake Woman lunged at a hole as darkness rolled over her perch. Why did I wait around?
Because watching those fools poke around the Ægeldar had been too entertaining to pass up. They were puppies playing with fire, totally ignorant of the disaster speeding toward them. They’d had no clue what they were unleashing.
But she had known and now the goddamned Ægeldar was tearing the magic out of her body. Her legs went numb halfway through her frightened leap and her damned hips were too wide for the hole. Snake Woman latched onto a boulder and yanked, but it was no good. Her legs were losing cohesion. The snake flesh she’d built herself out of was melting back into its original state, and that state wasn’t a statuesque reptilian woman with aspirations of grandeur.
Snake Woman cursed then let herself go. Breaking the bonds that held her composite form together hurt her ego more than her body. Hell, she didn’t exactly have a body. Nor was she mortal. But she was magical, and that was a serious problem while black lumir lay exposed to the open air.
One final wrench dispelled the last bond, and her body melted into a woman-sized pile of snakes. Each one carried a piece of her consciousness away from here. Or they would once the torpid things got moving.
Thank her lucky stars this place had so many holes to slide through. Too bad none of them led directly to the surface.
With luck, most of her horde would make it outside—eventually. She’d rendezvous with them later and recompile herself. It would delay her plans, but she was the fool who’d stayed. So, it couldn’t be helped.
The creature formerly known as Snake Woman concentrated hard on the snakes writhing around her and impressed upon them a strong desire to go toward the light—any would do.
Black waves washed over her dispersing horde stealing bits of her power. But they slid off their scales instead of penetrating to the snake’s brainpan, where an itty-bitty copy of her sat cross-legged and glared at the pinkish glow her non-corporeal self had acquired. Pink was definitely not her color.
Not for the first time, she wondered just what her maker had made her out of. Certainly not the sugar and spice of female humans unless they had hidden depths.
Since a certain mage-ling with glowing green eyes had vanquished her demonic maker, Vail wouldn’t be answering any questions anytime soon unless she found a way to raise him from the dead. But she tucked that thought away for when she had an actual body.
The entity formerly known as Snake Woman shook herself out of her existential funk and dug her luminous hands into the cobra’s brain, so she could steer it toward her goal—Dirk’s buyer. Let’s hope she uses black lumir more responsibly than this lot.
If not, well there was always plan B, but it wasn’t as nice as Plan A. Getting someone else to do your dirty work was always better than doing it yourself.
“I’ll find you a nice warm rock to sun yourself on later,” she promised the king cobra slithering through a hole not much wider than its body. It carried the largest piece of her as was her due. After all, she was a Queen among snakes. Maybe she'd change her moniker when she was fully herself again.
Too bad her conveyance lacked legs because she had miles to go and a buyer to find. Well, there was nothing for it. She was stuck like this until she reconstituted.
Vibrations in the snake’s skull drew her attention. Were those screams? If only snakes had ears. Dipping her hands deeper into the snake’s mind, she steered it toward those reverberations.
The creature formerly known as Snake Woman smiled. Perhaps she could just hitch a ride to her goal.
Eam’eritol neem’eye, whispered that damned voice.
The phrase still meant nothing to Sarn. What does that mean?
No answer, of course not. Why should his magic explain any of its cryptic statements or the brilliant orange arrow insisting he keep trudging forward to Fates knew what.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Sarn said, opening his eyes.
Their glow was the lesser danger. At least that’s what his gut proclaimed. With his head map blurred by something external, Sarn needed his eyes more than ever. And their glow too. There was so little light in this tunnel. It was unnaturally dark.
“About the bad man, we’re following?” Ran perked up at this news.
“Yes,” and the feeling recalled the demon and the pulsing black organ which had swallowed thirteen ghosts last month. Sarn shivered. Had the tunnel grown colder or was he imagining the damp chill in the air?
Those thirteen ghosts had all died because of a drug deal gone wrong. The same drugs he’d found in Dirk’s storeroom. If I follow Dirk, will I find another demon and another perversion under construction?
Sarn looked at his son who was watching him. He should not take his son any further. Was there time to run to the Foundlings to trade for babysitting services? Trade what? A reeking bag of food which was likely rotting away while he played at being a spy?
“No, I go with you.” Ran shook his head and squeezed his hand tight. His green eyes were unblinking shards of agate, hard and unyielding as his son’s mind on this subject. “We go together, or we go home. You promised.” Ran stamped his foot to emphasize his point, and it echoed despite the moldy banners strung up to absorb echoes.
Sarn gave those fluttering pieces of filth a baleful glare. So far, they remained inanimate, but his magic was watching them just in case.
Had he promised? Sarn wracked his memory. Too much of his time and attention he’d devoted to bringing Dirk and his goons to justice.
Sarn regarded his son’s determined face. It was possible he’d made such a promise. Sarn looked ahead at the tunnel curving into stygian gloom and spotted an alcove. He stuffed the leaking sack into it. Let the food inside still be edible otherwise he’d have to steal more—if he had time.
“What are you doing?”
“Freeing my hands up to check something.”
“What ‘something?’ oh, you’re doing magic now.” Ran stepped in close and leaned against his father's
leg determined to be part of any magic he worked.
Sarn shook his head. How had his son known? Was it that obvious what he intended to do?
Should I do this? Sarn bit his lip. Yes, he had to find out what Dirk was up to before he blundered into it.
Steeling himself, Sarn touched the curving wall and magic exploded out of his bare palm. It marched along the stonework picking up speed as its shimmering cascade turned a bend. What will I do if I find another demon?
No answer sprang to mind as his magic drove forward taking the remaining twists and turns at breakneck speed. Nor was Sarn alone. He felt his son stick his hand into the flow and some of his magic curved around the child, shielding him.
Shock pinned Sarn’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. Somehow, Ran stood with him inside the magic’s nimbus. Before Sarn could wonder about this troubling development, his map exploded into three dimensions.
Gone was whatever had obscured his map. It reverted to its usual overly detailed self, and its clarity was a welcome change. Relief swept through Sarn, but it was short-lived because his head map was busy outlining his worst nightmare in three dimensions.
At the end of this tunnel, a pit yawned. Man-sized broken stones ringed it like giant black teeth. Two icons stood on its rim—Dirk’s and one of his cronies. And there were pointy things reaching past them.
Oh, Fates no, they’re prehensile. And they dwarfed Dirk and his friend as they headed this way.
What the hell are those things? Sarn asked his magic as he backpedaled.
Eam’eritol neem’eye, whispered that damned voice. A gray arrow hovered over the pit and pointed at something inside it.
What the hell is that?
An icon flashed on Sarn’s head map next to Dirk's. It was a dragon mantling over a ball with eight squiggles radiating out of it. He’d seen the dragonish icon in one of his brother’s books. It was the sigil of the Ægeldar.
No, oh, Fates no, not there. The Ægeldar was a collection of ancient mines last worked by the same stone-mages who’d carved up Mount Eredren in ages past. If the lore was right, it might be their final resting place.
Why would Dirk go to the Ægeldar? Just thinking of setting foot there made Sarn’s skin crawl. What could possibly entice Dirk to go to that benighted place?
Many stories about the Ægeldar sprang to mind, all of them creepy. Its symbol flickered and a new one replaced it—a black diamond with three red lines cutting across its middle. Darkness spilled out of those diagonal slashes, and it winnowed away the world. His consciousness threatened to wash away in the tide streaking toward that well of darkness.
Eam’eritol neem’eye!
Sarn clung to reality’s fraying thread, and his son’s tiny hand, as the tunnel bowed, and everything grew wavy fast. An arctic chill rolled past freezing the air. Sarn inhaled ice crystals, and they scraped his lungs making him cough. Darkness smote his soul tearing at the light inside Sarn and the blinding globe of protection he’d erected around his shivering son.
The air shimmered, bunching up the ground in front of Sarn. Something shot around the bend. Instead of sliding off his magic, which had hardened into a shield, the thing punched through it and sank its prongs into the ball of screaming green power deep inside him. Sarn slashed at the thin black line, but his hand passed right through it. He shook his numb hand as the dark thing vacuuming up the light inside him gave a hard jerk. Sarn struggled to keep his balance. All his strength was flowing out of him into the thing pulling him toward something evil.
Unnatural, screamed his magic.
Let go of me! It’s got you, not me. Sarn fought the magic woven through his blood and bones. If he could just dislodge it, he could free himself. But he couldn’t budge it. The magic clung to his insides and he gave ground, his boots slipping on the slick stones.
No, we are you. You are us. We are magic. The power clutched Sarn so tightly, he could scarce breathe.
Still, Sarn fought it. But he couldn’t sever that emerald thread dragging him toward something far worse than what Shade had conjured last month. And this time, there was no one to save him or his frightened son. Ran trotted alongside him, clinging to his pants.
“Wh-what’s happening? Papa? Where are we going?”
“To somewhere bad.”
Distance shrank. Tunnels turned into misty veils as a force Sarn could not fight yanked him and his son closer to the inky hole on his map. It had to be the Ægeldar. Each tug ripped more magic from his veins, weakening Sarn. Pain wracked him. Closer and closer loomed that black maw. It was a stain on his map rapidly changing from black to crimson. And there were pointy things streaming out of it and into the tunnels surrounding the Ægeldar. On his map, they undulated in a mesmeric dance, twining the gleaming thread of his magic around their wicked tips.
What the hell are those things?
If his magic heard, it didn't answer his question. Maybe it didn't know.
“Bear!” Ran screamed. His tiny hand stretched toward his stuffed companion miles away in another part of the Lower Quarters.
Sarn threw a shoulder into the next wall he passed, but it too turned insubstantial, and he stumbled through it. His knees buckled, and he fell. Rolling onto his back, Sarn struggled against the dark thing feeding on his magic and dragging him to who knew what horror. But nothing he did could stop or slow his forward slide.
Determined not to be left behind, Ran jumped and landed on his chest. Sarn held tight to his son as his strength waned and his consciousness flickered. Its flame was no match for the alien hand snuffing it out.
No! I won't go down like this. Rallying, Sarn hugged his son and reached for the other magic, the one he’d boxed up after the events of last month and forgotten about. It was a candle wavering in the darkness left behind by the thing draining his earth magic. But Sarn strained toward that bobbing tongue of white light, needing its luminance, and its help.
It leaned away from his grasping hands. Why won’t it come? What am I doing wrong? How did I call it before?
Sarn struggled to remember, to hold on to his fading awareness and to somehow stop his slide toward the thing draining the only magic he half understood.
People were screaming. Their legs flashed by then vanished into the darkness falling over everything. Someone kicked Sarn in the side narrowly missing his shivering son.
“Do something!” an old woman yelled, but something whisked her away before Sarn could reply.
A cold, leathery thing wrapped around Sarn’s ankle. It was the Ægeldar and its tentacles reached past him toward the echoes of screams and running feet. So, it was a monster after all. Good, monsters had weaknesses. They could be defeated, but the thing stealing the green magic—how could he defeat that? What did I do last month? Nothing. The white magic had just been there straining to break out and eradicate that demon. Why was it refusing to help him now?
“Papa,” Ran sobbed as he flattened himself against Sarn's chest.
Another tentacle brushed past groping after prey, but Sarn tightened his grip on his son, his heart, his reason for living. “Listen to me, Ran. I won’t let it hurt you. Do you hear me?”
“You p-promise?”
“Yes, I promise,” Sarn said to the top of his son’s head, and Ran clutched him, and that promise, tight in his little arms. “I won’t let this dark thing take you. I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”
Ran nodded, believing him, his Papa, because Sarn only said what he believed to be true.
Sarn kissed the top of his son’s head. His son was such a gift, one he worked every day to be worthy of. I will save my son. The belief was growing in his breast and scorching through his veins in a blinding torrent of white light. For a heartbeat, everything slammed into fine focus. I can save my son. Sarn extended his hand and loosed a bolt of lightning. It struck a column and lassoed it, stopping his slide.
The screaming intensified as two bodies slid past out of reach, their faces white with terror. Sarn stared after them unable t
o look away until the two graybeards disappeared.
“Bear! Help us!” Ran shouted, breaking his trance. Tears tracked down his son’s face and soaked into Sarn’s tunic.
“You’re safe,” Sarn said as he wrapped that belief around his son, cocooning the crying boy in a blanket of white light. “Ran, you’re safe. The monster isn’t going to get you.” But it had taken three people and possibly more.
Ran wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “It’s not?”
“No, do you see the glowing rope thing?”
Another nod, maybe a hesitant ‘yes' had followed, his son was hard to hear over the blood rushing in his ears, the echoes of screams and the dragging sound of more victims coming this way. But there was nothing he could do about that until Ran was safe.
Something wet—likely more blood judging by the stabbing pain behind his left eye—dripped from Sarn’s nose and crawled down his scarred cheek.
“Grab it and use it to pull yourself up. It won’t hurt you. I won’t let it. You can do this. I know you can. You're a good climber.”
A second tentacle applied itself to Sarn’s leg and pulled in an eerie repeat of last month’s demon incident. But the lariat held because Sarn willed it too even though the tugging made the bones in his arms creak.
“Hurry!”
Ran touched the radiant rope with hesitant fingers. When no shock traveled up his arm, he gripped it with more confidence and pulled himself away from the dark currents tugging on him.
“What about you, Papa?”
“Don’t worry about me. Just get as far as you can away from here. I’ll find you.” If he could escape. Right now, that wasn’t looking likely. Sarn gritted his teeth and held on as a third tentacle wrapped around his waist and pain shot through his shoulders. You must hold on. Ran’s almost there. Just see him off, then you can let go and wrestle with monsters. That column seemed a hundred-feet away rather than fifteen at the slow pace his son was setting.
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