by Mel Odom
“No,” Darrick said, scanning the ruins. All of them seemed to have changed and shifted. The building they had noticed being used by the pirates had disappeared under a pile of rubble.
The boy pushed away from Mat, who had been checking him over to make certain he was not badly wounded. Cold wind poured down through the Hawk’s Beak Mountains, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“What have they done?” the boy asked in a dry voice. “Kabraxis is only a myth. The gate to the Burning Hells is only a myth.” He looked up at Darrick. “Isn’t it?”
Darrick had no answer for the boy.
A horde of demonic flying insects flew out of the yawning mouth of the demon’s door toward Buyard Cholik.
Lifting his arms, speaking over the dreadful moaning of the insects’ wings, and trying not to give in to the stark fear that nearly overwhelmed him, the old priest spoke the words of a protection spell. He didn’t know if it would have an effect on the creatures, but he knew he couldn’t hope to run in the shape he was in.
The insects passed Cholik by. A streaming mass of turquoise and bottle-green carapaces and wings illuminated by the torches and lanterns used to light the work area cut through the still air of the cavern. Reaching the front line of slaves, the insects shot into the victims like arrows, burying deeply into their bodies, ripping through clothing to get at the flesh beneath.
The slaves screamed, but their agony was scarcely heard over the drone of insect wings.
Curious and appalled, hoping they would prove to be enough of a sacrifice to a demon, Cholik watched as the slaves jerked up from their hiding places. The insects writhed within the slaves’ flesh, looking like dozens of growths and abscesses. Insane with pain and the horror of their situation, the slaves tried to run. Most didn’t take more than three or four steps before their bodies burst open and they dropped to the cavern floor. Several torches fell with them, leaving individual fires burning in a line back toward the entrance.
In seconds, more than half of the slaves, mercenaries, and priests lay dead, their bones picked clean by the demonic insects, bloody white skeletons gleaming in the torchlight. While the demonic insects stripped victims of their flesh, it looked as if a blood mist had dawned in the air. Abandoning the dead, the insects flew up to the cavern roof and took refuge among the stalactites. Their buzzing quieted only somewhat as they became spectators to the next events.
Buyard Cholik stared into the dark recesses of the open door ahead of him. Fear settled bone-deep into him, but it wasn’t fear of what lay ahead of him. True, there was some fear of the unknown. But the greatest fear he had was that the power he found on the other side of that door wouldn’t be enough to take away all the damage that the sands of time had wrought.
Or, possibly, that the power on the other side of the door would find him lacking or wouldn’t want him.
Being rejected by a demon after stepping away from the Zakarum Church was horrible to contemplate.
“Master,” Altharin whispered. Somehow the man had escaped the destruction that had stricken most of the people around Cholik. “Master, we should go.”
“Then go,” Cholik said without looking at the man.
“This is an evil place,” Altharin said.
“Of course it is.” Cholik pulled his robes around himself, took a final breath, and marched toward the door to meet his fate.
Even at the open doorway, all Cholik could see was the unending darkness stretching before him. He paused for an instant at the threshold, tempted to call out. Would a demon answer if he spoke? He didn’t know. The texts he’d read that had given him the information to come this far had not suggested anything past this point.
Somewhere ahead, if the texts were right, Kabraxis waited for the man who would free him into the world again.
A cold breeze whipped out of the yawning space before the old priest. Perhaps he would have turned around then, but the cold only reminded Cholik of the chill awaiting him in a grave. It was better to die suddenly tonight than to have to live with all his hopes shattered and stillborn.
But even better than that would be to live with the success of his efforts.
He stepped forward and entered the dark room. Immediately, the steady drone of the insects hidden against the cavern roof dimmed. He knew it wasn’t because he’d simply entered another cavern in the cave systems beneath Ransim and beneath Tauruk’s Port. The noise dimmed because in that one step he moved a long way from the cavern.
The chill burned into Cholik’s flesh, but his fear and his determination to stave off death drove him on. With the lighted cavern behind him, he could see the narrow walls of the tunnel on either side of him as he passed but still nothing of what lay ahead.
You are a man, a deep voice boomed inside the priest’s head.
Surprised, Cholik almost faltered. “Yes,” he said.
Only a weak man. And you seek to face a demon? The voice sounded amused.
“Humans have slain demons,” Cholik said, continuing forward through the narrow tunnel.
Not slain them, the deep voice insisted. Merely succeeded in binding demons from your world. But only for a time. Diablo has returned. Others were never forced away. Still others remain in hiding, not even known of.
“You were forced away,” Cholik said.
Do you taunt me, human?
“No,” Cholik said, gathering all his courage. The ancient texts hadn’t suggested anything about what would transpire on this side of the door, but he knew from other readings that demons despised fear. It was a tool, like a blacksmith’s hammer, that was used to bend and shape the human lives they controlled. Meeting a demon meant controlling the fear.
Don’t lie to yourself, human. You fear me.
“As I would fear falling from a high cliff,” Cholik agreed. “Yet to climb, a man must face the fear of falling and overcome it.”
And have you overcome your fear?
Cholik licked his lips. All the aches and pains of his advanced years settled into him again, letting him know the spell he’d worked to strip the life energy from the slave was being undone. “I have more to fear from living my life trapped in a failing shell of a body than I do of dying suddenly.”
I am a demon, Buyard Cholik. Don’t you know that you risk dying for centuries?
Cholik stumbled a little in the darkness. He hadn’t thought about that. In the years he’d studied Kabraxis and the Black Road, he’d only pursued knowledge. After winning Raithen over to his side to supply him with slaves and provide transport, he had thought only of digging the ruins of Ransim out to discover the door.
Cholik made his voice strong. “You seek a way out of your prison, Lord Kabraxis. I can be that way.”
You? As frail and weak and near to death as you are? The demon laughed, and the hollow booming noise trapped in the tunnel sounded caustic and vibrated through Cholik’s body.
“You can make me whole and strong again,” Cholik said. “You can return my youth to me. I’ve read that you have that power. You need a man young in years to help you regain the power that you once had in my world.” He paused. “You can make me that man.”
Do you believe that?
“Yes.” And Buyard Cholik believed in the demon’s power as much as he’d believed in anything the Zakarum Church had taught him. If one was false, then it all was false. But if it was true—
Then come, Buyard Cholik, once priest of the Zakarum Church and friend to no demon. Come and let us see what can be made of you.
Nervous fear and anticipation welled up inside the old priest. Sickness coiled inside his stomach, and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He centered himself, using all the techniques he’d learned while serving the church, and forced his tired, aching body forward.
A star dawned in the darkness before him, spreading gossamer silver light in all directions. The stone walls on either side melted away, revealing only the darkness of the night. He was not enclosed; he stood on a trail suspended over the longest
drop he had ever seen. Visibility ended below the path he walked on, and only then did he realize that he was no longer standing on a stone floor but on a swaying bridge of human bones.
Arm bones, leg bones, and ribs made up the bridge, intermixed with the occasional skull that was complete or damaged. Cholik slowed, feeling the bridge shift dizzyingly beneath him. A skull slid out of place ahead, then bumped and rattled and rolled down the bridge, finally striking a hip bone and bouncing over the bridge’s side.
Cholik watched the skull fall, the broken jaw hanging askew as if it were screaming. The skull fell for a long time, tumbling end over end, finally disappearing from the reach of the silver star that waited at the end of the bridge. Only then did Cholik realize the bones were not mortared together; they lay crisscrossed, interlocking to provide support for anyone who crossed the bridge.
Would you go back, Buyard Cholik?
Before he could stop himself, Cholik glanced back along the bridge. Some distance behind him, how far he couldn’t tell, the rectangular doorway that opened back into the cavern under the ruins of Ransim gaped. The torches and lanterns flickered inside the cavern, and the stripped skeletons lay on the uneven floor. Thoughts of returning to the apparent safety of the cavern wound through Cholik’s mind.
An explosion shook the bridge, and Cholik watched in dismay as a section of crossed bones blew high above the bridge. The displaced bones fell through the darkness like leaves, drifting and spinning.
The gap left in the bridge was too far for Cholik to leap. The old priest realized he was trapped on the bridge.
Let that be your first lesson, the demon said. I will be your strength when you have no strength of your own.
Knowing he was doomed, Cholik turned and glanced back up the bone bridge. The silver star glowed brighter, revealing more of the path. The bridge of bones continued to lead up, but it zigzagged back and forth. What seemed to be trees occupied the elbows of the zigzags.
Cholik hesitated, trying to muster more strength but knowing that his body had none left to give.
Come, Buyard Cholik, the demon taunted. You made your choice when you stepped through that doorway. You only had the illusion of being able to change your mind along the way.
Cholik felt as though a great hand squeezed his chest, squeezing the breath from him. Was it his heart, then? Was it finally going to fail him? Or was this Zakarum’s vengeance for abandoning the church?
Of course, Kabraxis said, you could throw yourself from the bridge.
Cholik was tempted, but only for a moment. The temptation came not out of fear but out of rebellion. But that was just a momentary spark. The fear in him of death was a raging bonfire. He lifted a foot and went on.
As he neared the first of the trees, he saw that they bore fruit. When he was closer, he saw the fruits on the tree were tiny human heads. The small faces were filled with fear. Their lips moved in pleading that only then became audible to him. Although he couldn’t understand their words, Cholik understood their agony. The sound was an undercurrent, a rush of pain and despair that was somehow horribly melodic.
Tormented voices, Kabraxis said. Isn’t it the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard?
Cholik kept walking, finding another bend and another tree and another chorus of hopelessness and hurt. His breath burned inside his chest and he felt as if iron bands constricted his chest.
He faltered.
Come, Buyard Cholik. It’s only a little farther. Would you die there and become one of the fruits on the tree?
Pain blurred the old priest’s vision, but he lifted his head after the next turn and saw that the bridge remained straight to a small island that floated in the middle of the darkness. The silver star hung behind the shoulder of a massive humanoid shape sitting on a stone throne.
Gasping, no longer able to do more than sip air, knowing he was only inches from death, Cholik made the final ascent and stopped in front of the massive figure on the throne. Unable to stand in front of the demon, the old priest dropped to his hands and knees on the abrasive black rock that made up the island. He coughed, weakly; the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, and he saw the scarlet threads spray onto the black rock. He watched in stunned horror as the rock absorbed the blood, drinking it in till the rock was once more dry.
Look at me.
Wracked by pain, certain of his death, Cholik lifted his head. “You had best work quickly, Lord Kabraxis.”
Even seated, the demon was taller than Cholik standing up. The old priest guessed that Kabraxis was twice as tall as a man, perhaps even as much as fifteen feet tall. The demon’s massively broad body was black flesh, marbled with blue fire that burned and ran through him. His face was horrid, crafted of hard planes and rudimentary features: two inverted triangle eyes, no nose but black pits that were nostrils, and a lipless gash of a mouth filled with yellowed fangs. Writhing, poisonous vipers sprouted from his head, all of them beautiful, cool crystal colors of a rainbow.
Do you know of the Black Road? the demon asked, leaning close. All the taunting had left his voice.
“Yes,” Cholik gasped.
Are you prepared to face what lies on the Black Road?
“Yes.”
Then do so. Kabraxis reached forward, taking Cholik’s head between his huge three-fingered hands. The demon’s talons bit into the old priest’s head, driving into his skull.
Cholik’s senses swam. His eyes teared as he stared into the demon’s monstrous visage and tasted Kabraxis’s foul breath. Before he knew he was doing it, Cholik screamed.
The demon only laughed, then breathed fire over him.
NINE
Glaring out into the harbor of Tauruk’s Port, Raithen knew two of the three cogs were lost. The flames ran up the masts, too well established in the rigging and the sails to be beaten back. He strode Barracuda’s deck with grim determination. “Get off that ship,” he yelled to the pirates who had feared him more than they had feared the fire and had fought to save it. The effort to raise his voice hurt his wounded throat.
The pirates obeyed at once, showing no remorse at abandoning the vessel. If losing a few of the pirates would have meant saving the ship, Raithen would have done it, but losing the ship and more men was unacceptable.
Raithen leapt onto the plank that led to the narrow shoreline below the overhanging cliff. Rocks and boulders littered the narrow strip of stone that provided a walkway to the steps cut into the cliffside. Dead pirates sprawled across the steps as well, victims of the Westmarch Navy rescue crew who had taken the boy from him. Other pirates had fallen into the river and been swept away. The old man with the war hammer had become death incarnate while holding the steps. Westmarch archers among the rescue group had wreaked havoc among the pirates for a long minute or two until the pirates had no longer tried to storm the steps to the clifftop.
Raithen knew that the Westmarch sailors had gone, taking the boy with them. The pirate captain walked to the burning cog downstream from Barracuda, stopped in front of the mooring rope that held the ship in place, and cut it with one mighty blow from the ax he’d carried from Barracuda.
With the thick mooring rope severed, the burning cog slid out into the river, caught in the current, and floated away. It wasn’t a vessel anymore; it was a pyre.
“On board Barracuda,” Raithen ordered his men. “Prepare poles, and let’s keep that damn burning tub from her.” He crossed to the cog upstream from Barracuda, waited until pirates lined the cog’s railing, then chopped through the hawser line.
The river carried the burning cog into Barracuda. The pirates strove to keep the burning ship from the vessel Raithen hoped to salvage. Barracuda’s hull might be split or merely leaking, but he planned on saving her. Without the cog, it would be a long walk back to the rendezvous point where he kept the main ships of his pirate fleet.
Raithen cursed his pirates, finally giving up, returning to Barracuda himself, and taking up a pole. He felt the blaze’s heat against his face, but he yell
ed at his pirates. Slowly, propelled by the poles, the burning ship bumped and butted around Barracuda.
The pirates started cheering.
Angry, Raithen grabbed the two men nearest him in quick succession and heaved them over Barracuda’s railing. The other pirates pulled back at once, knowing they’d all feel their captain’s wrath if they stayed near him. Bull was one of the first to step out of reach, knocking over three men in his haste.
Raithen drew his sword, and it gleamed. He faced his men. “You damn stupid louts. We just lost two of our ships, our hidden port, and cargo we aren’t going to be able to freight out of here—and you stand there cheering like you done something?”
Smoke stained the pirates’ faces, and no few of them bore burns and injuries from the brief battle with the Westmarch sailors.
“I want a crew here to pump this vessel out and see to the repairs,” Raithen yelled. “We’ll sail at dawn. Those damned Westmarch sailors can’t get the river’s mouth closed by then. Bull, bring the rest of the men with me.”
“Where to, cap’n?” Bull asked.
“We’re going to find that damned priest,” Raithen said. “If he can persuade me to let him, I’ll suffer him to live and take him out of here, too. For a price.” He touched his wounded throat. “If not, I’ll see him dead before I quit this port, and I’ll rob whatever treasures he’s scavenged from that buried city as well.”
“But, Cap’n Raithen,” one of the pirates said, “that explosion what took out the cliffside and flattened the ruins came from the priests’ digs. I come from there when them buildings fell on us. Them priests were probably all killed.”
“Then we’ll be robbing dead men if we can find them,” Raithen said. “I’ve no problem with that.” He turned and walked toward the cliffside. As he climbed the crooked stone steps, he shoved debris and dead men from his path. At the least, he intended to get his vengeance on Buyard Cholik—unless the old priest had been killed in the mysterious blast.