by Quil Carter
Slowly Nyte groped the walls and soon Erick felt the intangible push of the kessiik’s maegic. He looked at Nyte, seeing an expression of intense concentration, and tried to spot just what he was feeling for.
“What is it?” Erick asked quietly, but Nyte silenced him with a sharp shhh.
A pin dropping could be heard after Nyte’s hiss for silence, even Sweeny had stopped breathing so hard. Erick just stood there, holding the lantern Nyte had given him, and continued to watch the priest.
Nyte stepped onto the next step, when suddenly there was a brilliant flash of cold light. In the exact moment Nyte turned ethereal several large spikes shot through the brick walls and through his transparent form, crisscrossing each other so tightly there was only inches of space between them. Any solid thing in their way would be skewered a dozen times over.
Sweeny gasped; Erick jumped back almost falling down the stone steps.
Nyte quickly turned around and gripped Erick with a cold, yet solid, hand. Erick grabbed Sweeny as he did and the kessiik pulled them through the slowly retracting spikes. They squeezed through as soon as there was room, the sound of a ticking mechanism now filling the air. It was obviously gears but it reminded Erick more of a time bomb.
When Nyte had them through the spike trap he stopped and turned around. Erick and Sweeny did as well and they watched the spikes started to disappear into small black holes in the walls.
Then the fake bricks slid back into place and there was a loud click. Still Erick waited, his breath caught in his throat, but the silence had found them again.
“This is why we’re quiet,” Nyte said in a low tone. Then, like the blue glow was being shed off of him like a snake skin, he became solid again.
The corners of Nyte’s mouth downturned. “I do not know what set them off, perhaps they have pressure plates in the floor… but other solid forms have been up these stairs so I’m not sure.”
Erick squeezed Sweeny’s hand when he realized how badly his squire was trembling. “We’ll just… be silent then,” he whispered, his throat as dry as the Timoque Desert.
Nyte turned back around, taking the lamp from Erick, and slowly, much slower than before, they started back up the dark winding stairs.
Every time his soft shoes put weight against the cold stone, Erick winced. Almost expecting to hear a click, or a rush of energy, or something. The caution in his steps soon had him falling behind Nyte, who was still walking normally.
Nyte noticed this, he turned around. “Scared, human?”
Erick shot him a look. “Not in front of the hibrid.”
Nyte’s firm features gave way to a bemused smirk; his cold purple eyes turning to Sweeny. “He’s known for years now.”
Erick looked at his squire. Sweeny gave him a guilty look; his green eyes downcasted as they both continued up the stairs; their cautious steps in unison.
“You… well, you talk in your sleep…” Sweeny said meekly.
Erick stared. “Why… didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you would have my head?”
Well, he had to give the kid that.
When the cypress door, reinforced with iron, came into view, Erick didn’t know whether to feel relived or terrified. The wooden door looked ominous, it had intricate iron work, twisted thorns and snakes, contorting their vines and bodies up the horizontal iron rods. It didn’t look like it would open easily and with how intimidating it looked Erick was half-expecting it to open up to another dimension, or worse.
But that was what Nyte was for – right?
With his guts being wrung like a washcloth Erick watched as Nyte ran his slender fingers over the red wood door. Though instead of looking intently like he had with the brick walls, the kessiik’s head was lowered and his eyes were shut. Erick could feel the pulse of maegic again, faint pulses like he was using echo location, perhaps trying to find out just what enchantment was on this door or the room it protected behind its iron rungs.
Erick looked behind him. The stairs were dark again, their only light resting beside Nyte’s feet. As Erick listened he could feel the hair prickling on the nape of his neck. He kept expecting some ugly monster to come running up the stairs with its fanged mouth open and its claws outstretched.
At one time in his life Erick knew that those types of monsters didn’t exist. They were fairy tales or a way to scare kids during camping trips – but now, well, now Erick knew they were real. He had brought them here from Xal’Crith to protect the forest below the Pyre. They ran around wild, eating livestock and elves stupid enough to keep trying to scavenge a living in that gods-forsaken Avarice Forest. The only reason they didn’t eat the Serpent knights was because of powerful enchantments from the prie- the gods.
They’re not priests… they’re fucking gods. Erick felt another swell of sickness. Oh, why did he have to keep reminding himself of this fact?
A pawn – just a fucking pawn.
I don’t belong here…
Moments later there was another white flash of Nyte’s light. Erick felt a rush of terror, expecting more spikes to skewer them in their place, but there was none.
But when the light cleared and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Erick realized that Nyte was gone as well.
“Where… where is he?” Sweeny whispered, his voice a steady tremble.
How the hell am I supposed to know? Erick clenched his teeth; the cold musty smell of the tower seemed to only amplify in the dark. A million thoughts rushed through his head, but none of them told him what he was supposed to do now.
So Erick stood there, with his squire beside him, feeling cold and alone.
He usually had guards with him, the King’s Sentinels, but they were all guarding his chambers and his wing of the Pyre. Thinking he was inside, sleeping perhaps, or going over the papers from the earlier court he’d held. No one knew the king was in the priests’ tower; no one knew he was here but the squireling and the kessiik.
And here King Erick stood, at the gods’ door, with a barely eighteen-year-old hibrid and a powerful priest whose motives and loyalties were questionable. Oh, how far he had come from shooting drugs into his bloodstream.
“What did I say in my dreams?” Erick whispered to Sweeny as he stared at the dark door in front of them. It felt like this looming door was staring into his soul, searching the contents of his heart as if passing judgement.
And how would I be judged? From my actions in Alcove or my actions back in my world? What did it matter… either way I would be thrown down to the Smokes of Shol and there I would burn until the gods destroyed their realm.
At Erick’s question Sweeny’s face grew apprehensive. “I… Your Grace, I shouldn’t say. You’re my king, it would be innap-”
“Your king commands you,” Erick replied to him flatly. He was in no mood for stupid royal curtsies. In truth, he hadn’t felt like a king in a while now, just a stupid pawn in a dangerous world, playing an even more dangerous game.
Sweeny’s face flushed, he looked at his shoes. “You – you were more drunk than lucid, Your Grace. You were demanding I get you… beer, and when I asked which kind you… you swore at me. You told me our Elron stuff was nothing compared to –”
Erick felt his throat tighten. You idiot, Erick.
“– compared to the human shit.” Sweeny looked at his shoes, though they were mostly covered in his black cloak. “It – well, it made a lot of sense. The more I thought of it, the more it made me understand you and some of the things you did – or didn’t know.”
“I never even noticed you knew.”
Sweeny shrugged. “Who could I tell? I knew there wasn’t anyone in the castle, or in Elron, I could trust. Even if I was still under Calin there wouldn’t have been. So I kept it to myself, and helped you as much as I could, with a bit less judgement. Who am I to question the gods’ games?”
Erick let out a breath and wiped the sweat that had collected on his brow. “The gods’ games… doesn’t that make your soul just
shudder now?”
Sweeny nodded. “It does, Your Grace.”
“Stop with that. I’m a human, Sweeny, and a stupid one at that. I am no grace – I am no king. I’m just Erick Shane Zahn, the idiot.”
Sweeny’s shoulders fell in a half-hearted shrug. “You must be important, very important. Why else would Anea’s twin sons choose you to rule Alcove? You must be important to… to come from a different world. You do not think that makes you more important? I… I thought it did. I was forced to be a ward for Calin, a lazy pacifist, and now… and now I serve under a human chosen by gods. I live to serve you.”
Stupid, stupid Sweeny… loyalty will be the death of you.
“You can serve me all you want, Sweeny, just stop calling me those stupid titles; they make my skin crawl now,” Erick said bitterly. He saw Sweeny nod in the corner of his eye but knew he would never be able to stop.
They both jumped in the air when Nyte returned with a flash of light blue light. Nyte however paid no attention to their shocked faces and racing hearts; he turned away from them and opened the cypress door.
“Get in now,” Nyte said, holding the door open for them. Erick felt his heart do a flip-flop; he ducked under Nyte’s arm and stepped into the tower.
“They only have one bed,” Erick commented, his brow knitted. “There were always two beds when I came here.” He looked around the circular room to see if anything else was different but it looked the same, only dark now. The mage fire was out and the stained glass window (which Erick now realized were portraits of them showing off their grandeur) was casting no rainbows onto the floors and tapestry-draped walls. The usual bright and warm room was sterile and cold.
“Surely you know why?” Nyte said in an amused tone. He was already looking around the room, no doubt for the prophecies. Erick walked to the nearest bookshelf and started doing the same.
“No…” Erick said slowly. Oddly, Sweeny’s face brightened a vivid shade of red at this, and he skittered over to where Nyte was to help him search. Erick didn’t understand why he was so embarrassed.
“The twin gods are secret lovers; they’ve probably defiled that bed a thousand times,” Nyte said as he started to look around. “I’m surprised you didn’t join in a time or two.”
Erick shot him a look. “We’ll just find the prophecies and leave,” he said, scanning the shelves of tomes and various knickknacks. To his fleeting amusement he recognized several from his own world, though his mind was too full of fear and urgency to examine them.
“No, we must read them here. I can’t hold off these enchantments long enough to return it when we’re done,” Nyte said. “I’m using every bit of maegic to prevent this room from ripping us apart.”
“I think I found it,” Sweeny suddenly called. Erick turned around and made a bee-line for Sweeny who was standing beside the fireplace, where two purple velvet chairs stood facing the cold hearth.
Erick looked down at the book and nodded as Nyte approached behind him. “That’s it, that’s the book.”
Nyte ran his fingers over it, his mouth went taught. “This… this is not the Anean Prophecies.” There was an odd tone to his voice; it made Erick’s arms erupt into goose bumps.
Nyte took the book and brought it over to a marble table on the far side of the room, next to their apothecary room. He set it down and opened it.
Erick and Sweeny were right beside him. The book was heavy and the writing small. It looked to hold thousands of pages of information. How could Nyte possibly know what to look for?
Moments later Nyte swore under his breath and his hand retracted from the book in a sharp way that suggested it had just become burning hot. “You’re sure this is the book?”
Erick nodded. “I got hit in the face with it, it was hand-delivered by Kelakheva. When Xalis and Darsheive were taunting me, Kelakheva was studying it. I know it, this is the book. This is the prophecies.”
“This is not the prophecies,” Nyte said in a hushed whisper; his purple eyes were wide. “It is full of ramblings of a mad elf. The only thing I recognize is the story of Kelakheva’s Creation and then it is just… the madness.” The Kessiik looked at him. “Did the twins read from it?”
Erick nodded. “It didn’t sound like ramblings. I remember what it said, they read it to me. Or Kelakheva did at least: As the Elder jewel shatters, bringing the loyal to their knees. The Draken Gods will stand tall, on the throne of dead and dying kings,” he recited. “Why? What does that book say?”
Nyte ran his finger over a page, a grim look on his already ominous face. “Madess is what it says. Silent, stones that only echo the cries for death, lesions that can’t bleed, no blood, I don’t have blood. Cold dripping water, billions of drops, each I count, each I count, each I count. Writing, writing, I write in my head of what I once saw but all I am is alone. Why do I feel pain, I am dead. Moaning, moaning, so cold. All’s cold, no warm no sun, no sun. Sun will never come to me. I am son, sun sun. No… I’m moaning for mercy, they madden me. Lesions that will never bleed. So quiet inside here, so tormented soul.”
Erick’s eyes suddenly widened, like he’d gotten punched in the stomach he inhaled sharply. “Nails scraping, cold breath on the winter’s hold,” Erick gasped as he put his hand over his mouth. He stared at Nyte in shock.
Nyte paused; he slowly raised his head and turned it towards Erick. “What?” His voice was hollow.
“It’s – it’s what I kept hearing in my head before the gods brought me to Elron. It was a poem. It kept going through my head over and over, that and moaning, crying and moaning.”
Nyte’s purple eyes burned into him, they were wide. Erick couldn’t read him. “Do you remember the rest?”
“I could never forget it… it was driving me crazy before I came…”
So quiet inside here, so tormented soul,
Nails scraping, cold breath on the winter’s hold.
Crawling with insects, they feast as I cry.
Come and find my secrets, then to your demise.
What thing lurks in cold caves, with moans on the wind?
Does it matter how loud I scream, when you’ve entrapped me in him?
Millions of eyes watch me, but none will save me from their hands.
He condemned me, now free me, King Erick Zahn,
The look that descended on Nyte made Erick feel like he’d been stabbed in the gut with a cold blade. Never in his time with the wraith kessiik had Erick seen such an expression of horror – and never did he want to see it again. It was a look that didn’t suite Nyte at all and it was then that Erick knew he’d stumbled upon a threat that Elron had never seen before.
“Schrael,” Nyte whispered, his voice was a cold and hollow rasp. “They’re trying to resurrect Schrael from Kelakheva.”
Erick stared at him in shock. “The Stillborn God? He’s… he’s dead.” Erick remembered back to the story. Sweeny had read it to him when the priests had told Erick to start reading up on the stories in the Anean Prophecies. Schrael was the god that had been given to the humans but he was either born dead or the humans had killed him. As the story goes his remains had been used to create Kelakheva.
“Those fools. They don’t know what they’re doing,” Nyte said, his face still unrecognizable with the shock that painted it. He looked down at the book like he didn’t believe what he had read. “Schrael… Schrael is insane, thousands and thousands of years in a pitch black cave. Alone with no one but his own maddening thoughts, unable to grow, unable to die. And he lives still? He lives inside of Kelakheva?” Then Nyte paused.
“Of course,” he whispered. “The differences in Kelakheva, and the prophecies. How could I not have seen it?”
Nyte slammed the book shut, the sound echoing off of the pointed ceiling above them. “They want the Jewel of Elron to fully separate him from the demigod. I… Schrael must’ve let them back into Elron. There is no other way the twins could’ve gotten into Elron but Kelakheva. The demigod that the world knows would’ve neve
r done it, but if Schrael has started to regain some control over Kelakheva.” Nyte stared at the closed book, stunned. “This… my gods. This… this cannot be.”
“Kelakheva is Schrael?” Sweeny’s small voice sounded.
“Schrael is gaining strength in him, I think he takes over when he can,” Nyte whispered. “He must’ve let the twins into Elron and now he’s tricking them into giving him power. I suspect he’s used Kelakheva’s power to fake new prophecy books and he’s controlling everyone’s movements that way. The twins included. He made the twins read the passage about the Draken Gods.”
“But why would he give the jewel to the hibrid then?” Erick asked. “Why not use it when Kelakheva still had it?”
Nyte shook his head. “I don’t know. I suspect certain things have to happen at certain places in order for everything to work.” Then he looked down at the closed book. “And he’s using these false books to make his chess pieces travel to the right places. If the twins knew this that would explain why they’re playing a gods’ game. These new prophecies Schrael created are still real prophecies. The pieces on the board still have to line up. We’re all still playing a game – this one just has much dire… fatal consequences if we fail.”
“D-does Kelakheva know?”
“No, I believe Kelakheva thinks this is just a normal prophecy and he’s acting as such,” Nyte replied grimly. “Kelakheva plays the usual gods’ games, unaware of what is going on below his very surface. He’s a puppet on strings right now and thinking he’s following a normal prophecy is the perfect way for Schrael to manipulate and control him. Schrael must need the jewel in a certain place or else he would surely just take it from the hibrids and Anagin’s son now.”
Nyte took the book and grabbed onto Erick’s arm; knowing what he was doing, Erick grabbed onto Sweeny. There was a blinding flash around him, a cold light that leaked through his closed eyes, before Erick found himself back in his chambers.
Nyte let go of Erick as the room materialized in front of them. Not even bothering to hide what he was doing Nyte waved his hand around the chambers. A blue barrier appeared, first only contained to where his hand was waving, but soon it expanded until it pressed itself up against the walls forming the protective barrier.