by Mel Odom
"Take this, girl," Cholik said, "as a token of my appreciation." He glanced up at the nearest mercenary. "See that she gets back to her family."
The mercenary nodded and led the little girl away. She never once looked back.
Despite the fact that more than a year had passed since he'd found Kabraxis's gateway under the remains of Tauruk's Port and Ransim, Cholik's mind wandered back to the labyrinth and the chamber where he'd released the demon back into the human world. One man had escaped that night, a Westmarch sailor who had even evaded the skeletons and zombies Kabraxis had raised to kill everyone there.
Cholik felt that no one in Bramwell would have dared attack him in the church. And if the man were burned as badly as the girl described, someone would have come forward to identify him and hope to earn a reward from Dien-Ap-Sten or himself.
So it had been an outsider. Someone not even the populace of the city had known about. Yet it had to be someone who had known Cholik from before.
Where had the man who had escaped from Tauruk's Port gone? If this was him, and it made no sense for it to be anyone else, why had he waited so long before he'd stepped forward? And why approach Cholik now at all?
It was unsettling. Especially when Cholik thought about how near the quarrel had come to piercing his heart. Thoughts churning, Cholik reentered his private chamber to plan and scheme with the demon he had freed. Whatever chance the assassin had had was now gone. Cholik would never be caught unprepared again. He consoled himself with that.
* * *
Back and shoulders on fire from all the lifting he'd done during the day, Darrick entered the Blue Lantern. Pipe smoke and the closing night filled the tavern with darkness. Men swapping stories and telling lies filled the tavern with noise. To the west, near where the mouth of the Gulf of Westmarch met the Frozen Sea, the sunset settled into the water, looking like dying red embers scattered from a stirred campfire.
A cold north wind followed Darrick into the tavern. The weather had changed in the last hour, just as the ships' captains and mates had been thinking it would. Come morning, Sahyir had told Darrick, there might even be a layer of ice covering the harbor. It wouldn't be enough to lock the ships in, but that time wasn't far off, either.
Men looked up as Darrick walked through the small building. Some of the men knew him, and some were from the ships out in the harbor. All of their eyes were wary. Seeker's Point wasn't a big village, but the numbers swelled when ships were in the harbor. And if a man wanted trouble in the village, the Blue Lantern was where he came.
There was no table space in the tavern. Three men Darrick knew slightly offered their tables with their friends. Darrick thanked them but declined, passing on through the tables till he spotted the man Sahyir had talked about earlier that day.
The man was in his middle years, gray showing in his square-cut beard. He was broad-shouldered and a little overweight, a solid man who had seen an active life. His clothing was second-hand, worn but comfortable-looking, and warm enough against the cool winds blowing in from the north. He wore round-lensed spectacles, and Darrick could still count on the fingers of both hands how many times he'd seen such devices.
A platter of bread and meat sat to the sage's left. He wrote with his right hand, pausing every now and again to dip his quill into an inkwell beside the book he worked in.A whale-oil lantern near the book provided him more light to work by.
Darrick stopped only a short distance from the table, uncertain what he should say.
Abruptly, the sage looked up, peering over his spectacles. "Darrick?"
Startled, Darrick said nothing.
"Your friend Sahyir named you," the sage said. "He told me when he talked to me last night that you might be stopping by."
"Aye," Darrick said. "Though I must confess I don't truly know what I'm doing here."
"If you've seen that symbol as Sahyir seems inclined to believe that you have," the sage said, "it's probably marked you." He gestured to the book before him. "The Light knows that the pursuit of knowledge about it has marked me. Much to my own detriment, according to some of my mentors and peers."
"You've seen the demon?" Darrick asked.
Renewed interest flickered in the sage's deep green eyes. "You have?"
Darrick paused, feeling that he'd admitted more than he should have.
An irritable look filled the sage's face. "Damnation, son. If you're going to talk, then sit. I've been working hard for days here, and weeks and months before that in other places. Looking up gets hellaciously tiresome for me." He pointed at a chair across from him with the quill, then closed his book and put it aside.
Still feeling uncertain, Darrick pulled out the chair and sat. Out of habit, he laid his sheathed cutlass across his thighs.
The sage laced his fingers together and rested both elbows on the tabletop. "Have you eaten tonight?"
"No." Unloading imported goods from the ship and then loading exported goods had filled the day. Darrick had only eaten what he'd carried along in the food bag, which had been empty for hours.
"Would you like to eat?"
"Aye."
The sage gestured to one of the serving wenches. The young woman went to get the order immediately.
"Sahyir told me you were a sailor," the sage said.
"Aye."
"Tell me where you saw the demon," the sage suggested.
Darrick held himself in check. "I never said that I saw such a thing, now, did I?"
A frown deepened the wrinkles over the sage's eyes. "Are you always this churlish?"
"Sir," Darrick stated evenly, "I don't even know your name."
"Taramis," the sage replied. "Taramis Volken."
"And what is it that you do, Taramis Volken?" Darrick asked.
"I gather wisdom," the man replied. "Especially that pertaining to demons."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like them, and usually the things that I learn can be used against them."
The serving wench returned with a platter of goat's meat and shrimp and fish, backed by fresh bread and portions of melon that had shipped up that day. She offered mulled wine.
The temptation was there only for a moment for Darrick. For the last year he had tried to bury his life and his pain in wine and spirits. It hadn't worked, and only old Sahyir had seen fit to save him from himself. But as the old man had told him, saving himself was a day-to-day job, and only one man could do that.
"Tea," Darrick said. "Please."
The wench nodded and returned with a tall tankard of unsweetened tea.
"So," Taramis said, "about your demon-"
"Not my demon," Darrick said.
A fleeting smile touched the sage's lips. "As you will. Where did you see the demon?"
Darrick ignored the question. He dipped his finger into the gravy on his plate and drew out the ellipses with thesingle line threading through them. He even drew the symbol so that the line went under and over the appropriate ellipses.
The sage studied the gravy symbol. "Do you know what this is?"
"No."
"Or whom it belongs to?"
Darrick shook his head.
"Where did you see this?" the sage asked.
"No," Darrick replied. "You'll get nothing from me until I'm convinced I'm getting something from you."
The sage reached into the worn lizard-hide traveler's pack in the chair beside him. Thoughtfully, he took out a pipe and a bag. After shoving the bowl full of tobacco, he set his pipe ablaze with the lantern. He smoked in silence, a hazy wreath forming around his head. He never blinked as he stared at Darrick.
Fresh-shaved that morning, Darrick hadn't seen a more fiercely demanding gaze since the mirror then. Even the Westmarch ships' officers paled by comparison. But he ate, savoring the hot food. By the working standards he was accustomed to in Seeker's Point, the meal was an extravagance. The cargo handling he'd done for the day might have to feed him for two weeks in order to keep him from hunting meager game in the fo
rest with winter soon to be breathing down their necks.
Taramis reached back into his traveler's pack and took out another book. Flipping through the tome, he stopped at a page, laid the book on the table, spun it around, and pushed it across the table toward Darrick. The sage moved the lantern so it shone on the pages more directly.
"The demon that you saw," Taramis said. "Did it look anything like this?"
Darrick glanced at the page. The illustration was done by hand and in great detail.
The picture was the demon he'd seen at Tauruk's Port, the one who had summoned the undead creatures responsible for Mat Hu-Ring's death.
Not entirely responsible, Darrick told himself, feeling his appetite ebb. He owned the majority of that responsibility. He kept eating mechanically, knowing it would be days or weeks before he had the chance to eat so well again.
"What do you know about the symbol?" Darrick asked, not answering the sage's question.
"You're a hard sell, aren't you, boy?" Taramis asked.
Darrick broke a piece of bread and slathered honey butter onto it. He started eating while Taramis tried to wait him out.
Finally giving up, Taramis replied, "That symbol is the one that was longest associated with a demon called Kabraxis. He is supposed to be the guardian of the Twisted Path of Dreams and Shadows."
"The Way of Dreams?" Darrick asked, remembering the stories Sahyir had been telling about Bramwell that morning.
"Interesting, isn't it?" the sage asked.
"Sahyir told me he'd gone to church in Bramwell," Darrick said. "There's a new church there called the Church of the Prophet of the Light. They also mention the Way of Dreams there."
Taramis nodded. "They worship a prophet there named Dien-Ap-Sten."
"Not Kabraxis?"
"It would be pretty stupid for a demon to be going around telling people to call him by his rightful name, now, wouldn't it?" Taramis grinned. "I mean, the whole bit of anonymity would be right out the window if that was the case. Most people wouldn't worship a demon by choice, although there are some."
Darrick waved a hand over his platter. "I appreciate this fine meal you went and bought me, I really do. But I have to tell you, if this story hasn't picked up some by the time I finish, I'm out of here."
"Patience isn't one of your virtues, is it?"
"No." Darrick felt no shame in admitting such.
"Kabraxis is an old and powerful demon," Taramis said."He's been around, in one form or another, since the beginning of recorded history. He's been known by dozens, possibly hundreds, of names."
Darrick pointed to the gravy-rendered symbol on the tabletop. "And this is his symbol?"
Taramis puffed on his pipe. The coals in the pipe bowl glowed orange. "I believe this is the demon's primary symbol. Did you see this in Bramwell?"
"I've not been to Bramwell in years," Darrick answered. It had been too close to Westmarch.
"Then where did you see the demon?" The sage's interest was intense.
"I never said I did," Darrick reminded.
"Your friend told me-"
"He told you that I knew about this symbol."
"That's all you've ever told him?"
Darrick sipped his tea and ignored the question. He pointedly returned his attention to his meal. The plate steadily emptied.
"Do you know the meaning of the symbol?" Taramis asked.
"No."
"It's supposed to represent the layers of man. The facets of a man that a demon may prey on."
"I don't understand," Darrick said.
The sage seemed surprised. "You've had no priest's training?"
"No."
"And yet you know of Kabraxis's most potent symbol without training?"
Darrick said nothing as he used his knife to spear a potato chunk.
Taramis sighed. "All right, then. You intrigue me, and that's the only reason I'm going to continue, because I will not tolerate being treated in such a cavalier manner." He tapped the ellipses. "These are the layers of man as divined by Kabraxis, Banisher of the Light."
"Why is he called Banisher of the Light?" Darrick asked.He glanced around them, making sure none of the sailors or longshoremen was taking much interest in their conversation. In some communities, the discussion of demons was enough to get a man strung up or, at the least, tested by a dunking chair or a red-hot poker.
"Because Kabraxis's main objective in the world of man is to eclipse and replace Zakarum. Kabraxis worked during the Sin War to keep Zakarum from being brought forth by the Archangel Yaerius through his disciple Akarat."
"What of the Archangel Inarius?" Darrick asked, remembering the old stories he'd been told of the Sin War. "It was Inarius who first built a Cathedral of Light in this world."
"Inarius grew overconfident and destroyed Mephisto's temple, and Inarius was enslaved and returned with the Seraph to Hell to be tortured for all time. Kabraxis aided in Inarius's downfall by winning them over to the demon's side."
"I don't remember that," Darrick said.
"The war was primarily between Mephisto and Inarius," Taramis said. "Only a sage or someone who has had priest training would know of Kabraxis's part in the Sin War. The Banisher of Light is a conniving demon. Kabraxis works in the shadows, stretching their boundaries till they cover the Light. Most men who have worshipped him over all those years have never known his true name."
"But you believe he is in Bramwell?" Darrick asked.
"At the Church of the Prophet of the Light." The sage nodded. "Yes. And there he is known as Dien-Ap-Sten."
Darrick tapped the symbol. "What of this?"
"Again," Taramis said, "those ellipses represent the layers of man as Kabraxis perceives them. It is through those layers that he is able to reach into a man's soul, twist it, bend it, and finally possess it. He is not by nature a confrontational demon as are Diablo, Mephisto, and Baal."
Darrick shook his head. "You can't go about just droppingthe names of all those demons like that. They aren't real. They can't be all real."
"The Prime Evils are real."
A chill threaded through Darrick, but even after everything he'd seen-even after everything he'd lost after seeing the demon in Tauruk's Port-he struggled to believe that the worlds of the demons, the Burning Hells, were real and not just stories.
"Have you seen the Church of the Prophet of the Light?"
"No."
"It is huge," Taramis said. "In less than a year, the Church of the Prophet of the Light has become one of the most prominent structures in Bramwell."
"Bramwell isn't a big city," Darrick said. "Mainly fishermen and farmers live there. Westmarch barely keeps a garrison of guards there, and it's mostly a show of support because no invading army would attack Westmarch through Bramwell. The roads are too harsh and uncertain."
"Kabraxis takes generations to build his power," Taramis said. "That's why even the unholy trinity of brothers learned to fear him. Where they waged war and fought with human armies with their own demonic ones, Kabraxis won believers to him."
"Through the layers of man."
"Yes." The sage tapped the outermost ellipse. "First is the fear mankind has of demons. People who fear Kabraxis will acknowledge his leadership, but they will break away at the first chance." He tapped the next ellipse. "Next comes greed. Through the Church of the Prophet of the Light, Kabraxis and the high priest known as Master Sayes, also called the Wayfinder have granted gifts to their worshippers. Good fortune in business, money, an unexpected inheritance. Then he moves closer to the heart." He tapped the next ellipse. "Covetousness. Do you secretly want your neighbor's wife? His land? Worship Kabraxis, and it will be yours in time."
"Only if the man you want those things from doesn't worship Kabraxis as well."
"Not true." Taramis paused to relight his pipe. "Kabraxis weighs and judges those who serve him. If one man-more powerful in the community than another-will better serve Kabraxis's purposes, the Banisher of the Light rewards the more power
ful man."
"What of the worshipper who loses whatever the other man wants?"
The sage waved the question away. "Simple enough. Kabraxis tells everyone that the man who lost his lands or his wife or his family wasn't strong in his faith. That he played Kabraxis-or, in this case, Dien-Ap-Sten-falsely and deserved what he got."
Sour bile rumbled in Darrick's stomach. Every word the sage spoke had the ring of truth in it.
Taramis moved to the next ellipse. "From that point, Kabraxis seeks out those people with greater fears. Sickness in your family? Come to the church to be healed. Your father is becoming senile? Come to the church, and have clarity returned to him."
"Kabraxis can do these things?"
"Yes," Taramis said. "And more. Demons have many powers. In their own way, they offer salvation to those who serve them. You've heard of the gifts Diablo, Baal, and Mephisto have given their own champions in the past. Enchanted armor, mystical weapons, great power to raise armies of dead. The Prime Evils rule through fear and destruction, always aiming for subjugation."
"Kabraxis has no interest in that?"
"Of course he does," Taramis said. "He's a demon, after all. Even archangels want those who worship them to fear them just a little bit. Otherwise, why would they choose such fearsome forms and act the way they do?"
Darrick considered the question and supposed it was true. Still, all this talk of demons was foreign to him, something he didn't even want to invest in. Yet he felt he had no choice.
"Archangels for the Light threaten man with being tortured by demons for the rest of his eternal life, and theypromise dire vengeance for any who worship and aid the demons." Taramis shook his head. "Archangels are warriors, just as demons are."
"But they have a more generous view of how man is supposed to fit into this world with them."
"That," the sage said, "depends on your belief, doesn't it?"
Darrick sat quietly.
"There are some who believe this world should be cleansed of demons and angels, that there should be no Light or Darkness, and men should find their own way in life."