“It is believed to ward off malignant spirits at night,” Nishka explained. “It is a ritual that has endured for centuries.” For the first time, Arxu noticed small channels in the streets. Orange light flowed like streams from the base of the pyramid, sweeping through the streets in a lush tide.
“This is amazing,” Nishka whispered.
Arteries of light pulsed through the city, each capillary inextricably tied to the pyramid in the center. Every district surged to life as if reignited by the city core—like a universe being born again.
A dome resided in the distance, gleaming impeccably like lapis lazuli in twilight. High-reliefs of robed characters embellished the base of the structure. The dome itself was adorned with peculiar spikes that may as well have been welded pristinely from blue glass. However, its most eye-catching feature was two towers with spiral formations, tapering to leaf-shaped crowns that glowed like crystals.
“What is that?”
“The royal library,” Nishka replied. “Azia-Nocti’s library is hailed as one of the wonders of the world, containing several lifetimes of knowledge. I’ve always wanted to see what it looks like inside. Perhaps you could learn something there about Nightwalkers.”
Arxu looked skeptically at the towers, intrigued by the reputation of this hallowed library. No doubt he would like to learn more about the Nightwalkers.
Nishka certainly knew how to pull his strings.
Nearby, four men wandered among the populace, remaining close to each other. Unknown to the citizens, their motives for wandering the city were anything.
On behalf of the arena, they searched Azia-Nocti for humans to participate in the amphitheater games. In fact, their methods for acquiring participants often entailed stalking and abduction. They had been carefully trained by their master to find only the most challenging fighters—or more appropriately, fodder.
The arena was a flourishing business and it could not prosper without “replacements.” Nearly a quarter of the city’s population was attracted to the games. No one could avoid spending a day at the arena to view the ongoing spectacles. These men were responsible for ensuring it stayed that way. As long as the city coveted violence, the profit would never end.
One of the men halted in his tracks upon seeing a darkling walking freely in the streets.
“What? Did one of the darklings escape?”
They continued to observe the odd creature cloaked in rags and a conical hat. Its large, rounded eyes looked every which way across the plaza. The darkling seemed particularly interested in watching the people passing by. It smiled nefariously and spoke to a young woman with blonde hair. It was impossible to tell whether the darkling was armed or not.
One of the abductors noticed the woman walk away uncomfortably from the creature. She looked disgusted at whatever it had uttered.
“No, this one is different.”
“It would make a valuable asset to our quarry,” the hunter said, echoing what his partner was surely thinking. He didn’t approach the darkling; instead, he would return to the arena and relay this information up through the chain of command. But he had no doubt in his mind that the battlemaster would endorse abducting this peculiar specimen.
* * *
Azia-Nocti looked like a world lost in the space of time; a flamboyant metropolis by day and an occult underworld of political intrigue by night.
A silhouette walked across a courtyard aglow like a valley of lava. He didn’t particularly want to be seen as he approached the archives. Distant nebulae were scattered in the sky above, composing an eerie image with the city below. It would seem Azia-Nocti had reverted to a netherworld, somewhere far from Eyegad.
Far from the earth.
Bas-reliefs of planets and forests adorned the door which he pried open. Arxu stepped lightly through the imperial library, feeling small and insignificant below the archaic dome. Intricate mosaics inlaid with blue, purple, and orange contoured slickly to the darkness. Furthermore, strange verses in Eyegadi were etched into the walls, precise characters carved in gold.
The foreign man walked past towering shelves host to books of every kind; tomes, charters, bestiaries, and most of all, literature discovered beneath Azia-Nocti. Several scrolls provided a glimpse into the former empire, but not every passage could be translated.
He noticed a book lying dejected on the floor and he suspected he was not alone. He fragilely lifted the book and examined its corroded pages; it described the lineage of a common family from Sepulzer, tracing the ancestry of a woman. Arxu regarded the shelf to which the book belonged and scanned the various articles assembled. He wondered if it was possible he could locate a member of his bloodline. Perhaps someone could tell him where he came from, who he was.
Arxu vigilantly looked around the library to make sure no one was watching. He removed a single hair from his head, the blue strand twining around his fingers like silk. He produced a quartz crystal that dangled precariously from a silver chain, and with nimble fingers, he wrapped the blue hair around the crystal. Arxu closed his eyes and gradually cleared his mind.
A few seconds passed by. An invisible force tugged at the stone, gently at first, slowly building in momentum. The crystal began to sway back and forth like a pendulum. Arxu felt it pulling him toward the north, and he obeyed without question. He scanned the dome overhead as he walked through an octagonal chamber; the dome resembled an infinite sky of violet glass limned with moonlight.
To his left, statues of scholars and scientists stood watch over the sacred institution.
Obviously, there was something within the library that triggered the pendulum. Sometimes he could see fingerprints outlined in the dust, betraying recent visitors.
The pendulum jerked sharply and Arxu paused at a dead end. Melted wax limned the shelves, once proud candles that illuminated this dreary corner.
He held the pendulum before him, and it seemed to indicate a book. He tucked the magickal device away and suspiciously eyed the tome on the shelf. It looked no different from any other book, perhaps a bit older and worn. However, it seemed more distinct than any other article around him, as if a sense beyond sight, hearing, or smell enabled him to perceive it differently. Yes, there was something unique—or wrong—about this book.
Arxu reached for the tome jutting from the shelf, prying it out of the wax. It snapped angrily as it jerked free, as though it did not wish to be removed from its home. Arxu recognized several glyphs and magick seals on the leather cover. Many of the pages were stuck together so he opened to the first solitary page.
The passage he stumbled upon assaulted his attention.
The Nightwalkers were first encountered circa 1463. They are often characterized as hags or strange men who wander the forests at night. Others have described Nightwalkers as feral children robbed of their ability to reason, adapted to the wilderness like animals.
The very nature of Nightwalkers has been distorted for decades. The truth behind Nightwalkers is far less sinister than many village anecdotes, but the truth is perhaps more disturbing.
The eerie discovery didn’t excite Arxu, but it surely would have if he could feel. Perhaps he would soon add another piece to this puzzle and recover his identity.
Nightwalkers are a fringe of human society, a clandestine order of men and women who gather in the forests at night. Their nocturnal cult considers the moon sacred, the source from which they derive their power. The moon charges their magickal components; stones, rods, and metals. An experienced Nightwalker can imbue stones with his or her essence.
He skipped ahead, quite aware of the general definition of a Nightwalker. As the passage began to delve into the mental effects of magick, he found himself caught up in the words again.
Their minds can be warped by the magick they possess, rendering the mind feeble and weak. Magick is said to addle the brain so profoundly that Nightwalkers are more susceptible to psychiatric disorders such as dementia or psychopathy. A growing number of mages have been confin
ed to lunatic asylums where they are closely monitored.
Reportedly, scientific studies have been conducted to “remedy” the patients. Procedures designed to deprive a man or woman of magick have proven widely unsuccessful because no one can pinpoint the source of magick. However, all studies indicate that magick damages the brain of the host, much like a parasite. Crime has become increasingly prevalent in their kind.
Arxu’s eyes continued to scan the text, hungrily devouring the pages. One word flickered before him that sent him clawing through the book for answers.
Excommunication.
The word leaped off the page, striking a cord in him as forcefully as if he walked into a wall.
The ritual of excommunication is performed in the presence of Umbra, the matron of the Nightwalkers. The exile is subdued with a combination of opium and mandrake to reduce pain.
The mention of drugs brought a flicker of attention to Arxu. He vaguely remembered the smell of opium, but he couldn’t recall where. Furthermore, he wondered what “pain” exiles were subjected to. He turned the page.
Only the most scorned and criminal exiles are summoned to the lunar sanctuary to be “branded.” The individual’s hair is dyed with blue indigo, and their skin is imbued with a similar pigment.
Arxu reached for his sleeve and slowly pulled it past his elbow. His white skin gleamed in the faint light, exposing the markings that snaked like tendrils across his arm. He tenderly touched the discolored skin as if he expected it to hurt. He lowered his gaze to the page once more.
A Nightwalker is subject to exile for—the book slipped from Arxu’s fingers. The ancient tome slammed against the ebony tiles, dozens of pages exploding from its weak frame, spilling over Arxu’s feet. He gawked at the empty space with a dreamy expression. He stepped away from the book as though it would rise up and assault him.
—for murder, torture, or rape.
He swept away. He couldn’t tell Nishka about this.
No one could know the secret of his past life. Perhaps authorities were searching for him to render punishment for a heinous crime he couldn’t remember committing. What kind of man was he before he died?
As he stole out of the library and walked through the flaming courtyard, he wondered which crime stained him.
Chapter 12
The night was dimly lit in the arena as great braziers glowed above. Enormous tiers towered within the amphitheater, devoid of audience.
Rafael, an elite ambassador, followed his escort toward the center of the arena. His personal bodyguards, two armed men recently discharged from the military, accompanied him. Clad in scarlet robes and silver rings, Rafael looked out of his element in the sand-blasted arena. Only the most abominable creatures or criminals drudged through these sands before they inevitably died.
He had never attended the amphitheater games. He felt that the spectacles here reminded him too much of his childhood home. Rafael smelled something pungent near him, and he stepped over a body in the sand. Disgusted, he tried to block out the stench and focus on the task at hand.
A hooded figure adorned in a cloak stood in the sands of the amphitheater, patiently awaiting. He was said to be the battlemaster of the arena. His prowess was often discussed with great praise by soldiers and commoners, reputed to be one of the most skilled combatants in Azia-Nocti. This was Rafael’s first contact with the man behind the project he had commissioned, an attempt to revive technology scavenged from the extinct empire.
Several months ago, Rafael had discovered stone tablets beneath the city that detailed an immense construct, a weapon that he believed could aid the city—or his own agenda. He had waited much too long for this opportunity. He dispatched a messenger to the arena nearly every day to receive word of the construct’s status. He understood that a project this immense required time, but his patience was wearing thin.
Only yesterday he had received news of the project’s progress. An orphan handed the ambassador a letter, which he quickly pried open with shaking fingers. His heart quivered with each word he read, especially when he received instructions to rendezvous with the battlemaster the following night. Rafael couldn’t deny his dread as he approached the figure.
“Have you assembled the construct?” Rafael asked.
“So swift to part with etiquette... Am I not worthy of a proper greeting?” The tone of his voice struck Rafael as strange, but he dismissed it.
“Of course. I am Rafael, ambassador for Azia-Nocti. You have my endless thanks for agreeing to this exchange.” The battlemaster didn’t respond. Uncomfortable with any elongated period of silence, Rafael cleared his throat and said, “Forgive me, but I never learned your name. Who are you?”
“Venexa,” spoke the figure. The entity pulled back the hood to reveal a woman with light hair. Rafael jerked in surprise, hardly expecting to see a woman. Her striking eyes portended her determination, a will unparalleled in intensity and a robust confidence that mocked his own. She smirked defiantly at his blatant surprise.
“To answer your first question, yes, the contraption is assembled. Soon, your dreams of conquest will be realized.”
“You misunderstand me,” Rafael replied hastily. “I do not seek to conquer Azia-Nocti. I merely require a weapon to wield against the inept leadership that threatens to destroy my city.” Venexa acknowledged his claim with a rise of her thin eyebrows.
“You mean the treaty with Gaelithea?”
“Yes, the horrendous alliance that Oligarch Ichari is considering. I must not allow it. I escaped the hells of Gaelithea to live out my existence in peace here. By agreeing to their terms, we are surrendering to them. Can you imagine what this will do to our city?”
If he removed the opposition, King Nizaz would reject the treaty. Nizaz was not aware of the steps Rafael had taken to secure this weapon. Rafael justified his covert operation no matter the potential consequences and political fallout. He couldn’t risk the king objecting to his radical methods.
“If I recall, you sought asylum here from the wrath of Gaelithea,” the battlemaster said. Rafael jerked in surprise. Venexa profoundly savored the expression on his face. “The terms of the treaty state that all convicts who fled Gaelithea and found asylum in Azia-Nocti are to be extradited. You will be stripped of status...”
Rafael ogled her with shock, even hatred. How could she possibly learn of the assassination he had commissioned against a noble family in Gaelithea?
“I am aware of your less than reputable past, Rafael... even if the authorities are not.” She circled him like a seductive predator amused by the fear of her prey. “You are a dangerous man, Rafael...” Her face was much closer to his now, her intense eyes prying into his. “But you are nothing compared to the wrath of Gaelithea.”
The ambassador wanted to dispose of her in an instant. She was a liability, someone who knew his identity and misdeeds. Yet, Rafael knew she would slay him and his bodyguards. He almost preferred that she killed him now.
“I will not die in Gaelithea,” Rafael breathed. “And if I die here as a result of my actions, so be it.”
“Would you like to observe the construct?” Venexa asked. Rafael nodded in acquiescence. “Then retreat to the perimeter of the arena.” The ambassador didn’t delay, flanked by his bodyguards. When he reached his destination, he looked for Venexa. She smiled and signaled someone in the obscurity of the shadows.
A rumble coursed through the sand. The surface of the amphitheater shifted and slowly lowered like a tiered platform. Rafael waited patiently, his eyes watching the churning sands gushing into the darkness like a waterfall.
Metal tiers submerged below the earth’s surface to a place where the ruins lurked. He couldn’t begin to fathom what had ended the reign of the southern empire. He surmised that an earthquake had destroyed the city, for how else could so many artifacts end up below the surface?
He longed to return to the site where he discovered the stone tablets. However, the caverns below Azia-Nocti were structurally we
ak and prone to collapse. Nor did he suspect that he was entirely alone as he wandered through the ruins in search of knowledge.
He tensed as the colossal platform rose toward the surface. Rafael cried out when he saw what had emerged from the arena.
A gargantuan spider loomed in the sands. It did not move, eyeing its prey insidiously. His bodyguards brandished their weapons. Their blades were futile against a creature so massive, a beast nearly forty feet tall. Rafael was afraid to move, and his blood now ran cold with fright. At last, he shouted to dispatch his guards.
“Slay it! Kill the monster—”
Battlemaster Venexa laughed malevolently. As his guards took a step forward, they faltered.
The siege machine was arachnoid in form, nothing like Rafael had imagined when he discovered the schematics.
“It is beautiful,” Venexa fawned. “I need only find a way to imbue it with life.” The ambassador looked on with silent awe. He wondered if he made a grave mistake in recovering this abomination.
“How does it operate?” croaked the shaken ambassador.
“Based on the schematics you provided, a chamber within the abdomen burns massive amounts of oil. The steam it produces provides it with energy... Yet, I haven’t made the connection between this steam and how to control its movements.” Rafael had never seen or heard of such an apparatus.
Venexa smiled and placed a slender hand on its abdomen.
“But I am determined to control it. There must be a way to manipulate this device. It would be an unstoppable weapon in war... or a coup. Once the siege machine bursts through the walls that divide the slums and the royal district, it will be far too late. Everything in its path will be decimated. The city itself will bow before the destruction I wield.”
Rafael expressly noticed her use of the word “I” and shuddered.
He apprehensively approved of the work she had accomplished. Nonetheless, he couldn’t control the way he was shaking. He nodded at Venexa and began to slink away without another word.
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