Once beyond the fields, they entered a hallway lined with statues serving as columns for a short but cavernous hallway. Vented wooden doors hung on doorways lining both sides. The hallway ended at another huge archway. Beyond it rested an oasis. No other word for it would do.
Massive date palm trees, small leafed plants, and flowering cacti surrounded three pools of clear water fed from a small tributary stream coming, presumably, from the underground river on the far side. Carefully tended, the stream and the pools gleamed with granite lining, and red sand packed the ground of the paths between. Stone pots partially concealed behind plants or elaborate statues of nude or scantily clad men and women resided near at hand to water the trees and foliage.
Railee halted at the middle pool in front of a stone bench.
Joining her, Darwin glanced quickly around. No one was anywhere near that he could see; several people performed activities of some sort at the farthest pool, but that was all. He eyed his guide.
Motioning to a bench, Railee sat upon it. “Now we wait.”
Darwin sat close to her. “Yet another delay? What is this? I dislike waiting, it make me… unreasonable.”
Railee laughed. She rubbed her toned thigh against his. “Is that your way of saying your patience is finite?” Her fair features grew serious. “Visiting Slick Rock or Red Rock is to adhere to our ways; we are a touchy people, most notably the Servants of Eons. Shall I convince my contact to arrange a meeting?”
Darwin grew angry. “You have no direct connection to a Servant of Eons? You led me to believe you had.” He reached for the Flow and then hesitated, searching her gray eyes for signs of deceit. He found none.
Malkor laughed as he shuffled up to them, though a wheeze spoiled the effect. “Your wench has been less than honest. Shall I burn her for you?”
Darwin eyed Railee in silence.
Her eyes widened. “You can’t possibly be considering his offer!”
Again, Malkor laughed, rasping.
Darwin stood. “Let us hope your contact is prompt. I hate to wait.”
Glancing at the path leading to the next pool beyond them, Railee bounded to her feet. “She is coming.”
A woman clad with the brown kell form-fitted leather chemise and pants similar to Railee’s, typical of a warrior woman in the south, strode through the palms and greenery separating the pools. Her knee-high boots protected her from cacti, and the long sword sheathed at her side rode with familiarity.
The woman’s teal eyes lingered only a little on him as her contemptuous gaze quickly dismissed Malkor. She stopped in front of Railee, folded her arms under her ample bosom, and regarded the woman boldly for a long heartbeat. “Why have you sent for me, Sect Sister? What do you seek this time?”
Railee’s reply came quick. “I have need of your diplomacy, Sister Sorrna. I would have you convince Naa’thon of our great and urgent need for a private rendering.”
Sorrna jerked as if slapped, her arms unfolding from her stomach, and coming to rest on her hips. “You ask much yet offer nothing!”
Railee inhaled deeply, looking down at her boots. Exhaling slowly, she turned to Darwin. “I offer one liaison with him, the strongest here.” She shook her head of flowing light brown hair from side to side.
Darwin frowned. “What is this you offer? What do you speak of, woman? I decide what I do, and only me.”
Sorrna considered him. “He has good build, but his crippled arm brands him weak.”
Railee smiled and then raised her voice. “Knock her from her feet, Darwin. Do it before she can kill you. Show my sect sister the value I have placed on you!”
Darwin was confused. “What val—”
In one fluid motion, Sorrna drew her sword and slashed at his chest.
Darwin bounded backward, the sword slicing through his black robes. Slipping his right hand through the wide gash, he pulled his long sword from its sheath on his left hip and parried her backswing, though it was a near thing.
The woman had precision, balance, and speed. All marks of a seasoned warrior, an expert with her weapon. He wasted little time drawing upon the Flow. When she lunged, he pushed her sword hard to the side with the flat of his blade, putting his weight behind it. Then, as she spun away, he kicked her in the side, staggering her farther away.
Stabbing his sword point first in the ground before him, he released his smallest squall of dark wind. A twisting blackness, not unlike the whirlwind at the entrance but on a much smaller scale, spun from him.
Twisting into Sorrna, the black squall picked her up and carried her spinning to the center of the pond. There, it slowed, unwinding gently. Hanging in stasis as she rotated to face them, Sorrna blinked once in surprise and then dropped heavily, vanishing beneath the surface still gripping her sword. A plume of water splashed high, marking her entrance.
“Blast you, we need her!” Railee cursed. Unbuckling her sword and letting it fall to the sand, she ran and dived into the water.
Malkor laughed.
Darwin gave him a sharp look.
Malkor’s laughter dissolved.
Darwin picked up Railee’s sword and leaned upon it beside his own. “We still require her service, both of them, it appears,” he said.
Sorrna surfaced first, inhaling deeply. Railee popped up beside her, blowing water from her mouth. Side by side, they swam to shallow water and climbed out, Sorrna’s sword now secured in her sheath.
Twisting her light brown hair into a ball, Railee spat water and eyed him, her gray eyes clear. “That was not what I meant for you to show her, but it will do.”
Admiring the polished red coral handgrip of Railee’s sword briefly, Darwin picked it up by the hilt with two fingers and offered it to the red rock woman. “Then she will help us?”
“Aye, she will, after you fulfill her payment demand,” Railee said, taking the weapon and slipping it into the sheath with a practiced ease.
Darwin eyed Sorrna. Water dripped from her curly wheat-colored hair though she took no notice, returning his gaze openly. No flecks from seasons of heavy Flow use crossed her corneas. Yet Railee had no flecks either, and she had opened the wind door. “Name the price. My merchant will pay whatever you ask,” he said.
Sorrna frowned, her eyes seeking Railee.
Railee grinned. “You are to provide the payment.”
Now Darwin frowned. “What does she require from me?”
“Your seed,” Railee said matter-of-factly.
Darwin gaped at them both. Finally, he asked, “When?”
“Now,” Railee replied. “Payment has to be made in full before we can go farther. Do you agree to fulfill this service?”
Malkor cackled, long and loud. “I pay my master’s debts.”
Neither woman acknowledged the comment.
Darwin looked to his servant, gesturing at a nearby clump of foliage surrounding a large tree. “Go behind that palm until I call for you.”
Malkor’s mirth faded. “As you command,” he said, executing a stiff bow. Scowling, he walked away.
Railee moved to block Malkor’s view, turning her back to him.
Her smooth brown-skinned face devoid of expression, Sorrna sat on the bench, removed her boots, shimmied out of her wet kell leather from her waist down, and then lay back.
Not caring how rough he was, Darwin paid for her service quickly. His patience had worn thin; too much delay had occurred as it was.
RENDERING
Sorrna paused at a set of double wooden doors reinforced with wide bands of beaten black iron on the top, bottom, and center. Mounted on the center one, the doublewide band had plenty of support for the twist handle. “Await my return,” she said, the tone of her voice imperious. Slipping through the door on the right, she left without a backward glance.
Perhaps the woman, Sorrna, had sensed his impatience since leaving the pools and following her deep into the maze of hallways and stairways, passing through an endless arr
ay of empty stone-benched rooms before finally leading them here. He had come to believe the circuitous route intentional to confuse memory of the way.
Darwin refrained from counting the passing seconds. Do not lengthen the delay, he told himself.
When Railee sat gracefully on the smooth sandstone floor—the color of blood not yet dried—he lowered his body near her awkwardly, using his good arm. The warrior woman was an enigma to him. He had thought Railee had fallen for him, but her callous act of giving him to Sorrna made him wonder. That and she made no move to come closer. Perhaps Railee stayed with him only from the fact he had given her no choice.
Darwin could not stay long on the floor; the coolness of it leached into his bones, while its hardness softened his buttocks, making them less of a cushion for his spine and causing his back to ache. He stood. The door to the room swung slowly open.
Sorrna poked her head and shoulders out from the doorway. “Follow my example, and bow to each of the Twelve. Failure to demonstrate subservience shall result in ejection from the Cavern of Ages.”
Darwin glanced at his companions, his eyes lingering briefly upon Malkor. “Ruining this meeting is to die here with me.” No one met his eye, though Sorrna’s long lashes fluttered as she turned and led the way inside.
Though no match for the Gap of Thundering Darkness at the Dark Citadel or even the wash and bathing pools there, the cavern dwarfed him with immensity. The abundant white crystals that stabbed upward, downward, and outward from the curved walls for several stories were impressive. To Darwin, it seemed as if they walked through a giant geode.
Infused glimmer shards placed with a deft hand reflected light from the crystals dispersing luminance about the great dome with perfect brilliance. Only the backsides of the towering obelisk-shaped clusters of crystals remained in shadow.
A rough-cut path led to the center, though not to a crystal as he expected but to an object. Darwin counted twelve red-robed figures surrounding it. He glimpsed a great dark cube as the figures turned, those in the back moving to the front and sides, packing shoulder to shoulder between two mammoth crystal clusters on each side.
Sorrna stopped a short distance away and bowed to each of the figures. Railee took over as soon as her sect sister finished, bending at the waist with elegant ease. Malkor watched Darwin, waiting. Darwin thought about it. The blasted Servants of Eons should bow to him.
He could make them. In all likelihood, he had the superior strength. Perhaps. The servants were a secretive lot; there was little common knowledge of their inner workings, and the Red Rock people had thus far shown some manipulation of the Flow.
Coming this far, only to lose what he came for, was unacceptable.
Darwin bowed to each one as quick as possible, his moments jerky from long disuse. He ensured Malkor did the same with a wave of his good hand.
The wall of red robes parted, allowing a thirteenth hooded figure to step through, and then closed ranks. Three dominant colors graced the robe, black on one side, red on the other, and gold centered between. The figure kept the tri-colored hood lowered, like the others.
“I have brought them as you requested, Lore Master Naa’thon. Do you wish a private audience?” Sorrna asked. The tone of her voice was hushed with reverence.
The three-colored hood rose imperceptibly. “You of the Red Rock sect shall await their return.” The low hiss of the voice that drifted from beyond the hood had the creak of age, as if the door to an ancient ruin was pried open for the first time in an age.
The sect sisters left without comment.
The red-robed wall parted. Naa’thon’s long-sleeved arm rose, pointing to the gaping hole left by the red robes, offering the way forward.
Though Darwin’s excitement arose with the destination so close, he knew a moment’s hesitation. A power emanated ahead, a power like no other; it called to him and repelled him at the same time.
Darwin squashed his trepidation and stepped forward. Power was what he came here for, though of a different sort. Power was all he truly desired, had always wanted. Power would ensure he destroyed those responsible for shattering his arm, his perfect body, his manhood.
He strode boldly into the blackness, passing through a line of obelisks larger than the topaz gateway with barely an acknowledgment shunted to the back of his mind. A crystal cube, nearly as tall as he, pulsed brightly a dark red and then faded to murky darkness, brightening to a radiant glow a heartbeat later. Malkor stepped through followed by Naa’thon, and the wall of robes closed behind.
“Behold the Lore Stone,” Naa’thon said. The tone of his voice resonated with power, power matching the stone. “You are granted a sole request for knowledge from the Rock of Eons for the following seventeen seasons. Afterward, you may fulfill a service deemed worthy, though considerably harder than first use for a second request. Have you an inquiry prepared?”
Darwin looked deep into the stone. Countless capillaries filled with a radiant redness from a large sphere were embedded in the center. The cube grew brighter as the substance reached the tips. He opened his mouth to ask his heart’s desire, which had burned black and festering within him from the vile day Lord Charn had nearly killed him. What artifact did he require to ensure his dominion over the Dark Citadel, what power would he need to become the greatest, the great lord of all?
Darwin closed his mouth before uttering a word. Once asked, he could not ask again for seventeen seasons. Even if the request was granted now, a need would surface again. A question on retaining such power would soon rise. Inevitably, someone would challenge him.
Such a binding was unacceptable. There might be another way, a method to bring the knowledge along for seasons with no limitation for his queries, something he’d considered through the long nights of pain after his maiming. “I would ask how to instill in my manservant, Malkor, the knowledge of a lore master?”
The Lore Stone brightened and stayed bright.
Naa’thon’s red hood swung toward him. Darwin thought he viewed a flash of amber hourglass eyes as the lore master did so, but he could not be certain. “Your wisdom in asking this question is worthy of the Lore Stone, though surprising for one seeking only one goal. Your manservant would have to undergo a rendering is the answer.”
Malkor’s strangled choke was loud. Darwin ignored it. “Will you perform such a deed?”
Naa’thon’s deep hood swung slowly from side to side. “Your inquiry is spent. You may ask again after seventeen seasons have passed, providing your service is sufficient.”
Darwin’s anger erupted. “I cannot wait, I shall not! Either you tell me or all here can consider this cavern a tomb.” He drew deeply upon the Flow, pulling in as much of the dark sweet substance as he could stand. The wall of red robes turned as one and faced them.
“Wait!” Malkor’s nasal shout echoed loud throughout the cavernous rock, reverberating back and forth from crystal to crystal. “Tell me how to perform a rendering as a lore master, what service do I have to achieve?”
Naa’thon’s red hood fell forward slightly as his shoulders slumped. “Once initiated, such a thing cannot be halted. Is your certainty with this course of action absolute?”
“Yes it is. Bring whomever you wish for me to service, and then render me a lore master,” Malkor said his voice a sneer. “My master has no time to waste.”
Naa’thon hesitated. “You have the power of healing strength, yet the rendering cannot be healed,” he finally said, his dry and hollow voice echoing as if from afar.
“I have no concern to heal, get on with it,” Malkor snapped.
Naa’thon motioned toward the wall of bodies. Two red robes stepped forward. “The service requirement is higher for a rendering than any other; it is paid with the blood of those making the request,” he said, producing a stiletto rounded to a sharp point from somewhere within the sleeve of his robe.
The two red robes pinned Malkor’s arms behind his back and forced him to his
knees beside the stone.
“What is this?” Malkor squeaked, struggling.
“What do you think to do?” Darwin asked. “I shall not permit his death by your hands.”
Naa’thon’s deep voice boomed throughout the cavern, belying his great age. “Interfere and he dies!”
Malkor looked over his shoulder, his brown eyes wild. “Master, do not allow this!”
With speed and precision, Naa’thon pulled Malkor’s head back by his stringy brown hair and stabbed the point of the round blade into the center of his forehead. He removed the stiletto nearly as quickly as he had supplanted it. Malkor screamed as blood gushed from the round hole; the two red robes forced his head to the stone. As soon as his forehead made contact with the crystal, Malkor stiffened, growing quiet.
Darwin was enamored; the bloodstone stored power, immense power, and it stained his mind with the reek of it. He lifted his good arm and reached for the radiant, pulsating cube.
“I would not advise such an action,” Naa’thon said softly. “Without a direct pathway to the mind, the Lore Stone will create one in the flesh through first contact for the rendering, always much larger than it requires.”
Darwin lowered his hand. Even the two red robes had stepped back.
Though his head never moved, a tremendous spasm passed through Malkor.
“Is he going to survive the rendering?” Darwin asked, curious.
Reaching up with both hands, Naa’thon pulled his hood back, letting it fall to his shoulders. Patchy, nearly transparent, skin held a skull expanded grotesquely wide and elongated to the back. Eyes of blood red gazed from a slightly sunken face of great seasons. “As you can now view with your own eyes, most have not the mental capacities to accept what the Lore Stone shall bestow upon them. If his mind is strong and adaptable, he may live for an age beyond everyone he now knows.”
Though the deformity of the Lore Master was pronounced, Darwin quashed his inner alarm for his servant and friend. There was an unmistakable power lying within Naa’thon’s blood red eyes.
Beyond the Dark Gate Page 17