Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  “Would you say you’re stubborn in general?” Jakob teased. Teased. The little human actually teased him!

  What was happening? Who was this little impertinent mortal?

  And why was he smiling behind his mask?

  “Yes, I would say that I am.”

  “Good. I like stubborn. Stubborn survives.”

  “I suppose.”

  Every now and then, Jakob glanced over at him. It was a strange expression on his face. He didn’t understand what it was, but it made something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. He shifted back to his preferred form. “The rocks hurt my feet in human form.”

  “Shoes might have helped that.”

  Dtu didn’t know if he wanted to smack the boy upside the head with his paw or laugh. He laughed. “It will be time to rest soon.”

  Jakob smiled. “Good. I think a lot of the others aren’t used to the road. I don’t mind it. I’ve traveled my whole life. When I stay in one place for too long, either something bad happens or I feel restless.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Every time they fell into silence for more than a minute, Jakob broke it with a question. Dtu answered each one patiently. He wasn’t quite sure why. He walked along beside Jakob, towering over his smaller frame, and found himself oddly fascinated by the fearless, foolish little mortal.

  Soon, they set up camp. The humans gathered firewood under careful supervision and set up several fires scattered along the road. If anyone happened across them, they would have a hard time getting through to continue on their way. Dtu couldn’t quite make himself care. Let any travelers go through the trees. He was herding a pack of frightened mortals to what would likely be the end of their lives.

  He couldn’t imagine any way that this would end well for them. Unmarked, abandoned, and in a world designed to prey on creatures like them. Dtu lurked by the shadows and pondered his current lot in life—caretaker to wayward mortals.

  The last thing he expected was to be hailed by, of course, Jakob, waving him over to a spot by the fire. He should refuse. He should stay where he was. It was a better place to observe what might be coming down the road toward them or any shambling carcasses that might come from the woods.

  But when Jakob waved him over again, Dtu let out a long and heavy sigh. I am a fool. He padded toward the fire. “Yes, little human?”

  The others sitting by the fire shrank back but did not run. They came from a world of horror and gore, after all. Perhaps less fantastical than his, but no more friendly.

  “Join us. Talk with the others.” Jakob was smiling up at him.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Touché, human.

  Dtu sat down, folding his paws in front of him. “Very well.”

  “Do you eat?” Jakob held out a piece of dried meat to him.

  It smelled disgusting. Far too salty. Dtu kept himself from sneezing. “Yes, but not with others.” He paused and remembered his manners. “But thank you.”

  “What…are you?” asked a very young woman. She was barely more than a child with matted hair braided to fall behind her in long, dirty blonde strings. Under…had no children. It was not a place for them.

  What have you done, Ancients of old?

  “I am a king of Under. I was human once, but that time has long since passed. I am over five thousand years old. I fear I am what you see before you. I am Dtu, that is all.”

  They all fell silent. Then someone let out a single choked sob.

  He felt like he had said something wrong.

  He hated dealing with mortals.

  This was going to be a very long night.

  10

  Ember woke in the middle of what she supposed was the night. She only knew it was so by the clock that sat quietly ticking by the wall. It said it was nearly two, and she assumed she hadn’t slept all the way until the following afternoon.

  Namely because she was still a little tipsy. She yawned, stretched, and rolled over, trying to fall back asleep. But something kept her awake. Something scratching at the back of her mind. A realization that must have come to her in her dreams.

  The old gods must be dead.

  They failed…and my world is gone.

  My gods are gone.

  But how could that be? How could gods die? She climbed out of bed, sighed, and put on her clothes. She would have to scrub them in the tub later to get some of the grime off. No point in bathing if I put on dirty clothes.

  Picking up the bottle of wine, she took a swig from it and moved the chair from where she had wedged it under the door. It was a risk to leave her bag of supplies and her weapons behind. She wavered for a moment, debating taking everything with her. It might seem rude. I don’t want to offend them.

  What good is any of it really going to do me anymore, anyway? She thought about the creature she saw on the street—the “bellows”—and shuddered. Her spear and knife weren’t going to do much good against things like that.

  Years of training and surviving in a world filled with hungry, swarming corpses argued back that anything was better than nothing.

  Compromising in her head with both halves, she took her knife and tucked it into her belt. She’d leave her bag and spear behind for now. Picking up the bottle of wine, she headed out of the room and began to retrace her steps toward the sanctuary.

  The building was silent. Everyone must be asleep. Everything was so dark. It must get depressing to live in a world without the sun.

  She supposed everyone must adjust to it. The moonlight streaming in from the windows was dim. She could only see one in the sky when she glanced out the glass—and it was a deep, dark purple. It didn’t help the darkness much.

  After a few minutes and another few swigs of wine, she reached the sanctuary. The candles had all been extinguished, and the purple moon shone through the shattered windows, casting barely-there and nearly ethereal shadows of their broken leadwork across the carpet like claws reaching across the floor.

  She shivered.

  At least I’m used to walking around in the dark…

  It had always been too risky to carry a torch when she had to move at night in Gioll. Drengil were attracted by anything out of the ordinary. Sound, light…any sign of life. Being unheard, unseen, and unsmelled was the only way to survive in her world.

  One got used to finding their way in the dark if survival depended on it.

  But the eerie lack of light didn’t do much to help the disturbing nature of the statues that stood in the alcoves. Eight in all, watching over the sanctuary of the cathedral. She walked up the carpet slowly, taking each one in.

  Seven statues were tucked in niches that lined the walls, including one that sat in dedication to what she suspected might be her Dread God. The eighth and largest statue, the one with the white cloth altar, sat at the head of the sanctuary. It was clear that the Ancient that Lyon served wished to be billed first in its own home.

  Makes sense, I guess.

  She couldn’t help but walk up to the statue in yellow and gaze at the deathly, rotted face whose smile seemed to mock her and all that she had been through. She finally had an image to put to all the hate and anger she had felt over her life.

  It was to blame for all the death.

  It was to blame for when she lost Ash.

  She sighed and shook her head. Now she was just lying to herself. Ash died because of the wrath of humans, not drengil. I have enough to pin on the Dread God without making up excuses.

  Sipping from the wine bottle, she turned away from the god in yellow. She wasn’t here to talk to it, after all. She was here to talk to someone else.

  Walking to the largest statue at the head of the sanctuary, she climbed the stairs to the altar and gazed up at the multi-armed, skull-faced Ancient.

  “I don’t know you,” she said quietly, keeping her voice barely more than a whisper. It carried well enough in the large, silent chamber. “And you do not owe me. You aren’t my gods, and I’m
not your follower. But I find myself here all the same…and I don’t know why. But I’m not here to pray for myself.”

  Silence.

  “I pray for those who have come with me. I pray for those who are frightened and alone. I pray for those in this world who will die to the plague my world brought with it.” She cringed. “The woman who died today from the drengil did not deserve it. My world’s troubles should not be hers. But it was, all the same. I pray for her.”

  Silence.

  “And most of all, I pray for—” She choked, and her voice cracked. Grasping the necklace she wore, she let the edges of the metal bite into her palm. She sipped the wine and took a moment to breathe. “I pray for the old gods. I don’t know what has come of them. Maybe they’re dead…maybe they’re not. Maybe you consumed them. Maybe the Dread God killed them, and that’s why we’re here now. I don’t know. But they rose to fight the plague that threatened to destroy us all. They fought valiantly. I lived my life in service to them, and now…I don’t know what’s become of them.”

  She let go of her necklace. “I can only pray that they died with honor. And if you can hear me…I can only ask that if you can, you give them the rest they deserve.”

  “They won’t listen.”

  She jolted, nearly dropping the bottle of wine, and whirled toward the voice. She couldn’t see anyone. She pulled her knife and held it in front of her. “Hello?”

  “They never listen.” A figure moved. They were sitting in a pew. They must have been there the whole time. Whoever it was sounded male. He leaned forward on his arms which were on the back of the pew in front of him. But other than that, she couldn’t see anything. “Don’t blame you, I suppose, praying to gods and all. That’s what you’re supposed to do. I used to think it worked. I don’t anymore.”

  “Then…why are you here?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Revenge.”

  Ember frowned. “Against?”

  “Everyone.” The man’s voice dropped to a furious whisper. “And everything.”

  Something about it made Ember laugh. She knew she shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you. That’s just…one fuck of a list. You’d better get started.”

  The man chuckled. “I suppose I should. Mind if I have some of that wine? I’ve had an absolutely shit day.”

  “Me, too.” She walked down the stairs of the altar toward the man in the darkness. Now that she was closer to him, she could see a little more detail. His head was lowered, and long blond hair fell down his shoulders and over his face, obscuring it. He was dressed in what looked like a white shirt with holes in it, but she couldn’t see clearly in the extremely dim light. She walked into the pew ahead of him and sat on the back of it, facing him. She offered them the bottle. “I think for different reasons, maybe.”

  “I hope so, for your sake.” He reached for the bottle. His hand was thin, and it trembled as he took it. With his other hand, he removed something from his face—a mask, and placed it on the pew next to him. He took a swig from the bottle.

  She looked away before she saw him.

  “Am I that revolting?”

  “I was told you only show your faces to people you trust.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Besides, it’s too dark to know if you’re revolting.”

  He laughed. It sounded raspy and painful. He coughed, growled, and spat on the ground next to him. Something nudged her leg.

  Looking down, she saw him holding the bottle back to her. Grasping it by the neck, she took a sip. “Hope you don’t have a disease.”

  “Can’t promise anything.”

  “I’m teasing. I can’t get sick from things like that.”

  He put his head down on his arms. He coughed again, wheezing painfully. He spat onto the ground again. “Oh? I thought human mortals were always sick. I thought that was the point of being a human mortal.”

  “You can tell?”

  “It’s the smell.”

  She laughed. “Okay, well, I have been teasing you this whole time. I guess that’s fair.”

  “No, no.” He sounded like he was smiling. “It’s the smell of your blood. It’s…like fresh rain.”

  “Now, that’s just disturbing.” She nudged his elbow with the bottle of wine.

  “Welcome to Under.” He swigged from the bottle.

  “I’ve been warned.” She looked over at the altar at the head of the church. “Sadly, I’m not sure I want to go home, even if I could.”

  “Why?”

  “My world was dying. There was so little joy left in the world. So little life. Here, even just walking the streets for a few minutes, I see so much more than what was left of mine. I see love. Friendship. Kindness. The people here have a reason to live, not just survive.”

  “For now. Until I burn it all to the ground.”

  “Right. Your revenge.” She smiled at him. “So, I have a question. I’m not from Under. I arrived here this morning.”

  “And not from Earth?” He passed her the bottle.

  She took a sip of it. “Nope.” She passed the bottle back to him.

  “Interesting…From where?”

  “A world called Gioll. I think it’s gone now.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. That sounds upsetting.”

  “Don’t be. I…My world was being consumed.” She paused. “Like I said, I don’t know if I want to be here, but I don’t know if I would go home if I could, either. Does that earn me a spot on your revenge list?”

  He went silent for a moment, took a swig from the bottle—she glanced away again out of politeness, even if he didn’t seem to care. It was so dark it probably didn’t really matter. He took a second swig before he handed the bottle back and rested his cheek on his arm again. “No…that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

  “Life isn’t fair.” She sipped the wine. “And you people are close enough to gods compared to me. You could do as you like. I expect you could rip me to pieces.”

  “Mmhm.”

  She shut her eyes. “I’ve always existed at the mercy of creatures greater than myself. I suppose that’s why I pray. I feel like I have no other control.” She paused. “Oh, and because I was raised to. Although I suppose that’s why most people pray.”

  “Not me. I was in control of my own life. Or so I thought. I used to pray to creatures I know could hear me. I simply learned that the truth was…they didn’t care.” He pulled in a wavering, overwhelmed breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I didn’t deserve their love in their eyes.”

  Frowning, she reached out and gently placed her hand on the man’s head. She didn’t know why. She wasn’t even sure if it was welcome. But the desolation in his voice broke her heart. His hair was matted, tangled, and damp. He was a far cry from all the others she had met in Under so far. They all looked clean. But not the sad, angry stranger in front of her. “I’m so sorry you feel that way.”

  “I don’t feel. I know.”

  “Sorry. I forget your gods are far more present than mine were.” She stroked his hair when he didn’t seem to complain. Indeed, if anything, he leaned into her touch. “And now, they’re dead. I spent my whole life praying to gods that now can never answer me, even if they wanted to.”

  “Better that than those who choose to ignore you.”

  She went quiet. She tried to summon a reason why that wasn’t true. But with a sigh, she found she couldn’t. “You’re right.”

  “Look at me again for a moment.” He paused as she did. “Pretty.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What?”

  “What?”

  There was a long pause. He coughed.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ember. Yours?”

  “I’m.” He paused. “I’m…shit.” He growled. “It’s gone again. I’ve forgotten it again. It comes and goes. I’m sorry.” He chuckled. “I’m not quite myself today.”

  “That’s all
right.” She stroked his hair again. “What’s happened to you?”

  “I…think I was dead.”

  “I hear that happens frequently in Under.”

  “No. Not like that. I mean I was dead.” He lifted his head, let out a grunt, and reached for the wine bottle.

  She passed it to him.

  He gulped from the bottle. When he finished, he coughed. It sounded wet and sticky. He handed it to her. “I was no more. I had ceased to be. I had expired and gone to meet my maker. I had shuffled off my mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible. I was an ex-person!” He giggled. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  She took the bottle where he had been holding it, by the label. She blinked. It was wet. She looked down at her palm, and in the dim purple lighting, it looked like something black was covering her palm. “Are you hurt?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “By the gods!” She put the bottle down on the pew and stood. “You’re hurt, and I’ve been sitting here like a fool.”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine.” The man stood, placing his mask back on his face. He was tall, even hunched over. He teetered on his feet. He took a step into the aisle of the church. “I should probably g—”

  He collapsed.

  She ran to his side and knelt, and carefully turned him onto his back, cradling his head. “Sir? Sir, are you all right?”

  He laughed quietly. “Oh. No. That, I’m most certainly not.” He coughed.

  Now that he was in the full light of the dim purple moon, she could see his shirt wasn’t filled with holes—it was made of sparse, intersecting bandages. They covered him hastily, like he had wrapped them himself in a hurry. And they barely did anything to hide the wounds that covered his body.

  It looked as though he had been torn apart by a bear. Entire sections of his body were missing. The carpet around him was turning a darker color, little by little, from the blood seeping from his body.

  “Oh—oh, gods. What can I do to help you? I’m a medic, but this…this is far outside my training.”