The Ravens of Death (Tsun-Tsun TzimTzum Book 4)

by Mike Truk

  Drums were beating, rhythmic and dolorous, accompanied by thin, wailing pipes whose call rose and fell in clashing dissonance. Smoking censors hung above us, their wrought-iron bowls cast in the faces of snarling demons; from their eyes, nostrils, and ears poured forth a noxious herbal blend. It was acrid, reminding me of the scent from within my fourth trial back in Bastion.

  It looked like all Ur-Gharab had turned out to enjoy the spectacle, all the crowd in their cruelest finery. I couldn’t make sense of the social distinctions - why some wore armor bedecked with thorns, draped with cloaks of sumptuous purple and black, or why others were clad in sweeping gowns or dresses. Soldiers in full plate stood against the walls, tower shields raised before them as if expecting a charge; everywhere the susurrus of conversation rose and fell, the words indistinguishable against the background of the plangent music.

  Our arrival was expected, and everyone turned to stare and study us. Wherever I looked, I saw eyes gleaming like jewels, lips quirked into amused smiles, expressions both jaded and remote, gazes lingering on my own before pulling away.

  It felt like stepping into a cave full of adders. I straightened my posture a fraction, dropped my hand to Shard’s pommel, and did my level best to ignore them all.

  Emelias led the way, bowing, fawning, or brushing past those who stepped forward to greet him. He never lingered, however, no matter how great the cries of welcome or joy that each person made at seeing him. Polite, practiced, and oily, he moved ever closer to the vast double doors that led into the chambers beyond.

  These stood wide open, and his approach caused the drums to pound ever louder, until at last we crossed the threshold, entering the audience hall itself.

  “Impressive,” I heard Brielle murmur with obvious reluctance.

  And it was. A huge stage of black stone rose ten feet off the ground at its far end, upon which a great altar was placed, and braziers burned. A throne stood against the back wall, raised high so all could see the beautiful queen seated upon it. She wore a gown of liquid metal that clung to her lithe form; on her brow, instead of a ribbon, she wore a diadem of silver. Yet her expression was, as before, inscrutable; she gazed at me with large dark eyes, and I could read nothing in their depths.

  The walls were of shimmering obsidian, whose surface looked natural and uncarved - great ribbons of black stone swooped and intertwined as if the lava had cooled and hardened in place without the touch of man to guide it. Against these walls stood a phalanx of knights with their tower shields and horse-hair helms. A thick crowd pressed along the open approach that led from the doorway to the base of the platform, the Morathi watching us with feverish anticipation and delight.

  There had to be nearly a thousand of them packed into the great hall. The air was fraught with fumes and smoke, the distances made hazy, the music even louder.

  Emelias didn’t hesitate, instead leading the way down the open center aisle, looking for all the world as he stepped onto a stage. His movements were theatric and exaggerated, his body undulating as he turned from side to side to give half-bows, dispensing smiles upon those who watched.

  I marched behind him, making no attempt to smile or appear gracious. I didn’t care that titters followed in my wake, or that comments were made behind covering hands. I ignored them all, instead fixing my gaze on the distant stage. My head was growing cottony with the smoke, so I began the First Prism, refining my magic in an attempt to stave off any ambient corruption.

  Emelias came to a halt ten yards from the edge of the stage and dropped to his knees, pressing his brow to the ground. I stepped past him, turned in a slow circle. Regarding the crowd and the far reaches of the hall, I allowed my disdain to appear on my face in the form a curled lip. My companions arrayed themselves beside me; I was proud to see equal resolve and stoic strength in their expressions.

  The drums began to beat faster and faster, rising to a crescendo, and the crowd began to sway, throbbing as if they were turned into dark rows of wheat being lashed by storm winds.

  I turned at last back to the stage, and saw Regent Morgana appear in some manner of ceremonial dress. Purple skirts with waist-high slits covered her pale legs, but her upper body was wreathed in iron snakes that did precious little to reveal her flesh. Her head bore a glorious crown of spikes that curled and lifted like the outlines of a rose, framing her face, which was heavily made up to make her even more striking and perilously beautiful.

  She advanced to stand before the altar and spread wide her arms. The music rose like a wave, the pipes maddened, the drums became a riotous heartbeat; then two guards brought forth a young man with an iron circlet about his neck. The youth was dazed, his jaw slack. He didn’t resist when he was laid down upon the altar.

  “Noah?” Emma reached out to grab hold of my arm.

  An attendant placed a curved blade in Morgana’s outstretched hand, and this she raised high.

  “Fuck,” said Brielle, voice as tense as a loaded gun. “They’re going to kill him.”

  My thoughts spun. I was surrounded by a thousand of the enemy, in the heart of their stronghold. But I couldn’t just stand there and watch.

  A memory - Ghogiel, the captured city of Illington, where Victor’s army had begun torturing and breaking their captives upon the wheel.

  “Attend us, oh Mother of Cruel Mercies,” cried out Morgana, her voice carrying with supernatural clarity over the raucous drums. “Hear our cries of devotion! Our lives are but flickering shadows cast by your own languorous illumination, and yours to dispense with as you see fit! At this moment, in this hour, we throw ourselves upon your mercy, and know that we are not worthy. That our best can only displease you, but in that displeasure we may find grace; for to be judged lacking by your wanton heart is still to come into proximity with you, and by association find grace!

  “May our deeds draw a smile to your red lips, may our fervor light a fire in your eyes, and may our devotion fuel your path of conquest across the Tree of Death! We bind our words and faith in your omnipotence to the soul of this dretcha, whose glory it shall be to be consumed in your maelstrom. Attend us, oh Lady of Pain, and bless this gathering, and all that shall transpire within!”

  Morgana raised the dagger another inch higher, poised to plunge it down.

  I tapped Manipura. The black sun began revolving with a roar, and I rose into the air. Shard flowed free from its scabbard to blaze with a brilliance so pure and cleansing that the very smoke seemed to recoil from its glow.

  “I have accepted your invitation to attend you,” I boomed, “but that does not mean I’ll tolerate this depravity. Put aside your knife, Morgana, or feel the wrath of the Tenth Savior of the Source.”

  Sixty of the armored guards rose into the air as well, wards flickering into place along their lines, blades drawn, darkness burning in their fists. The air within the hall became so tense that it was hard to draw breath; the walls seemed to press in, the lights receded, and so much magic began to manifest that I felt an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia sweep through me, trapped in that hall with so many Hexenmagic users.

  Beyond the altar and regent, upon her throne, I saw Alusz lean forward, eyes wide.

  But I turned my gaze upon Morgana, and Shard’s brilliance never dulled. I remained aloft, ignoring the legion who trained their spells and dread curses in my direction, and held Morgana’s gaze.

  It was… amused, I saw. Unsurprised. Lined with black kohl, surrounded by purple mascara, she gazed up at me with feverish amusement, her full lips pulling back into a gladsome smile, blade held high and as unwavering as Shard.

  “Do you dare?” she asked. “Do you dare risk it all for this dretcha? Attack, and I refuse to open the portal. Attack, and you shall be struck down in turn. Your companions taken, your quest ended, and your days spent in my dungeons until your mind breaks and your soul shatters. I promise you, Noah, upon my devotion to my Lady of Pain, that I make no idle boast. You stand upon a precipice. You profane this rite at your greatest peril.
We Morathi will tolerate all heresies with a smile but this one.”

  “I’ve been here before,” I said. “Yes. I will end everything to save this man’s life.” My voice was a powerful and final as a massive tomb door swinging shut. My heart was racing, my stomach clenched into a tight ball of acid, but I allowed none of my nerves to show on my face. I willed more power into Shard, and its glow grew almost painful. The Morathi drew back, arms rising to shield their faces.

  For agonizing seconds, I hung there, facing off with the regent. The sense of threatening magic grew and grew, causing my skin to crawl, my throat to clamp.

  But I did not doubt in my heart. Victor had been the best of teachers. I’d make no allowances for evil. I’d never allow corruption to gain a toehold in my soul by standing by as depravity was committed.

  “Morgana,” said Alusz, voice soft. “Put away your blade.”

  The queen’s words hung in the air, the silence growing expectant. At last, Morgana lowered her dagger. With a nod, the two attendants pulled the dretcha away.

  “Very well,” she said, voice rich with amusement. “I shall bow to your unbending principles, oh Savior of the Source, and Her Royal Highness’ request. These are but the opening plays of this game we play, you and I. Perhaps in time you shall reveal greater flexibility, a willingness to accommodate my ways born out of necessity, out of need.”

  I sheathed Shard and lowered back down to the ground, where I stood tall before my companions.

  Behind Morgana, I saw Alusz sit back in her throne once more, her expression returning to one of boredom. For a moment, our gazes met, but she then looked away.

  Around us, the Morathi guards lowered to the ground as well, and the crowd, which had grown restive, became still once more.

  “Morathi of Ur-Gharab!” called out the regent, looking past my group to the people filling the hall. “For the fourth time, you gather in this manner, to witness the beginning of another Savior’s journey to find the portal to Malkuth! Golden Pelleas once stood before us, followed by Devoted Jevenna, then Tender Obui! And now I present you with Noah Kilmartin, the tenth and final Savior, the key to the sphere of Kether, the tower of Bastion, and all of creation! Mark him well, his noble bearing, his cold disdain, his haughty self-assurance. In time he shall return to us, and ah! How we look forward to noting how his trials shall change him! For the worlds below us are perilous, an anvil upon which he shall be broken.”

  Her words were met with hisses and whispers of anticipation.

  I’d be a liar if I said they didn’t worry me at all. After seeing the worst that Victor and Enigma had had to offer, I didn’t dare underestimate Gharab, or Morgana’s perils.

  “Attend, me Savior!” She raised her arms once more, eyes wide. “I shall soon open a portal to the realms below. Yet what do you know of Gharab? Nothing, I warrant. The only constant in this sphere is Ur-Gharab, for all that exists below is but a transient glory. For Gharab extends itself where it wills, retracts as it sees fit, and claims what parts of the universe attract its attention. Composed of fragments from dozens of worlds, it is a never-ceasing wonder, always rejuvenating itself as it consumes fresh fodder and discards that which has no life left to give.”

  What the fuck was she talking about? I wondered, then decided it didn’t matter. Imogen could explain it to me later.

  “Thus, to reach the Fulcrum, you must travel through the disparate realms of Gharab. For like any landlocked continent, you must journey from one realm to the next, and not leapfrog directly to your terminus. Observe!”

  She flung out her hand, causing the smoke to roil above our heads and glow as it shaped itself into a holograph.

  “You shall begin in the realm of Aegeria, a land of rugged islands and azure waters.”

  And in the air above us, glowing islands did indeed take shape. Their cliffs were raw and steep, waves breaking at their base, small towns cascading down the hills replete with colonnaded temples and windmills upon the ridges.

  “Khalistria rules this realm, and is one of Lilith’s most favored servants. You shall have to defeat her to gain access to her portal, and there pass on to Carcosa, a city claimed by the predatory jungle.”

  A line of light arose from Aegeria to flow over to a new land, one smothered by tropical forest, from whose center arose tumbled ziggurats wreathed in vines.

  “There Yllindriel shall greet you, Yllindriel whose gaze can level armies and whose figure can break their will and compel them to come crawling to lap at her feet. Jevenna dwells there still, I believe, though she is much… changed. That portal, in turn, shall lead you to the frigid climes of Matterlar.”

  A new line of light arose from the jungle realm to spear north, to a realm that resolved itself into jagged peaks wreathed in snow.

  “In dread Matterlar you shall defy the idiot savant Merrowith, that blind and floating child whose thoughts can level mountains. I’m sure he’ll treat your transgressions with leniency.”

  Titters floated forth from the crowd behind us.

  “Merrowith’s portal shall lead you on to ancient Byzul, where the sands of time are made literal and have claimed the wondrous civilization that once ruled those dunes. Aeranthatos rules those toppled pillars and sand-smothered pyramids, his mind alien even to the betheliim, his magic nearly rivaling that of Lilith herself. It is there, I fear, that you shall suffer your gravest losses. It was there that Obui’s journey came to an end.”

  I watched with dread as another line of light arched out, landing in a realm of craggy red mesas looming over an endless desert. The cliffsides were marked by vast portals leading into dark interiors.

  “Finally, should you somehow press past that perilous land, you shall come to the chthonic land of Tantaghrast. Of that final realm that once belonged to the mighty Servitors of the Source, I shall not speak, but there you shall find the Fulcrum, and with it the ability to pass on to Malkuth.”

  “Five realms,” said Emma. “Why’s it always got to be five?”

  “Would you rather it be ten, sweet child?” Morgana’s voice was that of a mature woman compared to Emma’s whisper, and I felt my companion recoil, pressing herself closer to me. “Each of the mentioned realms abuts its predecessor and successor, but no other; the portal in Aegeria can lead you to Carcosa and nowhere else. Once you begin your journey, you must see it through to its end. Unless, of course, you see fit to throw yourself upon my mercy.”

  The dagger in her hand shimmered, transforming into a circlet of black iron the size of her palm. Its circumference was marked by iron thorns, its interior crossed by slender bars.

  “You may disdain this offer now, Noah Kilmartin,” said Morgana, staring down at me knowingly. “But perhaps you’ll find reason to use it while battling Aeranthatos. Perhaps you shall be glad to escape after suffering grave losses in Matterlar. Who can say? But I urge you to keep it close, and when you find yourself without a choice in the matter, break off a thorn and plant it in the ground. This shall open a portal back to my palace, where you shall find healing, respite, and solace. But recall that your doing so will indicate your acceptance of my terms, in the name of your Source.”

  With that she tossed it down to me, the iron circlet spinning. I snatched it out of the sky without looking away from her heavy-lidded gaze. Its surface was slick, its metal surprisingly cold.

  “It has been a singular honor to host your company,” said Emelias, drawing himself up imperiously as he regarded me. “I know you have disdained my company, but I cannot fault you for your biases. All must bow in the direction of their idols. When next we meet, I hope you shall have more reason to be grateful for my largesse.”

  I winked at Emelias. “Cheers, buddy. Thanks for the pool.”

  Then, seized by an impulse, I rose into the air again on the wings of Manipura, and turned to address the assembled crowd.

  “I pity you,” I said, pitching my voice to carry. “All you devotees of Lilith, with your perversions and cruelty. You think yourselves
masterful, intimidating, the best the universe has to offer. But when I look at you, I see fear. I see boredom. I see children playing at dress-up, hoping to earn a pat from their absent mother. Well, I say this to you - your time has come. I and mine are headed to Malkuth. We’re going to put Lilith down like a rabid dog, then your world will fall about your ears. And I know you’ll laugh and tell yourselves that others before me have failed, and that I’ll fail again. But in your hearts, you know I’m different.”

  I revolved slowly, staring at the crowd, daring any of them to meet my gaze. In the eyes of the few who did, I saw malice and hatred, but most refused to raise their faces.

  “In your hearts you know I am your end. So, laugh and giggle after I am gone. Comfort yourselves with lies. But you’ll know that your time has come, and when Lilith falls, the whole universe will howl for your blood; no rock will shield you, no hole will hide you. The Source itself will scour your wretchedness out of existence.”

  My words hung in the air, silencing even the drums, and the power of the Source swelled within me, making me an arbiter of truth and justice.

  Two spots of color had appeared high on Alusz’s cheeks, and she was seated stiffly now in her throne.

  Then the silence was broken by languid applause, and I turned to stare down at the wicked smile of Morgana.

  “Oh, very nicely done. You remind me of Pelleas, a little; that self-assurance, that sublime arrogance, that inability to believe in any other outcome but complete success. But where is Pelleas now, gold-haired and noble? And while I may tell you lies by the dozen, Noah, I swear on my devotion to my lady on this: Pelleas was a better man in every way than you are, and even he was broken upon my lady’s wheel at the end, and howled for mercy, begged for her favor, and devoted his life to her cause.”

  Her words were like barbs being pushed into my flesh.