Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  Someday, a beautiful voice filled his mind.

  Noctis stopped in his tracks. He spun and, seeing no one, looked up at the sky. His heart raced. It’s her.

  “Coming?” Morella called back to him a moment later. “Or are you too taken in by the sights?”

  He chuckled and caught up, feeling both foolish and elated. Of course there would be no one; there never was. The voices existed only in his mind: one beautiful, one harsh. He longed for an answer to them, for somewhere to associate blame or understand a diagnosis. But if there was one thing that he’d learned in this strange world, it was that answers seldom came.

  Just what I have to live with. Two sides of me wrestling for control.

  He put the thought from his mind and focused on what was to come next. The road swerved, taking a hard path away from the sea. In the distance Noctis saw a wall surrounding what appeared to be a barrow. Carved statues, their features long since eroded by the salty sea wind, guarded the passage. The group passed through a gap in the walls and, ahead of them, the path angled downward into a cave.

  “There’s no one on guard?” Noctis said as he scanned the area.

  Morella eyed him sidelong. “Why would the entrance to the Ways be guarded? The gardens belong to the world and its inhabitants.”

  “When I first came, I heard that being in the Ways was forbidden. Is that why we need an escort?”

  “The gardens are for everyone,” Morella repeated. “It’s the passes beyond them that are forbidden.”

  Noctis conceded the point. They entered a large crack in the ground by a long, deep stair hewn from the rock. He felt a pang of sympathy for the soldiers who had carried him and Madigan, unconscious, from its depths. The sentiment quickly vanished, however, when he recalled his mistreatment at their hands. I hope it was as miserable for them as it was for us.

  The guide did not pause in his stride but took the stone steps with the graceful ease of an expert. Morella, steadying herself against the wall, followed. Noctis paused before beginning his descent, turning once more to look at the land of Aeril and wonder how long it would be before he returned.

  He chastised himself for not having sent word to the Sapholux, to din’Dael, then brushed the thought aside. Jero din’Dael had waited for centuries to move on Valmont; he could wait a bit longer.

  Turning back, Noctis followed Morella into darkness. Before long, however, the darkness faded. The surrounding rock face was the same, brilliantly shining stone that permeated Aerillian lands. When the sky faded to a pinprick above them, the walls swelled outward and trees appeared, rising from the stone. The damp air was warm and he could smell fresh water. When the stair leveled out, he saw a series of pools on either side. Green vines hung from the walls, strung amongst the trees. Between the trees and the vines, it was more greenery than he had seen since he’d first come to these lands.

  He wondered if at some time in history the Cascanian entrance to the Ways had been as beautiful as the Aerillian entrance. Perhaps a time before the river had risen, or before buildings and concrete had taken over. If, before the passage became a tool of industry, it had held a hint of the splendor that now surrounded him.

  Another hour of walking through the tall, winding tunnel and he was once again distracted by memories of being in this passage. Or, rather, his lack of memories. To have been unconscious for so long couldn’t have been healthy. What exactly had Shifter drugged them with? The dagger had to have been laced with something.

  Unless it works like my blood fangs, he considered as his hand fell to brush the bloodstones. He had not used them since healing his chest after rekindling his romance with Morella. The energy within the bloodstones themselves was low; he could only just sense the faint flows of their power. They would be harder to replenish back in Cascania, where there was less game. But if all went well, they wouldn’t need to worry about the supply. It could all go easily enough; no one was even certain that it was Aurellaine Valmont who had disappeared with his brother.

  I need more information, as always.

  He saw signs of the door that barred the entrance to the Ways well before he saw the door itself. A series of arches and statues marked the way. Each was a ruin. The arches were broken and crumbled, though the debris had been cleaned up. Some statues were shattered, others were missing limbs or heads. For some, only remnants of the base remained, while others looked as though they had been melted into volcanic glass. The surrounding walls and path were all a darkened black, evidence of a blast pattern.

  “What happened here?”

  “Valmont.” Morella looked at him with a gaze as solemn as her voice. “Haven’t you heard the stories?”

  Realization dawned on him. Of course he had heard the stories. Valmont’s final capture, the death of his followers while the sorcerer was forced to watch. Witnessing the death of his wife, her body and soul ripped in eternal torment within Theros. Valmont’s retribution, impossibly, as he eluded death. The resulting blast had nearly destroyed both Radiance and Shadow’s Orders and had murdered Shadow’s Guardian, Maruq T’Aroth. Noctis’s own grandfather had only just survived the destruction. Yes, Noctis had heard the stories. He just never imagined he would see ground zero.

  The bright and glorious future of Aeril, obliterated right here, right where I now travel.

  They approached the door that barred entrance to the Ways. The ancient wood was blackened and cracked, the hinges as rusted as those he had seen at the Cascanian entrance. And yet, it stood solid. He heard Morella give a sharp intake of breath and he took her hand. She twisted, a wry smile upon her face.

  “I’ve never passed through this door before,” she said, caressing its surface with her free hand.

  “You? My amorous, adventurous historian, has never set foot within the Ways?”

  “I never said that.” Her voice had adopted a playful, holier-than-thou tone. “I just haven’t been here before.”

  Noctis gripped her hand tighter when she went to pull away. “Wait, there are more entrances?”

  Morella’s loud, boisterous laugh echoed through the blackened tomb. “Oh, Will, of course there are.” His mouth tightened and she dipped her head apologetically. “Noctis, yes,” she said with mock gravity. “Of course, mighty Noctis.”

  He felt suddenly foolish. Is it really so important to leave your old self behind? “How many entrances?”

  She laughed again but it was the old soldier, their guide, who answered. “How many stars, Burner? How many nightless days and dayless nights? How many worlds within worlds?” The old man rested a hand on the handle of the great door. “I do not think that even the Hesperawn know the answer,” he said solemnly.

  “A blasphemer,” Morella said with a smile. “A poetic blasphemer. Perhaps I’ll mark you in the dedication of my chronicle.”

  The air suddenly seemed too heavy. “How exactly did Jervin seal the Ways, then?” A cold bite came from his key. Something is wrong.

  “The same way you opened them, lover.” Morella’s tone was whimsy-laced severity. “With blood.”

  Before Noctis could stop him, the old man pushed the great door open. Noctis dove to the side, shoving Morella to the ground as a flurry of spears thrust through the open space. The ragged weapons shredded the old soldier as they propelled him, gasping, into the air. A single strike from an unfathomably large blade clove their guide in two. A shambling hulk of rotten flesh and bone ripped the two halves apart and stepped into the passage, roaring.

  Necrothanians.

  20

  The Ways

  “Reaper!” Morella shrieked. “Reaper!”

  Noctis and Morella scrambled backward, the Necrothanian monster upon them. The creature lurched, dragging its feet through the viscera of the dead man. It opened its mouth and roared, thin and raspy, more a death rattle than a battle cry. Nevertheless, the sound sent a chill down Noctis’s spine.

  “Out,” Morella cried, grabbing at his arm while they pushed to their feet. “Out, out! We h
ave to get out!”

  “Stay back.” His voice was cool and calm despite the fear in his breast. All that training, well done, din’Dael. The air surrounding them crackled with electricity. White charges of lightning danced across Noctis’s skin. He took his eyes off the creature for one breath, enough to face Morella. “Whatever happens, stay safe.”

  Her face paled. Noctis turned back to the oncoming mass of bone and dead flesh. Its milky eyes stared unseeing. The strength with which it hefted its massive blade had nothing to do with the decayed muscle that clung in tatters to its bones. There was something else at work here, something dark and twisted.

  Sanguinar. Noctis took a deep breath and braced himself. His mouth was dry and his heart hammered in his chest. So, this is what Valmont found.

  The creature roared again and Noctis stepped forward, key singing against his skin. His trembling hands glowed white and he clapped them together, launching a bolt of blue-white lightning into the creature’s center. The bolt landed in its unarmored chest, searing and charring the dead flesh. The force of the blast knocked it back but did not drive it to the ground. It raised its massive blade and charged.

  Noctis paled. He risked a glance back at Morella, saw her staring at him, shock upon her face. I’ve got to keep that thing the hell away from her.

  Steeling himself, Noctis ran straight for it. The two collided, the blade cleaving a path through empty space where Noctis’s head had been only a second before. Hands balled into fists, Noctis pummeled the undead body. Each strike he charged with fiery lightning, his burning fists pounding into its torso.

  The creature recovered and lashed out, slamming into Noctis and driving him backward. The wind was knocked out of him; he fought for gasping breaths and drove his heels into the ground. Tumbling to the ground, he barely managed to roll out of the way as a giant, bony leg smashed down where he had just been. Panting, he scrambled away and reached for his cutlass.

  Noctis’s hand closed around the hilt of his cutlass, but before he could draw it he was thrown through the air again. He landed hard and grimaced as his ribs screamed in pain. Glancing up, he saw that the monster had turned its attention to Morella.

  Loosing a guttural cry, Noctis’s Flare surged around him in white lightning. He ran at the creature and slammed a charged elbow into its spine. The flesh hissed and sizzled where the strike connected. Coughing at the rising smoke, Noctis kicked at the back of the thing’s bony knee, driving it to the ground.

  The scent of smoking, putrid flesh nearly overwhelmed him, but Jero’s training had been thorough and Noctis shut off his sense of smell from his conscious mind. The creature struggled to rise and Noctis thrust blazing fists down. He grabbed the creature’s exposed spine and, with a roar of his own, drove his fire into the bone. He pushed with the lightning and pulled with the force of his own rage. The spine cracked and split in two. Still roaring, Noctis yanked and tore the two pieces free from the flesh.

  He discarded the bones and kicked at the creature’s outstretched arm. Hefting the rough weapon it had been reaching for, Noctis charged it with fire until it was blazing hot. In an instant, he thrust it into the base of the monster’s skull.

  The impaled creature continued to struggle.

  Impossible. It doesn’t have a spine. It should be immobilized.

  Noctis stepped beyond the creature’s reach and held out both his hands. A blaze of fire engulfed the creature. Noctis did not stop the flow of power that surged from him, pushing the flames harder and harder. The orange blaze turned white. He saw the great blade glow and begin to fold in on itself, melting into a pool of metal. The creature itself continued to struggle even as its limbs turned to ash.

  Nothing remained but scattered debris and a pool of hardening metal when he finally dropped his hands. He turned back to Morella, a short distance down the path. The dagger in her hand was steady when he approached, her eyes never breaking away from his own.

  “I thought you would have run farther,” he said through heaving gasps.

  Her eyes took him in, looked him up and down, appraising him. “Just what did they do to you in the Sapholux, Will?”

  “They killed Will,” Noctis said softly. “I guess this is what they forged from his remains.”

  Her eyes darted away, in the direction of the entrance to the Ways. They grew wide and her jaw dropped. Before she could speak, Noctis whirled. Blazing his Flare to a brilliant roar, he filled the corridor with a stream of white-hot fire. Dancing blue lightning swam within the blaze. He heard people scream and he recoiled, but he did not relent. Real people, not that shambling horror. Real people.

  He did not release the furious blast until there were no more screams.

  The cavern smoldered. The ruined statues bore evidence of new injuries. Noctis passed them all, numbly walking toward the Ways. He stepped into the passages without hesitation. Within were five charred corpses. Had the fire not sealed their fate, their weapons, acting as lightning rods, would have. The black, waxy features that remained were twisted in fear and agony.

  Valmont’s cultists.

  He withdrew his blood fangs and set to work. The flames had consumed much of the bodies, but he took what remained. Finished, he stood. Morella had followed him into the passage, stepping carefully over the smoldering bodies.

  “A reaper, you called it?” Noctis’s voice sounded distant and hoarse even to his own ears.

  “Yes.” Morella had her arms wrapped around her waist. She was staring at him, studying him.

  “It looks like Valmont might be expecting us,” he said quietly. The adrenaline was fading and his head was beginning to spin.

  “We need to return to the Nordoth.” Morella’s voice was a cautious whisper. “We need to warn them.”

  “No.” Noctis returned the blood fangs to their sheaths. “We move on. We’ve got to find Madigan.”

  “But—”

  “The Crow suspected Valmont was in Cascania. He should have expected that he’d be doing . . . whatever this was. He’ll send another patrol soon enough.” Even he was surprised by the lack of emotion in his voice. “Especially once our guide fails to report back.”

  Morella peered at him and kicked a fallen sword from her path. “They really did kill Will, didn’t they?” Noctis didn’t answer. She reached out and caressed his cheek, standing on her toes to kiss him. “Perhaps you’ll survive longer than I expected, lover.”

  They found the bodies of the Crow’s patrol a short while later. They had been dead for some time, Noctis noted, and wondered if he had been correct about the Crow sending another group soon. It didn’t matter. He was committed to finding his brother. He was committed to saving him from Valmont, whichever Valmont came first.

  “That thing, the reaper,” Noctis said while he eyed the tattered corpses, “it did this?”

  “The cultists probably helped. I imagine they let it do the majority of the work though.”

  “What was it, exactly?”

  Morella chuckled but there was no humor in it. “That thing was Valmont’s answer to his followers. That was how he helps them achieve eternal life.”

  “They want that?” Noctis asked incredulously. “To be turned into walking corpses?”

  She shook her head. “He somehow binds their spirit to their body. Or a body, at least. No one knows how, exactly. As long as the body stays alive, everything is fine, people live on forever as they always have.”

  Noctis stared at her. “But they already have that. That’s the whole point of Velier’s gift, right? How is this any different? Any . . . better?”

  She shrugged. “It isn’t, really. But Valmont’s power allows a continuation of the consciousness to remain even after the host’s death. As long as there is a form to exist within, the spirit lives on. They become a true Necrothanian. It’s Velier’s gift in life as well as in death.”

  Noctis considered for a moment. “So, part of it was as conscious as you and me?”

  “In theory. Seeing one first
hand, I don’t know if I’d believe it. It looked rather mindless.” She snickered quietly and shrugged once more. “But that’s the theory. He claimed to have discovered the secrets of true immortality, promised his followers that they would never fear death if they embraced his vision.”

  “People will do just about anything to prolong the inevitable.”

  Morella was quiet before she nodded. “Yes. They will.”

  They pressed on. Neither Noctis nor Morella spoke much while they walked, but she held his hand, intertwining her fingers with his own. The part of the Ways through which they trekked was as scarred as the Aerillian entrance. He remembered that the burst of power from Valmont had not happened on his return to Aeril, but on his passage into Theros. The blast had surged throughout the Ways, obliterating all in its path.

  “Morella, where is the entrance to Theros?”

  She went rigid. “Noctis—”

  “Did Valmont destroy that portion of the Ways as well? Is there still access to it?”

  “We do not go there.” She shook her head and sped up. “No one goes there.”

  He halted. “But is it still open?”

  She shifted uncomfortably before nodding. “It is. But it’s . . . broken.”

  “Broken how?”

  “Just broken.” She shook her head and gripped his hand, pulling him along as she resumed walking.

  “I need to see it.”

  She whirled on him, fury clear on her face and in her eyes. “No. You do not.” She spat against the blackened stone. “You Cascanian outlander, you think you know us? You think you know our history? You know nothing about us, what happened to us.”

  Noctis was taken aback by her sudden rage. “Morella, I only meant—”

  “Damn what you meant, Lightborne. Damn your presumptions. Damn you.”

  Lightborne? She had never called him that before, not with malice, at least. He held up his hands, softening his expression. “I’m sorry.”