“I’m not turning into a fucking ghost like you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“No,” Cris said. “That sacrifice does not have to be repeated. We ghosts paid that price to create the binding that holds the Heretic. We just need to transfer that binding, which we should be able to do when your friend opens a pathway to speak with the Heretic.”
“Can’t you just come with us?” she asked. “I mean, you’re not doing anything else with your soul these days.”
He shook his head. “New prison, new warden.”
“Fuck everything about this,” she growled.
“You wanted to prevent the Occultum from getting the location of the tower,” Cris said. “I don’t see any other alternative.”
“Brother,” she said. “Any ideas?”
“I’ve got nothing,” he said.
“Look, I’m not giving up my eternal soul for this bullshit,” she said. “I’ve got shit to do.”
Cris shrugged. “You’re not giving up your eternal soul.”
“I can’t help but notice you emphasized the word ‘eternal’.”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “You can get rid of the Heretic’s soul. I mean, probably.”
“Probably?” she asked. “Then you can probably go fuck yourself.”
“Look, I was in this for all of eternity. I wasn’t worried about reversing the ritual.”
“I’m sure we can find a way,” Francisco said. “But look. You don’t have to do this. No one would fault you for saying no.”
She sighed. “Whatever. Let’s just get it over with. I doubt we’ll make it out of this valley alive anyway.”
“That’s the spirit,” Cris said.
“If something goes wrong, you fuckers better build a temple in my honor.”
“Oh, now she likes the temple,” Cris muttered.
“Did you say something?” she asked sharply.
“I said your noble sacrifice will not be forgotten,” he said quickly.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And what happens to you once I take on your burden?”
“Well, there won’t be any need for me to stick around here. I’ll see what my friends and I can do to make sure you get out of here safely. Then I’m going to take your advice and go find my long-lost love.”
“Now, that’s a goal I can get behind,” she said, thinking of her parents up in Etherean somewhere.
I’m doing this for you, she thought, hoping they would be proud of her if she ever managed to see them again. Hoping they would see how sorry she was for what she’d done. Hoping they would forgive her.
Sephi hopped up and down and shook her hands to burn off some of the nervous energy coursing through her. “All right. Let’s do this before I change my mind.”
Cris pointed at Francisco. “Make the connection with the Heretic’s soul.”
The Night Brother’s hands contorted in unfamiliar patterns, and he quietly spoke words she didn’t understand. The shadows around them deepened, shrouding them in gloom.
“The Black Soul awakens,” Cris said.
Francisco shut his eyes and cocked his head like he was straining to hear something. “He doesn’t sound happy.”
“What is he saying?” Cris asked.
Francisco grimaced. “Some very unkind things about you, I’m afraid. Perhaps it would be best if I didn’t repeat them.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Cris said. “Bridge the connection to the girl. Girl, hold your dagger tight.”
Francisco weaved symbols in the air, and the connection slammed into Sephi, robbing her lungs of breath. As if from far away, she heard the black murmuring of the Heretic skittering inside her skull like spider legs.
“Here comes the tricky part,” Cris said. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “I guess. Will it hurt?”
“Dear God, yes,” Cris said.
Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”
Cris did something beyond the edge of her vision. Then her world exploded in pain.
A sinister force gripped her heart like a coiling snake, and a thousand stinging needles pierced her skin. The Heretic’s voice, once far away, boomed from inside her, screaming a string of vile obscenities. She desperately hoped to remember them for later, assuming she survived.
Dark tendrils wrapped around her dagger, which went ice cold in her hand. The gleaming blade turned blacker than the night sky, seeming to drink in the light around it. Corruption seeped from the cursed blade like pus from an open sore, and she shuddered in disgust.
A sound like a thunderclap struck her ears, and she staggered on her feet. Then the world came back into focus.
“It is done,” Cris said. “I dub thee Guardian of the Black Soul, Warden of the Ironbound Heretic of Viscayne, Wielder of the Heretic’s Blade.”
“Not Speaker for the Damned?” she asked, starting to feel like herself again.
“No,” Cris said. “My people and I are no longer damned to stand watch.”
“So I’m the only damned one now,” she said.
“Precisely. May your watch be short and your days long.”
“Ahh,” she said. “And also… to you. Have fruitful, um, journeys, and a plethora of mirth.”
“Right,” Cris said.
“Screw you, I didn’t know we were doing cool goodbyes.”
“No, that was great,” Cris said unconvincingly.
“Give me a second. I can do better.” She cleared her throat. “The dictionary defines friendship as—”
“That’s okay,” Cris interrupted. “I should probably get going.”
Francisco laughed. “You suck at goodbyes, Sephi.”
She drew herself up angrily. “So? Maybe I haven’t had as much practice as you, exile.”
Francisco recoiled like she had struck him. “What the hell, Persephone?”
She paused. Not being able to say goodbye properly was indeed a touchy subject for her, but the heat behind her response surprised even her. She felt a kind of formless anger simmering inside her, ready to lash out in any direction. “Sorry, Brother. I didn’t mean that.”
Cris frowned. “You know, it might take some time to adjust to the connection with the Heretic. You might be a little irritable for a while.”
“Great,” she said sullenly. Then she grinned, snapping out of her funk. “At least now, I have an excuse to be an asshole.”
“Like you needed one before,” Francisco said.
“Bitch, I’ll stab you,” she said, only half-joking. “Anyway, thanks for your help, Dead Cris. Go find your wife.”
“Thank you, I will. But first, let’s make sure all of this wasn’t in vain.”
They hurried back to the entrance where Echo stood sweating, surrounded by dead warlocks and hemogoblins. She glanced at Sephi. “You’re still alive.”
“So are you,” Sephi said.
“Did you get what we came for?” Echo asked.
Sephi shrugged. “Something like that. It’s time to go.”
They emerged from the temple to chaos. Dead warlocks and manticores littered the ground like broken toys. The remaining dark mages had regrouped around the mammoth and its blue-faced rider. The prisoners in the cage were all dead, allowing the warlocks to lob huge balls of dark energy at the attacking ghosts. Whenever a ghost got hit, their body dematerialized, only to reappear seconds later.
Perhaps the specters couldn’t be killed, but the warlocks were keeping them at bay through the sheer volume of magic at their disposal.
Magnus and Princess had managed to keep the wagon in one piece. They had their own circle of corpses surrounding them, and the buru had half a warlock in her mouth, which she chewed on happily.
“Are we good?” Magnus asked as they approached.
“Yeah,” Sephi said. “Time to move. Everyone in the cart.” She turned back to Cris. “You think you can keep them away from the exit?”
He nodded. “We’ll keep them busy for as long as we can. To give you a head start.�
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“Much appreciated. Well, I’d shake your hand, but, well, you know.”
Cris smiled. “Good luck.”
Sephi jumped in the cart and whipped Princess into action. The buru spit out her treat and ran toward the exit.
The warlock leader on the mammoth shouted at the dark mages at the creature’s feet, directing their fire toward Sephi and her friends. The ghosts were able to keep the warlocks from advancing on the exit, but they couldn’t stop the lethal balls of energy from raining down around the cart.
Sephi zigged and zagged through the storm of dark magic, squinting against the dust filling the air. All it would take was one lucky hit, and they’d all be toast. She wondered what would happen to the Heretic if she died. Would he still be trapped in her dagger, or would his soul manage to roam free?
I’ll stand laughing over your rotting corpse as I piss in your skull.
Well, look who finally joined the party, she thought.
Oh, I’ve been awake for a millennium, plotting my revenge on this world the entire time. A whelp like you can’t hope to stop me. This world is mine for the taking. I’ll chain you to my throne and make you watch as I disembowel your friends one by one. But I won’t let them die. I’ll—
That’s enough of that. She pushed his voice to a dark corner of her mind, shutting him out so she could concentrate on escaping.
The warlock leader had his hands over his head, gathering energy like crackling lightning above him. When the swirling ball of dark magic was the size of the mammoth, he hurled it toward the cart. Sephi swerved to avoid its path, but the ball tracked their movement, chasing the cart down.
She cursed, having no idea how she would get away. The orb got closer, and she could hear its power humming like an angry hive of bees. The fine hairs on her arms stood on end, and she braced herself for the lethal blast.
Cris swooped in to place his incorporeal body between the spell and the wagon. The last brave act of the Guardian of the Black Soul before leaving his duty under her care. The plasma ball crashed into him. He took the brunt of the blast, dispersing its energy into pumpkin-sized globs that burned like molten metal.
One of them smacked into her arm. Her coat protected her from the worst of it, but she could feel her skin blistering beneath the leather.
The pain was excruciating, but in the next instant, they were through the exit and on their way back to safety. At least, for the moment.
Chapter 15
Several hours later, they were well away from the canyon, traveling by the light of the full moon. Sephi had yet to see any signs of pursuit, but they didn’t dare stop to make camp. Princess marched over the dry soil without the slightest bit of fatigue. The buru could travel for days without food or rest when necessary.
Right now, it was necessary.
The others were asleep in the back, huddled together beneath blankets and robes against the cold night. The temperature had dropped when the sun disappeared over the horizon.
Sephi pulled her leather jacket tightly around her and decided that it was finally time for her to properly introduce herself to the Heretic. She opened her mind to let him in.
—and the glass rods will be brittle, so they shatter upon insertion. And surprise! The rods were hollow, and filled with fire ants—
Wait. Have you been talking this whole time?
His voice stopped. Why? Have you not been listening?
Fuck no.
That’s of no consequence. I shall happily repeat the litany of abuses I will inflict upon you and your friends. What was the last thing you heard?
Sephi shifted in her seat, shuddering at the idea of listening to several hours of the Heretic describing creative ways to hurt her friends. You can tell me about your wet dreams later. Right now, I need you to answer some questions.
You couldn’t handle my fantasies. He paused. Or perhaps you could, my scrumptious little morsel.
Hold on, can you see me?
I can sense what’s around me. So, yes. And I sense a fine pair of boobs beneath that coat.
She laughed in surprise. Boobs? Calling them that makes me think you’ve never seen a real breast in your life.
Ha! I’ve pleasured more beings on heaven and earth than you could count.
‘More beings on heaven and earth’ seems like a strange name for your right hand. But moving on. I have questions.
Like I would abase myself to answer your inquiries. You, a child barely out of diapers, dare to question me? The audacity. Ask me a thousand questions, and silence will be your answer.
I’d like to know about the work that got you imprisoned.
Oh, my work? Absolutely. I love talking about that. It all started in my youth, when I invented a game called ‘the blade and the blindfold.’ It was not well-received by the other children, or their parents for that matter, but genius is often misunderstood at first.
Of course, I showed them. I put mushrooms in the milk. They never saw that coming—or anything else after that day. But they say blindness heightens the other senses, so maybe it turned out for the best.
Although, actually, my journey really started a few years prior, with Mimzy, the family pet. A wonderful companion with a surprisingly fragile spine.
Anyway, I was just the boy to fix her. And that was the day I learned that kitchen utensils are a poor substitute for proper surgical tools. Also? Wash them before putting them back in the drawer. Mother was not pleased.
Of course, I showed her.
As the man prattled on, one thing became abundantly clear to Sephi. The Heretic was out of his fucking mind.
She felt her own rationality falter as she listened, being drawn into the dark depths of his depravity like slowly sinking in quicksand. What chipped away at her sanity wasn’t just the despicable acts he described, but the way he described them. He spoke with an almost nostalgic cheerfulness, much like a normal person would talk about their favorite birthday party as a child.
She could finally see why Cris felt the need to lock him away from the rest of existence. He was a truly vile being, not fit to be included with the rest of the human race. Maybe bringing him along and binding him with her soul had been a bad idea after all.
Sephi needed to stop his crazy tirade, so she decided to broach a subject that, according to Cris, had been dear to him.
Did you really murder your twin sister?
The Heretic went silent, and when he spoke, all the joy was gone from his voice. I did not make that choice lightly. She was the only person I ever truly loved.
But you killed her anyway?
The artifact contained instructions that would lead to the lost tower, but to retrieve that information, it demanded a sacrifice of that which I held most dear. The tower was always meant to be found by warlocks, you see. Dark mages with the blackest hearts. Not normal weak mages like you and your pitiful friends. Toward that end, the First Mage created the artifacts before his final battle, instructing his lieutenant, Hextius Black, to scatter them across Esper if he didn’t return.
Was that the weird energy in the Valley you went to investigate?
No, that was something else. I never discovered the source of that magical anomaly. I discovered the artifact instead, hidden in a cave just waiting for someone like me to find it and unlock its secrets.
And unlocking it required a sacrifice?
Yes, it was a clever test. Whoever reclaims the lost tower is meant to carry on Zekariah’s work. Anyone worthy of that task can’t be weighed down by morality, sentimentality, or conflicting loyalties. The search for the ultimate magical power must come before all else. So, many of dark magic’s most powerful spells require sacrificing something or someone you love, and unlocking the artifact was no different.
She was so close to getting the answers she’d been searching for, and she knew she should stay focused. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question burning inside her.
Was it worth it?
The Heretic had no lung
s or lips, but he still managed to sigh. It would have been if I had made it to the tower and retrieved the Whispers.
Tell me where they are, and I’ll take you to them.
An idle promise. What good are the Whispers to me without a body?
True, but wouldn’t you like to see them? To stand in their presence and make your sister’s sacrifice worth something instead of nothing?
And why should you get them? What sacrifices have you made?
I’ve suffered.
I sense truth in those words. He paused, as if thinking it over. I’ve dreamt of reaching the tower for over a thousand years, and I imagined holding the Whispers in my hands for even longer. I would like to reach the end of my quest, even if it’s through you.
I will show you the way.
Thank you.
But make no mistake. When I find a way out of this prison and back into this world, I will take back what’s mine. I shall take the Whispers, reclaim dominion over the Nyx, and rule the world from atop the Citadel. All of Esper will bow before me.
It sounded like more gibberish to her, although she believed him when he said he would try to escape. He had given up everything in his pursuit for the Whispers. He wouldn’t just roll over now and relax. Still, she had no choice but to see her own journey through to the end. Afterward, someone else could worry about the Heretic’s soul and his mad quest for power.
She turned her attention back to the conversation. Well, you can work on all that later. Now tell me, how do I find the lost tower?
There is only one way into the lost tower. The entrance is in Zekariah’s palace.
Bullshit. The lost tower is in Tartarus.
Yes, and the entrance is in the palace. I swear, you ask for my help, and then you argue with me. What kind of slack-jawed moron have I been bound to? I waited a thousand years for you? An idle-minded shit biscuit with no concept of—
Okay, damn. Sorry. We’ll head back to the Cradle.
The journey back to the mages’ homeland took its toll on the group. With only rare stops along the way, they took turns manning the reins and resting, but the constant shaking of the wagon jarred their bones until Sephi thought she might fall apart like one of Francisco’s skeletons.
The Lost Tower Page 13