Donovan turned to Lucius, “Look, I’ve got to get back to my inn before the patrons go haywire. I’ve done what I can, look after him for me, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I’m able to close down. If they let me, that is.”
Still catching up with the rapid course that had been thrust upon him, Lucius responded, “Alright. Thanks.”
Donovan, flustered and absent minded, actually saluted Lucius. Then he hurried off, back to his busy world of suds. Lucius shrugged at the open mouthed acolyte and headed inside. He only got a few steps in when he caught up with the rest, who were now arguing with Brother Rufus. The poor man was near backed into a corner, Vern and Pim both looming over him with a hardly veiled threat of violence.
“Come on, people, we’re here to help, remember?” Lucius said, trying to defuse the situation. Pim stepped aside, but Vern made the priest walk around him.
Pim, Lucius, and Vern stepped down the hallway of the cathedral, led by a irate Brother Rufus, “He’s in there, the dratted man. Do what you want with him but get him out of here, I beg you.”
Pim’s fingers itched to tweak the brother’s nose but she restrained herself. Instead, the company headed down the hall towards the big double doors, ignoring the priest’s list of black deeds perpetrated by their friend. It really was a grand place, full of things that cause yet more tingling in her fingers. These impulses were put aside as well, for now.
Lucius was in front as they walked down the corridor. He was almost at the door to the main chamber when without warning a person appeared, barring the way. There was no fanfare, no crack of Karthild stone or incantation, yet there stood an enormous armored knight all in black plate mail. Lucius skidded backward, bumping into Vern and nearly tipping sideways but for being caught quickly.
Undaunted, Pim sneered and said, “Look, it’s not real, you can see the torch at the end of the hallway through it.”
“Looks real to me,” Lucius said, trying to lower his voice from the high squeak that wanted to come out.
Pim did not waste any more time debating the matter. The figure had not moved towards them, but it was in their way. It had a sword, as ephemeral to her eyes as the rest of it. She had had enough of being spooked for one day. Her eyes narrowed, and she drew one of her small knives. She threw it with a quick flick of her arm, the steel making a faint humming sound at it whirled through the air. Thunk! It hit the door with the pommel end, denting the fine carvings that adorned it, and fell to the floor in a clatter.
The figure vanished. “What was all that about?” Pim asked.
Rufus looked troubled, “If I may?” he asked, walking over to the fallen weapon.
Pim shrugged, “Suit yourself.” She watched as the priest bend over and retrieve the blade, inspecting it. Fingers more suited to turning pages of a prayer book than holding a dagger still managed to run up and down the spine without incident.
Rufus’s nose twitched, and he poked his head forward, nostrils snuffling along the exposed steel, “Incense?” he muttered, before passing the knife back to Pim.
Lucius interjected, “Intriguing, mayhap the apparition was more than a simple specter.”
Rufus nodded, not used to newcomers in his temple being so quick, “Yes. It’s good you know the intruder. Follow me.” With that, he went forward through the door into the great chamber of the temple. It should have been dim now at this time of the evening; instead, the chamber was full of light as various acolytes attended to the statues and fussed with Kormog’s dirtied stone facsimile. Reuben, still unconscious, had been placed on a cot near the statue. “We got him off of the floor at least,” said Rufus as they neared the fallen figure.
“Is he taking a nap?” asked Lucius, incredulously.
“Hardly,” responded Rufus, “Look, the important thing is that Kormog’s image appeared here when this man struck the statue. Something like this hasn’t happened in my lifetime. But now, instead of a message of hope that all of us have been praying for, we’ve got a drunk intruder that Kormog spoke to. Then the duffer goes and collapses.”
Lucius looked over Reuben, his breathing was shallow, with sweat beading his forehead, yet he was trembling and goosefleshed. A kindly acolyte had put a pillow under the unconscious man’s head, and Lucius could feel that it was already damp with moisture. “He won’t wake up, I take it? Lucius asked.
“Indeed,” Rufus explained, “We’ve tried everything we know, but he’s just like this.”
Vern, who had been watching everything with a brooding frown, chose this moment to step forward, he knelt on one knee placing his hand on Reuben’s shoulder, “Pray with me,” he said.
Rufus’s eyebrows shot up, “How did you know I was going to suggest that?” Frankly, Rufus had taken the man as a hired thug, not a penitent worshiper.
Vern kept his focus on Reuben’s face, “Doesn’t matter. You go on about your cleaning,” and he did not try to hide his disdain at that, “And let the three of us get to work.”
Rufus looked like he was about to burst with indignation, but Vern turned his gaze upon him. In those eyes Rufus could see, very close at hand, his own death should he step wrong. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he turned and walked away as quick as his battered nerves could allow.
Lucius and Pim looked at each other, uncertainty writ large. Pim responded first, she shrugged, “All right, but I’m no good at this sort of thing.”
“Me either,” said Lucius, but he walked over to Reuben as well. “What do we say?”
“Words won’t matter, just try to reach out to him. We’ve all been touched by the gods, one way or another. I can tell he’s close to them. He needs us now, we can’t let him face this alone,” rumbled Vern.
Pim and Lucius reached out hesitantly. Lucius braced himself for the expected crushing grip of Vern, but instead felt an odd tingle in his hands as the three joined in a circle, standing over Reuben.
Rufus turned around at the sudden thuds as Pim, Lucius, and Vern fell in a heap, “Great. Just great,” he muttered. “Get over here, give me a hand,” he called to the acolytes.
* * *
Lucius blinked, and when he opened his eyes he found that he was no longer in the temple. He gazed around in confusion; he was in the middle of a forest. An intense light came from a cold sun reflecting off of snow and ice on the ground and wreathing stately spruce and slender birch. It might have been spring, for there were patches of brown in the otherwise pristine surface of white on the ground. He looked around, squinting; no tracks, not even his own. It was as if he had been placed here, just dropped here, wherever here was, all alone.
“You are lost, dreamer,” Lucius spun around, there was no one there, only the spruce and birch in a mixture of green and white. Hard as it was to keep calm, it was a beautiful place in a rough way. There was simplicity here, nature at its primal edges and adorned with a stark grace. It competed for his attention in the reeling feeling that made him want to throw up. Lucius wondered if maybe he was simply dreaming, but then why did it feel so cold? It was already creeping into him from the atmosphere.
“Do you like my hunting grounds?” Again the voice, male and deep, which was not behind him, as he had first suspected but seemed to come from all around him and below and above all at once. Lucius realized that there would be no person as gears clicked in his mind, rattled and riddled as he felt.
“This is a god’s place, yes?” Lucius asked.
“At least you are not so foolish as you appear,” said the voice, followed by a gruff chuckling that did not come across to Lucius as good natured.
Lucius frowned, “How’d I get here?”
“You’re not here, not really. Not like you were last time in our realm,” said the voice, “We did not meet then, though my darling Aigid did much work on you and your friends’ behalf. Hmm. Dreamer though you may be, you are a nuisance all the same, begone from my lands and bother us no further.”
Thoroughly confused, Lucius tried to explain, “Look here, I don�
��t even know where I am and I wouldn’t have the foggiest clue how to leave no matter how much I’d like to. I don’t know how.”
“Really?” and there was a note of genuine surprise. There was cause for concern for Lucius in that tone, it was the sound of something not so nice being planned, “I will guide you.”
The whole sky pulsed a deep blue, once, twice. The light dimmed though Lucius was not glad for it even if he could see better.
“Come on, what do you mean?” Lucius asked. Silence answered him. “Blast,” he said and shivered, the temperature was dropping. He noticed that the ground appeared to be growing snow as he stood there. In the distance, the sky was full of heavy clouds moving towards him in great grey rollers, pregnant with malevolent purpose.
“Blow that, I’m out of here,” Lucius spat on the ground and faced away from the oncoming storm. He ran.
* * *
It was a forest glade, a different one, full of tall trees. All around the great towers of large broad-leaf trees stood in silent vigil. Some were already bare, their naked branches clawing at the sky, trying to cling to the departing season. Others curled their branches attempting to hold in the warmth and shield themselves from the oncoming chill. Wind varied between gentle breezes and sudden gusts that kicked up the leaves in waves, tossing the colorful tatters wildly pinwheeling along. Some of the trees clutched still, greedily, unwilling to let their ornaments fall to the ground. These were the grumbling sort, the ones that when winter would freeze the land would hold still, lifeless in their eventual slumber, the memory of warmer times in their fingers. But it would be memory only, until even the color would leach away with brown turning to pale nothingness. The sight stirred something deep within Pim, she could feel the significance of this moment, this place. It was all around her, the air that she was breathing smelt of it, the crisp air felt of it. The ground below her feet almost thrummed with the tension of the dance of seasons.
Winter would arrive here soon, but until then autumn was all around. It was a kaleidoscope of color, such that she never would have believed existed. Orange, such orange, some pale and delicate, others sassy and exuberant. Yellows vivid and bright and others pale but no less beautiful. Reds that seemed more real than any red she had ever seen, more vibrant than the flowers in the window shops, more alive than the crisp dawn. Even the browns and greys of the tree trunks seemed different, as if all the forest had decided to give one final performance, a grand finale of riotous color before the deep sleep of winter. Through the curtains of perpetually falling leaves, lazy and coquettish, Pim kicked up the mounds of leaves with laughter, spilling into the air to settle once more yet not diminishing their home. Surely this enchanted place was the work of some artist, some honored craftsman that surpassed all of his peers and would never themselves be surpassed. Her bouncing gait carried her along as she galloped for the shear joy of it all, faint spices tingling her nostrils with the promise of a warm drink to cap off the wondrous afternoon.
She kicked up more leaves, just for the joy of it. They swirled around her in lazy drifting spirals to come resting with a rustle at her feet. The cool air did not sting as she gulped it down in great lungfuls of the earth toned air. The smell of it was full of an earthy loam, richer than the smell after rain. Deeper and fuller, its beguiling aroma stirred within her memories of childhood, before going to the city, before the hard lessons of living on the edges of society. Her smile faded, remembering in a moment her family from before all of this. The next kick was not so boisterous. The next after that angry. All in a moment she slumped to her knees. She would not cry, not here, not out in the open like this. She huffed in the fragrant breeze, its coolness washing over her red face. In the balm of that zephyr she came back to the present, confusion coming over her in a wave. Had not she just been at Entigria? How had she come here? She felt embarrassed, knowing that her face was turning the same shade of scarlet that fell around her. She got up and walked around, trying to figure out what had happened. She was in a clearing, smooth and well-tended. An easy walk brought her to a small pool, full of water. She reached out, the water was clear and cold to the touch. She wondered if it were safe to drink though. If she did, would some spell overcome her? She stopped with the cupped hands holding the water near her face.
“Do not be afraid, child. My new garden is safe,” said a voice nearby.
Pim looked up into the friendly smile of Zuetal, who had appeared on the other side of the pool. Pim’s eyes narrowed, “What. You? What’s going on?”
“You, and some others, have been drawn into our world,” Zuetal spoke these words while crouching down. Dipping his hands into the water, he took a long drink.
Pim searched her feelings inside, there were no misgivings here. She did not feel the clouded judgment that had assailed her at the cave. Even the tensions of worry about Entigria were falling away. Pim filled her hands and drank as well, feeling the cool waters satisfy a thirst she had not known was present. She sighed as weight dropped from her shoulders, an unknown burden released unexpectedly.
“Good,” said Zuetal, “Ibdal did good work with you earlier, I see. Rest here a moment, Aigid will be here collect you soon.”
“And my friends?” Pim asked.
“We will do what we can, in our own ways. I can only offer you this moment of peace. Enjoy it while you can,” Zuetal said.
Pim nodded, drinking again and then watching the leaves in their dance.
* * *
Even with the storm’s swirling flakes of wet snow Lucius could see them now. There were large wolves chasing him. At least, they looked like wolves, howled like wolves, ran like wolves. For all that though, Lucius was just as sure they were not quite the wolves like his own world. He wondered at why they did not attack, for he knew he could never out pace them. Despite their advantage, they did not come near unless he slowed or tried to stop for rest. Then there would be a sound like grinding, creaking ice as they got nearer and nearer. It scared him so much that terror lent his body unknown reserves of energy. The wolves’ form was indistinct, shifting snow held in a pale blue light. Only by looking carefully could he make out the pack that haunted his steps. The question of whether or not he could really die here was one he did not wish adequately answered.
He was being herded forward. He was sure of it, though why was a mystery to him. Had he randomly chosen the correct way? All he knew to do was keep going. The first jog had gone as well as he could hope for. When the trees had continued their ever marching columns without end, he had decided to take a break to catch his breath. The sky had clouded over fully as he rested; slightly at first, hardly discernible from the playful breeze that had scattered crystals from the trees. After a time, he could not doubt the reality of an oncoming blizzard. And then the shapes, the shapes in the darkening landscape. The first one he spotted nearly frightened him to death, a great white wolf not of flesh and bone, but of snow, the howl of the wind the breath of its call. He had fled once more, boots scattering snow that was ankle height and deepening.
Lucius ran on until he came to the end of the forest. Here, along the furthest fringe of the boreal forest the tree line ended suddenly. Beyond, there was only the frozen ground, hard and exposed. The tree line extended without wavering on either side, as neat as a razor’s edge. Lucius wondered how far he could get out before the biting wind would snuff out his life’s spark. His heart faltered; so this was it then? He had traveled for what felt like days, though who could really tell, the icy embrace made comfort a distant memory. Out on that rolling expanse of exposed tundra there was no cover. No dip in the ground would be sufficient to even begin to dull the impact of the slightest zephyr. He could see the sparkling air ahead, where the ice crystals swept up and were played with by the breeze at the slightest movement.
His breath hung in the air from short and shallow staccato bursts that did not satisfy the hunger for air as Lucius considered his next move. He was running out of stamina; he could feel it in his chest, which felt
as if it were on fire. His feet were cold and he could no longer feel his fingers so well. Lucius knew he was a running blind, with no direction or purpose other than away from the storm with its pursuing wolves. Whether the wolves were just part of the storm or not was inconsequential, the howls were real and their intent was plain. Lucius bent double, hands on knees as he attempted to catch his breath properly. He startled when he noticed another figure beside him suddenly. His battered senses spared a moment to only recognize the features as feminine, dressed in a brown robe.
“There you are, I thought I felt you here,” Aigid said.
Lucius suspected he was delirious, maybe he had already fallen over in the snow, and this was only a dream within a dream. Better to play along, he thought. “That you, Aigid?” he asked, “You get lost too?”
“Very funny,” she replied, “You’re the one that’s lost; lost out of time and lost near out of your mind. I’ll give that husband of mine an earful for this.”
“Glad I could help the cause,” Lucius said, falling over in exhaustion. The shock he felt as he hit the ground convinced him though that he was not quite dreaming. Firm but gentle hands helped him up as snow whirled around, cold trying its best to worm its way into his heart.
“I am the traveler, remember? Where you’re at doesn’t matter. I’m here to set you on the straight path,” Aigid said.
The flippant core of Lucius, ever ready, chimed in, “Give me that old time religion, it can’t be beat.”
Aigid actually smiled, “Well, gods bless you child. Oh wait, we are. Now come along.” She motioned him forward, a silvery portal with blue edges appeared a few steps away.
“Where are we going? For that matter, where am I to begin with?” asked Lucius.
“Where ‘here’ is…” Aigid replied, “You are sort of in our world. There is no word for it that you understand. It is both real and not real. We are creators, after all, and hold at once in an instant that which was and what may be. A dream you may call it, but one with substance and one without a waking. You traveled here in person, once; now your mind wanders these paths where it ought not. To get back, you must meet the one who called you here. I can take you to him,” she pointed towards the portal, “But you’ll be on your own. That’s all I can offer you.”
Litany of Wrath Page 30