“Jaysen,” Xandrix warned, but he ignored the Corrupted hunter.
“Moppet knows how to have fun,” Roth retorted, taking Jaysen by the forearms to guide him the rest of the way down. “Which do you prefer, Moppet? Male, female, there might be a few creatures down here if you’d rather.”
“Shut up,” Jaysen said, listening carefully to the echo and reverberation on the air. He could smell death, smell the stale air, the cold marble; sounds from outside were muted while the sounds in the immediate echoed outward. Catacombs. Hikaru’s song resonated strongly through the narrow passages, bouncing off the marble until fading away. It did not vanish, it faded to a point that Jaysen could not hear, which meant, the matching sound was moving toward them. The king was in the catacombs. “Gotcha.”
“Where are we going, Moppet?” Roth asked with the echoing clack and clank of bones as Jaysen moved forward. Jaysen paused, turning over his shoulder. Tanis hopped down from above, growling at Roth or the things she smelled. Jaysen did not blame her - death did not smell pleasant at any stage. The warmth of her large body banished the cold of the catacombs and gave him renewed energy.
“Jaysen!” Xandrix hissed. He had not followed. “Put them back, Roth,” Jaysen said. “We don’t desecrate the dead. This way. There are playthings at the other end.”
Chapter Fourteen
Demyan took hold of his wife’s hand, glanced at the group behind them and slowed everyone to a halt inside the narrow catacombs. They’d walked for days, surfacing for brief respites of fresh air and fresh supplies. It was not safe to stay out of the catacombs for long. Droves of people marched south, many carrying news of city after city falling to the demon hordes that chased them down. The unnatural storm that began in Sapphire City had spread, stretching far into the horizon, blanketing all of Kormaine in darkness with lances of lightning that set things ablaze or struck down the unsuspecting as they fled the denizens of the Nine Hells. The catacombs were not any better, not anymore.
“What is it?” Aeron asked in soft, almost conspiratorial tones. They shared a great deal, Demyan confiding his concerns and fears in the young tirsai prince that came to Kormaine seeking knowledge. It was more than that, a pull that Demyan remembered quite well; a Calling. Demyan did not answer Aeron, however, eyes narrowing in concern as he stared hard at the path ahead of them. Torches did not allow for much light, the darkness swallowing it up again mere feet ahead of where they stood.
“Demyan?” Kendall said. He glanced at her, her eyes begging for an answer he could not give. Something was wrong, but he could not adequately express that to those around him. She knew it, too; he saw that in her face as well and felt shame well up inside of him. His stomach twisted up, forcing his attention back to the path ahead of them. Movement to his left took his attention to Aisling. She stood beside him, a giant sentinel of white and gray that now bristled from head to tail. She felt what Demyan did, sensed the growing evil that made the young king shiver. There was something… vile ahead of them.
Aeron moved up the few steps to be at Demyan’s left shoulder rather than behind the Kormandi king. Aisling moved as well, the gryphon’s wings twitching in agitation and concern. She felt the same vileness that Demyan did, the same evil approaching from the south. It was a natural instinct now to let the flow of molten Power rush through his veins when he felt afraid or threatened. He was not the only one, either, seeing the green glow of Aeron’s eyes that signified the boy’s own Power rushing through his system.
“What is wrong? Why we have stopped?” the Baron asked through a rumbling whisper. He stood in front of Nadya and the queen’s acolytes. Vasily tensed, hand tightening on the hilt of a short sword carried at his hip. Folsam, the queen’s personal guard, and Master Barth both did the same, both as concerned as everyone else. It had been too long since they’d heard from the scouting party ahead of them, too long without a break to the surface, too long in silence. It furthered the sense of dread in Demyan’s gut.
“There is something coming,” Demyan managed in a breathless whisper that was so heavily accented it was nearly unintelligible. He needed a better grasp on the spoken word of the Kormandi people but had no time to spare for it now. “Ahead of us. Evil. I can feel it. It’s growing stronger and closer.”
The switch to the Imperial tongue took some of the members of his party by surprise. Despite what the Kormandi might think, that was the language he was best at and the language he would use until he could learn something else. They had no time for misunderstanding or incomplete thoughts. Aeron, he knew, understood him perfectly as did Vasily.
“How far ahead?” Aeron asked after translating for the rest of the party, easily switching between the Imperial tongue and the Trade Cant. Aeron did not sense it but did not question what Demyan said either, something the young inexperienced king appreciated more than words could express.
“Close. Too close. We need to turn around,” Demyan ordered with enough of a pause to allow Aeron to translate his Imperial words.
“Turn around? We are almost to Tatengel,” the Baron argued. Demyan heard shuffling feet even as he put Kendall behind him. She backed up, her acolytes and guard coming to stand at the queen’s side.
“I promise you, Baron Karov, now is probably not the best time for argument,” Aeron said, already backing up. “Turn the bloody hells around.”
Demyan could already imagine the rage brewing in the young baron’s face. He did not take kindly to being spoken to in such a manner. Regardless of his reputation, he was still a member of the Kormandi nobility and demanded the respect owed to him for such a title. Aeron did not care about titles, not in that moment and, quite frankly, neither did Demyan. He glanced at the Baron once and turned back in time to see a ball of crackling ice-blue energy barreling down the catacombs straight at them.
“DOWN!” Demyan cried, dropping to the ground. Everyone dropped to the floor as chaos exploded all around them in a spray of marble and bone. Kendall screamed, squeezing Demyan’s hand so tightly that her nails dug into his pale skin.
“PLAYTHINGS!” they heard followed by a terrible snarl that echoed all around them. Demyan heard someone scream but could not determine who. He was aware of rolling around on the dirty floor, of tugging or pulling and losing Kendall’s hand in the process. He paused long enough to make a desperate search for his wife, for the poor girl saddled with a fool of a man for a husband. What he found, instead, was the pommel of someone’s sword. Stars exploded in his vision, knocking him flat on his back.
“Get away from him!” Aeron hollered from somewhere nearby. Demyan’s head swam in undulating waves of vertigo, his eyes rolling in his head even as he tried to force himself to hands and knees to crawl away. It did not work, the weight sending shooting pain up his wrist all the way to his shoulder. He fell back onto his side, rolling onto his back just as a blast of energy flew by. He felt the heat of something burning just above his nose, the air briefly caustic. He coughed, rolling onto his side as someone took hold of the back of his coat and dragged him away from where he’d been.
Aeron grabbed Demyan, dragging the disoriented king away further back down the catacombs to an alcove where someone named Ilya Dev was entombed. Aeron said a small prayer to Ilya for his protection, shaking Demyan to rouse the king from his stupor.
“Hey, are you alright? Demyan?” Aeron asked in the Imperial tongue so that the poor bastard would actually understand him. He received a response in the positive as Demyan shook himself out, palming his temple. His nose bled, eyes bruising from where he’d been struck.
“Come out, majesty,” someone said making the two young men freeze. Something caught Demyan’s eye further north from where they were, but Aeron maintained his focus on where they’d been. “I can smell your fear. No sense in hiding now.”
Aeron swallowed hard, looking to Demyan. The king nodded, making sure his feet were beneath him before Aeron stood, firing off a bolt of lightning at the person that spoke. He only caught a brief glimps
e of what might have once been a tywyll man with clawed hands and bloodshot eyes. The man dodged, growling as he gave chase.
“Go, go!” Aeron commanded. They ran toward the others using Nadya as cover. The girl sent shards of ice flying at their attacker. Not that it did much good.
The ice melted before it got five feet from her hands thanks to the Hex Storm, making Aeron glance behind him. There were only three that Aeron could see. The odd tywyll man, another olven-esque creature with spikes protruding from his spine, and a third much younger man that also looked to be tywyll of some sort if the tywyll had a wasting disease that stole all their color. That one, Aeron noted as he ran, did not engage, standing stark still with a white staff in his clawed hands.
“Pain.”
It was a single word, barely uttered in a tongue that seemed so foreign but oddly familiar as well. It reverberated across the entire length and width of the catacombs. It dropped the tywyll chasing them, but it also dropped everyone else into a ball of agony that ripped through their minds and turned their muscles to jelly. Aeron cried out, hearing the others do the same. Even Aisling screamed, the gryphon falling over as another creature charged her from behind the boy with the staff.
“That is a lovely trick, Moppet, you must teach me when this is over. I thought you might like some thematic music for the moment. Such intensity!” the beast with spines said. Aeron frowned, but took the opportunity to get his feet under him again, forcing compliance of his Power to pull the marble closest to the boy with the staff down atop his head. It worked, the pain coming to an end in an instant.
“Roth, do something useful!” the tywyll hunter growled as he recovered. The vile creature with the bones paused and stared at him, blinking rather benignly.
“Change in tune? Very well…” he said and began to pound out a faster beat with a set of bones that made Aeron's stomach roil. “Phier. It’s cold down here.”
Aeron did not know what that meant, but he did not like the chill it sent down his spine.
“Move!” Aeron hollered. Everyone scrambled forward, Demyan stumbling a little more than everyone else. The spot directly beneath where the king had been swirled with violent black flames that created a vortex of burning wind until forming itself into a black phoenix. The wings were tipped in red, its eyes the color of blood. The black flames lingered as the great big beast of a bird alighted on the vile creature’s back. Aeron watched the creature that answered to "Roth" turn its head and grin as if knowing a terrible secret. The face that greeted the tirsai prince made Aeron’s heart stop.
“Danyel…” he breathed out, recognizing the creature for who it used to be - the Speaker of the Phoenix Empire.
“Burn, little worms,” Roth said. The entire passage ignited in black flames that tore through the marble, turning it to ash.
“Go! Go! Up to the surface!”
The Baron. The man shoved at them, forced them to climb until they all breached the surface as if being reborn. The light above was not so different as the light below, but the air hurt to breathe, the thunder roiling so loudly it was deafening. Aeron collapsed, feeling someone nearby and flinched.
“It’s me. It’s Kendall. Get up, Demyan, needs help. Please.”
She helped Aeron to his feet, pointing to where Vasily hovered over Demyan. Aisling barely moved and Master Barth was nowhere to be seen. The Baron was the last, nearly cresting the top when he was yanked back down into the dark of the catacombs.
“Gabriel!!” Nadya screeched. Aeron caught her while mentally commanding the heavy stone and marble back in place to block the passage down to the catacombs. Nadya fought, tears streaming down her face.
“No! What are you doing!”
“We have to go, highness!” Aeron argued, picking her up bodily to haul her away. Vasily assisted the king, unable to stand or walk without aid as the storm above sent a downpour of hot, acrid rain down upon their heads.
***
A wide expanse of snow stretched out before Mikhael. It went on forever, curving against the horizon. There was no sun, no moons, just snow.
“You need to leave this barren wasteland, pet,” the dragon-born woman said as she materialized beside him. She ran fingers through his hair, making him twist and writhe beneath her touch. He was doing something wrong. The field of snow should be a field of poppies, though how that would help was not something Mikhael understood. He felt worn down, beaten to dust, as cold and barren as the frigid snow.
“Try again,” Madhavi sighed, letting her arm drop to her thigh. He looked at her, taking in her appearance. It was different in the snow than in the cottage. That meant something, but the information would not surface. Her wings were different here, more angelic, and she had no tail or clawed, draconic feet. That made him look more closely at himself. His skin was pale, ashen with black spider veins crawling along his hands and arms, across what he could see of his chest.
“Mikhael! You’re not listening!”
He frowned, still looking at his hands.
“No,” he said finally. His voice was but a hoarse rasp. Ice.
“What?” Madhavi asked. She stepped in front of him, looking up into his face. He was taller, though not by much, but enough to make her step back when he fixed her with a furious gaze.
“Mikhael is gone,” he said.
“Ugh, you’re all so melodramatic,” Madhavi sighed. “Fine. At least you’re talking. That should make Daemodan happy. You’re not worth anymore of my time. I’m bored with you. Now, maybe, I can get back to that beautiful secret my sweet lamb is keeping from me.”
“Prizrak,” he said. The dragon-born woman arched a thick brow at him.
“Where?” she said in bored tones, even looking out into the expanse of snow. “There’s nothing there.”
“Because it is here,” he said pointing himself. He was Prizrak; wraith was the word in the Trade Cant.
“Well, aren’t you a ball of joy,” Madhavi intoned. “Daemodan’s going to love you. Try not to burn anything down, little Wraith. I have hunting to do. Be a good boy and see yourself out.”
She touched his brow, making him gasp as his eyes popped open to the white-washed ceiling of the cottage. Madhavi slept beside him, curled up on her side, as peaceful as a babe. He reached a hand out to her, stroking a strand of hair. It turned white, frosting from his touch. He pulled his hand back, staring at it with a frown. He sat up slowly, still studying his hand. A gryphon watched him from the door, the fur blackened like burned ashes and wings tipped in stark white. On the floor at his feet were fat flakes of melting snow that froze as soon as he glanced at them.
A wraith indeed.
Chapter Fifteen
Fruit, Kaleo was learning, looked much different in Mahala than it did in Esbeth or even the Phoenix Empire. There were many things that were bright orange or yellow, even one that was so pink just touching it stained the skin. He held a basket in the crook of his arm with the wild fruits filling it up. Reven wasted no time putting his apprentice to work, sending the young avian out on errands. They’d left the small row home the night of the argument between the thief-taker and the bard, opting to stay inside the city until new arrangements could be made and new contracts worked out that did not involve Liam. The amatti was grateful for the distraction. His thoughts and dreams had been on Aeron too much lately, tugging at his guilt. He refocused on the short but complex list in his hand. It did not help. He did not know what most of the items were. Papayas, for example; Kaleo had no clue what they were so did not know what to look for.
Instead, the young avian watched artisans and shoppers move through the open market, nodding at each of them in turn. He observed what was worn and said, the way vendors interacted with their clients. Women did most of the shopping, carrying baskets similar to the one Kaleo held or round, flat-bottomed baskets with lids that were balanced on their heads. How that feat was accomplished had Kaleo staring for several minutes before he shook himself of his rudeness. Children roamed through the mark
ets begging for work or money - or both. Kaleo paid one child a single round coin to show him which of the vendors acted as a courier. None of the children were educated that he could tell, not like home.
This is home, now, idiot. Get used to it, he chided.
After some more wandering and observation, Kaleo found the courier. It was a clay edifice among the open-air vendors with a large amount of feathers and bird feces used as decor. He made a face, reminded himself again that he was no longer a spoiled prince, and walked in.
“Uh, hello,” he said to a tall man with dark tan skin and black hair. He wore loose pants that hung low on the crotch area like what Reven wore and sandals woven of reeds. He had no shirt, opting for a simple vest in the desert heat. Kaleo looked at his own outfit and frowned. More adaptations would need to be made. Already he’d opted to "shift" away his wings as they produced too many wild stares, stares that he did not want. It was uncomfortable at times, but allowed him to move through the city with a little more freedom.
“Buenos dias. Come te puedo ayudar?” the man said as Kaleo approached.
“Uhm…” Kaleo began. Only part of what the man said made sense to the young avian. Mahalan was similar in syntax to the olven trade cant, but different enough for it to be mostly useless to him. There were very few phrases he knew: "hello", "may I have more", "where are the lavatories?" but, again, none of those were truly helpful. Mahalan was not on his list of known languages. Yet.
“Ah, eres el chico de Senor Reven, no?” the man continued. Kaleo blinked at him, understanding "Senor Reven" and "no". The courier was not the first individual to mention the bard but most of the vendors, at least, spoke the Trade Cant. The courier did not. Kaleo twisted his lips in annoyance. What good was a courier that did not speak multiple tongues?
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