by Mike Truk
He led us into a side passage, leaving the throngs to shuffle slowly forward toward the heart of the tower. I couldn’t help but feel a frisson of fear as I stepped through the golden doorway into the gloom beyond; there had been an illusory sense of safety while lost amongst the numbers of the crowd.
The interior of the tower made no sense. From outside, it had appeared massive, yes; but this hallway was broad, far longer than the building that housed it could contain.
The floor was carpeted in shockingly vivid crimson, the walls paneled and adorned with endless paintings held within gilt frames. The light was ubiquitous and honeyed, but without an obvious source. I felt as though I’d stepped into an ancient palace in truth.
Isossa took my arm companionably, caring not when I tensed. “Confused?” she asked. “Or simply excited to see the queen?”
“This hallway,” I began.
“Oh, we’re inside the palace, which is, in a sense, inside every part of Ur-Gharab. The entrances are finite, but the interior? I don’t know anybody who’s managed to explore its entirety. Do you, Emelias?”
“Not I,” said the other. “These hallways interconnect, bisect, and run on toward infinity. I’m sure there are brave, foolish souls out there somewhere who swore to never turn around till they reached the palace’s furthest extremities, and are marching on still, slowing as old age consumes them.”
“It can’t be that large,” said Emma.
“No? Perhaps not. I’ll bow to your wisdom,” said Emelias, and Isossa laughed.
The guards led us only a short distance before stopping in front of an impressive portal, a set of black double doors made of iron. One half was carved with countless figures in torment, the other with their counterparts in some manner of heaven. A guard stood at each side, massive and ponderous in their gleaming black armor, with no reaction at all to our arrival.
“A private audience hall,” said Emelias. “Most fitting.”
The captain strode toward one of the stationary guards then simply merged with the other, as if stepping into a reflection, turning at the last so they both were one. His form replaced that of the guard as if the first had never been there.
The other guards in the group did the same with the second figure, stepping one by one into his place, merging and disappearing, until there were only two guards in the entirety of the hallway. The entire regiment had disappeared into the stationary forms.
“What the…” muttered Valeria, voice still thick with pain or shock.
“Her Royal Highness, Queen Alusz Iphigenia, awaits you within,” said the captain from his post by the door. At that, the doors opened of their own accord, swinging inward silently to reveal a splendorous chamber, the like I’d not seen since leaving Bastion.
Too much was happening too quickly for me to process, so I didn’t bother, accepting these events as they came.
Emelias led the way within, his posture changing to one of extreme deference. His head bowed low, one arm cast out to the side in a permanent courtly gesture, his cloak draping from his form in liquid folds.
I followed, steeling my expression into one of dignity and calm.
I’m not sure how well I pulled it off.
The chamber was made small by the shadows which cloaked the walls. I caught an impression of hanging folds of ruby-colored cloth, but they and the ceiling were lost to the darkness. I felt as if I had stepped onto a small stage, hemmed in on all sides by opulent, shadowy drapes.
The floor was of gleaming bronze, its surface scored with what looked like some arcane schematic of the universe, or perhaps the Tree of Life. Runes and sigils gleamed in the lantern light, though I had not time to stop and study them.
A great throne reared up at the back of the room, carved from the palest green crystal, bound and molded with ribs of solid gold. Spread in a fan behind this was a diorama of pure jade, its surface inscribed with runes that seemed to writhe as if attempting to free themselves from the rock.
Emelias stopped at a distance from the throne and bowed low, his brow nearly touching the ground. Isossa followed similarly, genuflecting without mockery or restraint.
I lifted my chin, gazing upon the true queen of the Morathi, this servant of Lilith, seated upon her pale crystal throne, and refused to show even an ounce of deference.
To my surprise, Alusz Iphigenia gazed at me with indifference; her mouth drooped with unhappiness, perhaps, or even boredom. She was slight, slender, younger than I, but undeniably attractive. She leaned to one side, her chin propped upon her palm. Black hair hung down past her shoulders, so utterly dark that it might have been a waterfall of ink. She wore a black frock without ornament, and instead of a crown, a black ribbon bound her hair.
An older woman stood by her side, voluptuous and sensual. Her form was clad in a metallic gown seemingly created from peacock feathers. It was as liquid as water, clinging to her and doing nothing to hide her curves and feminine figure. There was something timeless about her in the dark hue of her lipstick, the pallor in her cheeks.
Regent Morgana’s gaze alighted upon me, and it was as if a great hand pressed upon my shoulders, bidding me kneel.
I refused.
My companions, who had arrayed themselves alongside me, refused as well.
“Your royal highness,” said Emelias when she gestured for him to rise. “May I present a figure of singular interest to you. He materialized in the upper reaches of Ebon Hill without any sign of using an established portal, and has since done nothing but cause us to marvel and sigh. This is Noah, and these are his companions. They have refused to praise Lilith, and took up arms when pressed. However, Captain Vasanna was able to dissuade them from further resistance, and they have fulfilled the oath exacted from them to journey hither in peace.”
The queen’s gaze was inscrutable.
It was Regent Morgana who responded, voice mature and rich. “An adherent of the Source, accompanied by companions, and traveling by means of major portals to our blessed sphere? Our mind cannot help but conjecture as to his identity.”
“Your highness is most astute,” said Emelias. “I, too, harbor my suspicions.”
Well, fuck.
“Queen Alusz Iphigenia,” I said, ignoring the regent. “Hello. I am Noah Kilmartin, and these are my companions. We’ve no wish to stay in your city. If it’s not too much trouble, we’d appreciate being released and allowed to go on our way.”
Morgana looked sidelong at the young queen. “He speaks plainly, at any rate, if without any deference.”
Emelias’s smile grew broader. “Your excellency -”
Morgana twitched her fingers and he fell silent. “Let the man speak for himself, Emelias. You ask for safe passage, Noah Kilmartin. Yet why should Queen Iphigenia grant it?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
My words hung in the air, but I refused to pander or beg. I stood straight and tall, shoulders thrust back, and gazed boldly upon the queen.
“I can sense the power of your blade from here,” said Morgana softly. “It is less a blade than a fissure in the very fabric of the universe. I’ve only seen three of its kind before, and each was borne by a Savior of the Source.”
I made no response. Sweat prickled as it broke out across my brow. The guards had remained outside the doors. How powerful was Morgana, that she should grant us an audience without protection? Should I draw and attack to dispatch a foe of the Source? And why did Alusz remain silent? Her gaze was disinterested, enigmatic. Was she a puppet of the regent, or a Morathi in truth like all the others? I wished she’d speak, give me some sign of her true nature.
“Who are you, Noah Kilmartin?” Morgana canted her head to one side. “Who are you with your blade of power and uncouth, provocative manner? You have spoken plainly thus far. Speak on, and identify yourself.”
“I am as I have said.” My voice was firm, even if my heart was racing. “But I’m here to speak to the queen. Your Highness. Either give me your blessing or refuse it.”
Emelias drew a sharp breath.
“The ninth Savior is lost to the Source.” Alusz spoke at last, her voice soft and controlled. “Word of his fall reached us four months ago. Are you the tenth, Noah Kilmartin?”
Sweat prickled across my brow, and my heart was pounding.
To claim the title, here in the heart of the enemy’s power, or lie?
Fuck it. I’d always been a bad liar.
“I am,” I said. Power blazed within me, radiating out from that gold thread that ran through the core of my magical reservoir. I knew that if I drew Shard, it would blaze like a sliver of the sun. “I am the Tenth Savior, sent forth from Bastion to destroy your dread queen and cleanse the Tree of Life of her taint.”
The Morathi didn’t react as I’d expected. There was no recoiling, no hisses of hatred, no surprise or horror.
Instead, the queen nodded as if I’d merely confirmed her suspicion, while Emelias raised his eyebrow at her as if I’d underscored his reason for bringing me here.
Morgana took a step forward. “And so the tenth has reached our shores. The arc of the universe nears its end. You are the last, Noah Kilmartin. Long have we awaited this moment. With your fall the universe shall belong to Lilith, and all resistance shall be crushed. The tower of Bastion shall topple, and the sphere of Kether shall become Thaumiel, from where Lilith shall rule all of creation. You cannot guess at how the sight of your face gladdens my heart.”
I felt like I should say something, defy her in some manner, but the words were trapped in my throat. Any protestations would sound thin, pathetic. We’d been crushed in battle not long ago by a regular detachment of their guards; what use was there in shouting defiance in their queen’s throne room?
“Very well,” said Morgana at last, having decided I would remain silent. “Be welcome in Ur-Gharab. You seek to continue to Malkuth, I take it, and there destroy my dread lady?”
“You know it,” I said. My heart was beating more powerfully, my stomach a taut drum. Their very lack of reaction was disconcerting me more than anything else; why hadn’t she ordered my arrest? Why weren’t we fighting?
“I know it indeed. Still, you have my blessing and therefore that of the queen’s. You may reside in Ur-Gharab for as long as you desire. You shall be treated as you behave; prove problematic, and you shall be censured. Prove civilized, and you shall be tolerated.”
“Thank you, your excellency,” said Emelias. “Thank you, your royal highness. I shall see to it that they are housed and taken care of with the greatest honors.”
“Really, Emelias? I’m shocked.” Morgana sounded anything but. “Very well. They are your charges, Emelias, and you are responsible for them. Take them now and make them comfortable. I shall send for the Savior presently so I may instruct him on how to reach the Great Portal to Malkuth.”
I couldn’t bear it any longer. Again, I ignored Morgana and spoke to Alusz directly. “What’s going on? We’re sworn enemies. Why are you allowing me to stay like this?”
“Are we?” Alusz remained slumped to one side, her chin never leaving her palm. “I suppose we are.”
A look of irritation flickered across Morgana’s face. “You have guest rights in our fair city, Savior. If you do not wish it, refuse our blessing and we can settle our differences with violence.”
“No need to explore such theoreticals,” said Emelias hastily. “Come, Savior. You have her royal highness’s blessing. Let us declare ourselves content and repair to one of my estates, where I shall answer any questions you may have. Your highness?”
The queen waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.
Morgana’s smile was cold. “Enjoy yourselves. But prepare Noah. I shall send for him soon.”
Emelias and Isossa bowed low once more. The throne, jade backdrop, the queen, and regent faded from view, so we were alone in the intimate chamber floored in bronze.
“Where did they go?” asked Emma, voice very small.
Emelias grinned. “A better question would be: were they ever here? But come, come, the palace is most tiresome, so filled with bustle and tension. I’m already worn out. Will you accept my invitation and return with me to one of my estates? I shall make it yours while you are in Ur-Gharab, and you shall not find it lacking in amenities.”
“Do we have a choice?” asked Brielle bitterly.
“Always, and therein lies your power,” said Isossa. “But I agree with Emelias. You all look miserable, like a sack of near-drowned kittens. Avail yourself of his hospitality. At the very least, it will buy you time to plot your escape, will it not?”
“That or a way to wipe that smile off your face,” muttered Valeria, but Isossa pretended not to hear.
“Yes? Very well,” said Emelias, clapping his hands once. “Come! Let us take a short cut.”
“Thank Lilith,” muttered Isossa, following him to the throne room door. “These slippers were not made for walking.”
I stared in frustrated anger at where the throne had stood. I felt impotent and confused, wanting to make demands, to strike out at something - then Brielle stepped to my side and touched my arm.
There were no words. In her blue eyes, I saw concern and encouragement, both emotions hidden behind a veneer of hardness that I’d have failed to penetrate before getting to know her so well.
I took a deep breath. Turning, I followed Emelias to the double doors, which he flung open with an extravagant flamboyance. In turn, they revealed a wholly new great hall beyond.
“What’s going on here?” asked Valeria, sounding half-despairing, half-defeated.
“My estate!” Emelias turned to back into the hall, bowing low before us as he did so. “Why walk for another couple of hours when we can simply enter directly?”
Isossa paused at the doorway to kick up a foot behind her, peel off the slipper, then do the same with the other. There was something so natural about the way she did it, something so unaffected. For the first time, she seemed a real person, and not some caricature of a Lilith worshipper.
Imogen moved forward. “The whole city is so connected?”
“To those with the power to connect the distant points, yes,” said Emelias. “It’s most wondrous, is it not?”
“And convenient,” said Isossa, striding past him into the hall now, bare feet padding on the cold stone. “Do you still stock serviceable liquor?”
“You insult me, Isossa,” said Emelias with a cool smile. “I’ll have someone fetch you a drink. But first, I must tend to my guests. Please. This way.”
He led us into the large hallway, which was sparsely but elegantly furnished. the marble swirled with lighter caramel streaks through darker brown, like cream in dark coffee. Massive portraits hung from the walls, and a chandelier of gilt spiderwebbing hung from the high ceiling, each candle replaced by a glittering, hovering spark of bronze light.
“This way, this way,” said Emelias, bustling forward. “I have just the suite for you. Of course you’ll be sleeping together? Oh, don’t think me rude, I just simply wish to determine the accommodations. Yes, no need to answer, for the answer is evident, is it not? Lucky dog, you. Salacious imagery! Come.”
Not having seen the exterior, I had trouble figuring out the layout of the estate; we passed from the great hall down a corridor, through a ballroom that could have housed hundreds, then down another corridor, which finally terminated in a stout mahogany door.
“Here,” said Emelias. “The contents of the suite should be self-evident, and you are all no doubt exhausted by my company. I titillate in small doses, but overexposure renders me a bore. I shall leave you to it and shall send someone later with dinner.”
“Thank you,” I said, more out of reflex than sincere gratitude.
“Think nothing of it, Savior,” said Emelias, eyes glittering. “It’s a distinct honor.” And with that, he pushed the door open and stood aside.
We passed into a small vestibule where wooden knobs were arranged to hold our cloaks and packs. Freed of the
se burdens, we moved forward into the main living chamber, which was dominated by a rectangular pool from whose surface tendrils of steam arose.
Potted ferns of luxurious size grew in the corners of the room, while comfortable looking lounge chairs were arrayed by the walls, painted the faintest of eggshell whites. Tall, stained-glass windows were set in the far wall, causing the light that filtered into the room to take on a variegated hue.
The door clicked shut behind us.
Imogen dropped to a knee, placed a hand on the tile floor, and closed her eyes.
We all waited in silence, taking in the suite and peering through the archways that led to farther rooms.
“All clear, surprisingly,” said Imogen, rising to her feet. “Unless their skills are vastly better than my own. There’s a central bedroom with a bed large enough for all of us, a number of side chambers, a study, and what appears to be a small ballroom. All empty, and I couldn’t detect any peepholes or means of listening in.”
Valeria moved over to one of the lounge chairs and eased herself down, her thick golden hair falling before one eye as she leaned her head back. “Somebody. Anybody. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Little Meow adjusted her cat mask, crouching carefully by the side of the pool to dip her fingertips into the warm water. “Um, here’s a wild guess: they’re trying to corrupt us. That’s all Lilith ever does.”
“Agreed,” said Imogen, moving to sit at the end of another lounge chair and smooth her black skirt and white apron over her knees. “But even so, I find their nonchalance disconcerting.”
Brielle circled the pool, gazing meditatively into its depths as she went, then stopped to frown at one of the windows. “They’re either really that confident, or want us to think they are.”
The urge to get into the hot water was strong; I dismissed it. “But why not take us prisoner? Deliver us to Lilith?”
“Or kill us outright?” asked Emma. “Wouldn’t that cause Bastion to fall?”
Little Meow remained crouched by the water’s edge. She drew her hand back into her lap. “Corruption must be more important than our deaths.”