by Paul S. Kemp
“What is that?” Jak asked again, and gently gripped Cale’s hand by the wrist.
“It’s a mask,” Cale said. He shook free of Jak’s grip and stuffed it back into his pocket. “I picked it up in the armory. You overlooked it in the strongbox.”
Jak looked skeptical at that. “I didn’t overlook it,” he said thoughtfully. “A mask? Cale …”
“I know.”
Jak smiled and patted Cale’s forearm. “Seems the Shadowlord wants an answer sooner rather than later.”
Cale dared not reply to that. He thought some part of him might have already given his answer. Without another word, he knelt and retrieved the glow wand. “Let’s keep moving. The stairs to the basement are just ahead.”
With Cale holding the glow wand high to best illuminate the darkness and Jak keeping a watchful eye behind for the shadow demon, they moved warily through the narrow halls. The floor solidified as they distanced themselves from the gate, the warping seemingly localized around the void. Still, the whole guildhouse fairly reeked of wrongness.
With only the dim glow wand for light, Cale relied more on his hearing than his vision to warn him of danger. He was alert to any sound, but heard nothing—nothing but the dull, thudding pulses emitted from the gates as they grew larger and ate away at the world.
He wondered briefly whether proximity to the gates would somehow change he and Jak, warp them into unspeakable horrors like the ghouls. Uncomfortable with the thought, he dismissed it as useless speculation. He reached into his pocket and felt the comforting touch of the felt mask.
I’m already changed, he admitted to himself. He was finding comfort in a god. Only time would tell if he also had been warped.
Doors dotted the hallway as they moved. The gates had warped some into saggy slabs of wood with the consistency of candle wax, while others seemed normal. Where the doors stood closed and solid, Cale left them closed. Where ajar, he kicked them open and stalked into the room, blade ready. Always the rooms beyond stood empty but for the occasional gate, broken furnishings, torn paintings, and of course, the smell. They moved forward, cautiously alert.
Jak’s hand suddenly closed over Cale’s wrist and pulled him to a stop. “There’s something behind us,” the little man whispered. “I can feel it.”
Cale didn’t feel it, but Jak’s words caused the hairs on his nape to rise. He nodded and set the glow wand on the floor. “We’ll wait for it here,” he whispered into Jak’s ear. It could only be the shadow demon. He had cleared the previous rooms to make sure that no ghouls could attack from behind.
The little man nodded and both took positions along opposite sides of the wall. Cale held the enchanted long sword in a two-handed grip. Jak held his short sword and dagger in trembling hands. They stood just outside the blue light of the glow wand and peered back into the darkness, ready, waiting. Cale’s heart thudded in time to the unholy pulses of the gates.
Nothing happened. They stood there for twenty heartbeats, still nothing.
“Trickster’s toes, Cale. I felt something.”
Cale didn’t doubt it. He felt sure that the shadow demon was lurking somewhere nearby. Even if he had wounded it back at the gate, he certainly hadn’t killed it. He picked up the glow wand. “We keep moving. Stay close, and keep your eyes and ears alert behind.”
Jak nodded agreement. Cale saw that in his dagger hand, the little man held both blade and holy symbol. Cale fought off the urge to draw forth the felt mask from his pocket.
I don’t have a holy symbol, he inwardly averred. Cale didn’t know if he believed himself.
They trekked on. Ahead, the hall branched into a T-shaped intersection. Moving forward in a ready crouch, wary for an ambush, Cale turned right. Illuminated by the glow wand, the door to the main stairwell came into view.
“There,” he said over his shoulder, and pointed with his blade at the door. Jak mouthed the words, Let’s do it, and they stalked ahead.
After assuring himself that it wasn’t warped, Cale knelt at the door and listened. Though he heard nothing, he did not assume the landing beyond unoccupied. He hadn’t heard the ghouls outside the armory, either, and had nearly died as a result. He turned to face Jak. The little man was staring into the darkness behind them, alert. Cale snapped his fingers to get his attention, and signaled in hand cant, Ready yourself.
Jak turned toward the door and moved in close behind Cale. When he felt ready, he gave Cale a nod.
Cale slowly turned the handle. Click. He shared a glance with Jak then jerked the door open and jumped back, enchanted blade before him.
There was nothing there. Only the upper landing of the stairs.
He didn’t allow himself the luxury of a relieved sigh. He knew that from this point onward, there would be no rest. Yrsillar must know that they were in the guildhouse. Since the demon hadn’t set up an ambush here, Cale figured he had marshaled his forces in the basement.
“Get’s ugly from now on,” he said to Jak.
“It’s been ugly since the day we met,” Jak joked, and gave him a friendly shove in the shoulder. “Why change now?”
Cale couldn’t bring himself to smile. “The first flight descends ten feet or so, leads to a second landing, then to a second flight of stairs.” He paused, then added, “Those go down about another fifteen feet and open into the basement.”
Jak’s face remained emotionless. “You lead.”
Placing his right hand on the iron banister, Cale started down the narrow stone stairway. The smell of rancid meat and rotting corpses wafted up from the depths of the guildhouse as though from the bowels of the Abyss. Cale steeled himself and walked on, prodding each stair with his blade before putting his full weight upon it. He rounded the first curve in the stairway and stopped cold.
Before him, the stairs shimmered in the light of the glow wand like shallow water in moonlight. Each dull pulse of the gates sent a distortion wave rippling along them. Below, the entire landing had been transformed into a gate, a hole that led to nothingness. Leaping over it would be impossible.
“Dammit,” Cale muttered.
“Dark,” Jak echoed.
He turned around to face Jak. “We can turn around, go out of the guildhouse, and try to come back in through the sewers.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Or we can climb around it.”
At that, the little man’s expression fell—Jak had apparently had enough of climbing around gates—but he rallied himself quickly. “We climb,” he said. “We’ve come too far to turn back now. Besides, the sewer entrance could be blocked too.”
He turned away from Cale and tapped along the wall with his short sword. “Wall seems unaffected this time, if not the floor. It’s a good thing too, because I don’t have another spell to help me get across. Seems the Lady is still with us.”
Cale nodded absently and studied the walls for himself. Like everything in the guildhouse, they had been built sturdy and sound, but without regard for cosmetics. Their rough, unfinished, and unwarped surface provided plenty of handholds. The real problem, however, wasn’t the absence or presence of handholds, it was that he and Jak would have to slide not just sideways along the wall, but sideways and down, a difficult maneuver under the best of circumstances. Thankfully, the ceiling provided plenty of clearance. They wouldn’t have to climb with the gate mere inches below their feet.
We can do this, he thought, and believed it.
Jak had already sheathed his blades. Cale did the same.
“Same side or different?” asked the little man.
Cale considered. Even if they did follow each other along the same side of the wall, they wouldn’t be able to help one another if either ran into difficulty. “Different,” he said. “If only one side proves impassable, we don’t both want to have to double back. This way, when one of us gets across safely, he can throw a rope to the other to help him across.”
Jak gave a nod, turned, and started to feel the wall for handholds. Cale stuck the glow wand in his belt
and did the same. He quickly found a likely route.
With a soft grunt, he began to climb. Behind him across the stairwell, he could hear Jak’s breathing as he struggled to move his hands and feet over the stone. Cale ascended five or six feet vertically.
“You all right?” he asked Jak. He had to contort his neck so that he could turn far enough around to see the little man.
Jak had climbed to about the same height as Cale. His short arms and legs stuck out at all angles as he gripped the available protrusions. “I’m all right,” he said. “You?”
“Fine,” Cale replied. Bracing himself with his feet and left hand, he reached out sidewise for a grip. After finding one, he shifted his weight and probed the wall with his right foot for another step. He found one and slid a foot or two sidewise.
We can do this, he mentally reiterated.
Cale was breathing hard now. Sweat poured down his back, trickled down his brow and pooled in his eyebrows. Behind him, Jak’s breathing had also grown loud and raspy. With his short limbs and fingers, Jak would find the climb even more difficult than Cale.
But he’ll make it, Cale affirmed hopefully. He called over his shoulder, “How’s it going?”
“It’d be going better if you’d stop distracting me,” Jak retorted. Cale could hear the smile in the little man’s voice.
Cale smiled and continued the slow sidewise climb. For the next few minutes, he focused only on the wall, his weight, and his next movement. Reach, feel for a protrusion, grip, extend his leg, plant his toe, delicately shift his weight. He made steady progress.
From the sounds of his breathing, Cale could tell that Jak lagged a bit behind him. Shorter by half, the little man could not move as quickly as Cale across the wall. Nevertheless, Jak made steady progress.
Halfway across, Cale spared a glance down between his feet at the gate. Emptiness opened beneath him. He seemed not to be climbing a wall only four feet above the surface of the stairs, but instead clinging to a cliff face that overlooked a fall into infinity.
Dizziness sent his head reeling. Gasping, he snapped his head up, clenched his eyes closed, pressed his cheek into the cool stone of the wall, and held on to let the dizziness pass. Jak must have heard his distress.
“You all right, Cale?” the little man asked, concern in his voice. “Cale?”
“I’m all right,” he managed at last, eyes still closed. “Just a little dizzy.” He felt like the wall he hung on was spinning. “Just don’t look down.”
Jak chuckled, a laugh that gave way to a grunt as he climbed another step. “Dark, Cale, that’s the first ru—”
The hairs on Cale’s neck rose and a wave of cold like an icy wind sent shudders through his body. An otherworldly moan of hate rose from within the gate to fill the stairwell. Though he could not turn to see it, he knew the shadow demon had burst from the void like a black arrow shot. He could feel its evil presence behind him, could feel its unearthly cold radiating into his flesh, could feel its malice-filled, yellow eyes burning holes into his back. He and Jak were helpless on the wall. They were dead men.
“Cale!” Jak shouted. “Watch out!” Cale could hear the terror in the little man’s voice. The shhk of a drawn blade sounded. Jak had somehow drawn a weapon.
Cale struggled to fight off the dizziness. Hang on, Jak, he thought urgently. Hang on.
“Cale! Dark, Cale!”
Despite the dizziness, the fear in Jak’s voice pulled his head around. Careful not to look down, he opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. The cold from the demon hit his face like a gust of Hammer wind. The creature hovered gracefully over the center of the gate, facing Jak. Its great wings—which beat only rarely—stuck out behind it and hung in the air so close to Cale that he could almost reach out and touch them. Though it seemed composed of nothingness, the nothingness somehow had substance. Cale could see the sleek muscles that rippled beneath its skin, vicious claws at the end of its long, graceful arms. Streamers of darkness, empty ribbons of shadow, floated about its being like a black mist.
The little man had drawn his short sword and hung precariously by his feet and one hand. Looking over his shoulder with wide green eyes, he tried to wave the blade defensively to keep the demon at bay. The pathetic effort did nothing to deter the dark horror. It flitted back and forth around the little man, outside the reach of the blade. Playfully, it threatened again and again with its claws. Cale could sense its hunger building as it whetted its appetite on Jak’s fear.
Cale could not clear his damn head!
“Cale,” Jak cried. He frantically waved the short sword as the demon feinted an attack. The swing unbalanced him and his hold slipped. Desperately, he twisted back to the wall and tried to save himself with his blade hand. The short sword clanged into the stone, fell from his fingers as he clutched the wall, and dropped into the oblivion of the gate.
“Dark,” Cale heard Jak mutter into the wall.
The demon hissed in triumph, an otherworldly sound that Cale felt more than heard, a shriek of pure hate that sounded as though it had originated from deep within the earth.
Jak clung to the wall, helpless and trembling. “Cale, help,” he cried.
It tore Cale up inside to do nothing, but if he moved, he would surely lose his balance and fall into the gate.
With Jak defenseless and terrified, Cale sensed the demon’s hunger rise until it reached a crescendo, felt its desire to feed radiate in palpable waves from its being.
Jak, desperate now, reached into his pocket and searched for his holy symbol—whether for comfort or for spellcasting, Cale could not tell. The little man released one hand from the wall and twisted his head so that he could see the demon. The black horror reared back with one of its claws, slowly, teasingly, prolonging the inevitable. Jak’s eyes looked past it and met Cale’s.
“I can’t go like the Soargyls, Erevis,” he announced. “I can’t.”
With those words, he let go his hold on the wall. Staring at Cale the while, he fell soundlessly into the emptiness of the gate and vanished into the void.
“No!” Cale shouted, and nearly leaped in after him. “No! Jak!” The dizziness gave way before a wave of grief and anger. “No, godsdammit!”
With its meal now gone the demon howled in frustration. It faced down toward the void and began to dart into the gate after the little man but it stopped cold in mid-air, seeming suddenly to remember Cale. Its head turned slowly upward and its baleful yellow eyes narrowed to sparks.
Cale looked down over his shoulder and met that gaze unflinchingly. Anger fed his courage. He no longer feared this demon.
“Do you remember me, you black son of a whore?” he snarled. Though he nearly fell as a result, he freed one of his hands to awkwardly draw his long sword. “I’m the one that cut you before, remember?”
Its eyes widened and it cocked its head thoughtfully.
“You do remember, don’t you?” He waved the enchanted blade in challenge, tried to find a way to plant his feet so that he could somehow fight, somehow avenge Jak. He realized immediately that it was impossible. His gaze fell to the void below him to the emptiness that had swallowed his best friend.
A voice in his mind screamed accusations. Jak was only here because of me. He was only here because of me!
Though the little man’s final glance had held no blame, Cale couldn’t help but berate himself. Once again his selfishness had led someone he loved to be harmed. First Thazienne and now Jak.
All because of me …
The demon drifted nearer, a mere armslength away. Cale ignored the cold that radiated from it. His rage lent him warmth, his self-loathing insulated him and made the demon’s malice for him seem paltry by comparison. He sensed its hungry anticipation but gave it no terror to feed upon. It flapped its wings once and screamed hate into his face.
He stared back into its malice filled yellow eyes and made the only decision he could. He had to go after Jak. The little man had always stood with him, come what
may. Cale could not desert him now, not if there was any chance he still lived.
“But first you, you bastard,” he angrily muttered.
The demon hovered directly behind him. It flitted about him and tried to make him afraid. Cale no longer felt fear, only hate. Hate for what had happened to his friend Jak.
Without another thought, he summoned his strength and leaped backwards off the wall. Spinning around in mid-air, he dexterously reversed his grip on the long sword and held it before him in a two-fisted grip, a unicorn horn of enchanted steel.
Startled, the demon’s eyes flashed with surprise. Cale sensed it hiss. Lightning quick, it lashed out with a claw. Cale didn’t know if it hit him. He flew into the demon and lashed out with a terrible strength fueled by rage. Even as he fell toward the void, he drove the enchanted iron between the demon’s eyes and pierced its head. The long sword bit deep into the demon’s shadowstuff. Black mist exploded from the wound. Its scream resounded in Cale’s ears like the cries of slaughtered cattle. He kept his grip on the long sword’s hilt as he plummeted toward the gate. The enchanted iron split the demon from head to groin, the tension similar to cutting a bed sheet in twain. A cloud of shadowstuff exploded around Cale, the stench overwhelming. The demon’s scream of agony sounded loud in his ears—a death scream for certain.
He felt satisfaction for only a fraction of a heartbeat before he and the remains of the demon fell into the gate. When he hit the surface, he felt a brief tension followed by sudden give, as though he had jumped through the skin of one of Brilla’s day-old soups. A charge raced through his body and he felt like he was swimming in syrup. A weight pressed against his chest. He gasped for breath but his constricted throat could draw in only the reeking stink of the dead demon’s shadowstuff. His body went numb and he passed out.
CHAPTER 10
SOMETHING FROM NOTHING
Jak regained consciousness. Apart from the soft rush of an uncomfortably warm wind, Jak heard only silence. He lay on his back and remained perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to dispel the illusion that he was still alive.