Eurue- The Forgotten World

by Elaina J Davidson

  Elsewhere

  THE GOBLET CRUMPLED in the strength of her grip.

  This was the event she had been waiting for, praying for.

  Would Alusin understand?

  Chapter 31

  Something hidden is hidden for hidden reasons. It is best to throw more dirt on it.

  ~ Tattle ~

  Eurue

  The Fortress

  “YOU WENT DOWN here?” Tristan shuddered.

  Alusin had led him deeper into the gloomy building until they came to what was a circular ‘well’ - a rounded courtyard in the heart of the fortress open through the levels into the elements. Rain lashed down and the wind was a trapped vortex to other worlds. In the centre of the moss-covered paving stones an ancient trapdoor, also rounded, had swollen to epic proportions in the damp.

  It could not be lifted manually; the Kemir had flicked a wrist and it groaned into an upright position to reveal slick stairs heading to the darkness of a netherworld.

  “This interior well has ever been here, and I always assumed it a construction device that allowed the inner fortress to breathe.” Alusin gazed up. “Truthfully, though, my assumption didn’t make a lot of sense, considering there are no windows facing into this pit. Other than through the narrow door we used, there is no sight of this place.” He looked down. “The trapdoor, however, now that’s another story. Until today, I have never seen it, and I have entered this space many times in the past.”

  Frowning, Tristan glanced into the darkness. “So this isn’t the dungeon entrance?”

  “That ingress is via a service tunnel in the walls behind the kitchen. This is all new to me. Savier intimated that it has been revealed because I uncloaked the fortress.”

  Tristan nodded. “Makes sense.” He glanced at the Kemir. “Did you go down?”

  Alusin nodded. “Briefly.”

  “Bad?”

  “Depends on point of view,” Alusin murmured.

  “Tell me.”

  “No, this is something you need to see first-hand.”

  Slugging back the remains of his tea, Alusin then set the mug to one side. Whistling air in through his nose thereafter, the Kemir stepped into the darkness.

  Shuddering again, Tristan gulped his coffee, and followed.

  BOTH MEN CONJURED a small globe each, for light. Here there was no lantern or even rush torch. This was a realm of lightlessness. The globes, an enchanter trick Torrullin had taught Tristan that he in turn shared with all Kaval, shed only meagre glows.

  “This place gobbles the light,” Alusin stated.

  “I get that impression too,” Tristan muttered.

  The stairs spiralled downward, and all sound vanished. Not merely the whispering roar of the storm above, but also their footsteps on stone. Tristan wondered whether words possessed voice here, and found he was reluctant to test it. The wry look Alusin sent over his shoulder proved the Kemir was aware of his state of mind.

  Weirdly, the further down they went, the dryer it became. The stone underfoot soon possessed grip, and the descent improved. Their globes gradually shed more light also, glinting periodically off the stone curvature. Narrowing his eyes to focus on the rock wall, Tristan marked traces of metallic substances, and even noticed veins of either gold or pyrite. The stairwell and stairway was thus carved into the depths; this was not a hole dug and thereafter constructed to meet a need. He whistled softly; it was an incredible engineering feat.

  Alusin’s head jerked. Unexpectedly, he whistled as well, a sound heard, a testing, for Tristan realised his own pitch of air had offered voice. The tension in his shoulders eased somewhat. Dryer, warmer, with sound returning. Better. His left boot scuffed against the lip of a step, another sound, and then, their footsteps resumed normality. Had recognition engendered the familiar?

  “Odd,” he offered.

  “Very,” Alusin said.

  Both chuckled a moment later.

  “How far down?” Tristan asked.

  “Hard to be accurate, but it feels below sea level.”

  Deep, then. Frowning, Tristan asked, “Why?”

  A shrug answered him first. “My grandmother left this place to my mother, who left it to me, but my grandmother was somewhat of a mystery to all of us. She married into the Algheri family and brought the castle with her as part of her dowry. When my grandfather died, she returned here to live, and Savier and I would visit her. She always spoke as if she knew the deepest secrets, but we thought her a bit mad.” Alusin paused briefly. “I wish now I had listened with more attention.”

  Down they went, their footsteps echoing upwards.

  “What was her name?”

  “Cathian.”

  “Nice,” Tristan murmured. “And her maiden name?”

  “She became Cathian Algheri and that was that.”

  There was an odd lilt to his tone and Tristan grimaced, hearing it. “You’re saying whatever lies below may have something to do with her.”

  Alusin snorted. “I know it does. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “Savier knows?”

  “He knows there is a hidden place, but he doesn’t understand what it implies.” Alusin halted to twist around until he stared up into Tristan’s eyes. “If he knew, he would not allow this entry.”

  Tristan, two steps above, stilled. “Would that be from an Algheri viewpoint …”

  “Keeper, Tris. The Keeper would not permit it.”

  His cheeks puffed up before deflating. “You’re scaring me.”

  Giving a brief smile, Alusin resumed the descent. “We’re almost there.”

  UNCOUNTED MINUTES later, having maintained a swift but steady pace, the way levelled into floor space. It was unutterable dark; their globes shed mere personal circles of illumination.

  “And now?” Tristan whispered.

  That whisper echoed into great distance. Every hair on his body rose into static rods.

  “Watch.” Alusin extinguished his globe - it vanished back into ether - and stepped forward.

  Nothing happened, other than the sound of his footfalls bouncing back at them. He took another step, and radiance flooded in.

  It seemed like an inundation of light after the descent, but glows constituted the dynamic, warm hidden spotlights throwing circular pools of illumination upon the floor, in a ring, overlapping to create sacred geometry containing the answers to universal questions. The centre remained lightless.

  The space was large, but certainly not of a size to generate cavernous echoes … until one looked up. Whatever ceiling there was, was out of sight. It meant this hole began near the surface. It meant, as well, the ‘spotlights’ were of a magical influence, for nowhere along the walls were lighting devices in evidence and the ceiling was simply too far away to offer an explanation.

  Tristan released his hold on his globe and stepped in. Drawing abreast with Alusin, his gaze swept in every direction. The walls, he noted, were rock, but rock heated to melting point, no doubt swiftly cooled to form glass-like uniformity. Again, it was sorcery.

  He glanced at the Kemir. “Interesting, but I am not …”

  “Ye of little faith,” Alusin grinned, and took another step inward.

  The dark central area lit.

  A sarcophagus hunkered in splendid isolation within a blue glow.

  Breath left Tristan explosively. “I don’t understand. Is that Gabryl’s …?”

  “No, his tomb is in the south, nearer to Kemirin. This belongs to another.” Alusin gripped Tristan’s elbow and steered him towards the casket.

  “This is a tomb also, therefore.”

  “More than that,” Alusin murmured. He released his hold and moved to the further end of the ebony rectangle. “Come look at this.”

  With trepidation dogging his every step, the Kaval leader moved to stand beside the white-haired man. Runes covered the casket, as apparently they did for Gabryl’s.

  Alusin traced a set of runes. “This is as far as I got before racing up those stairs to come and
get you. You were still talking to Tian, though, and then Savier arrived.”

  Nodding, Tristan asked, “What does it say?”

  Straightening, Alusin faced him. “Cathian …”

  “Your grandmother?”

  “… Lowry.”

  Every nerve in the Valleur’s body stiffened. “Lowry? Isn’t that the name Gabryl uses out there?”

  “Indeed.”

  They stared at each other.

  Then, his throat bobbing, Tristan glared at the sarcophagus. “This isn’t a coffin by any name. His isn’t one either. The sarcophagi are doorways.”

  “Portals,” Alusin nodded.

  “That is how he went out there.”

  “I’m thinking this one is how he went out there, for they are connected, must be; they are identical and there is no coincidence great enough to explain that. His is severely warded, and this one may not be, and he borrowed the Lowry name we see here to use as his pseudonym.”

  “Or, the Lowry connection is something more,” Tristan muttered.

  Alusin scrubbed at his face. “I bloody hope not. I seem to be part Lowry too, after all.”

  “This is why your inheritance above was not on general display - to protect this. Open it.”

  “Are you insane? We need to decipher all the runes first. Who the fuck knows what’s actually inside?” Alusin scowled. “Tristan, it’s forbidden to open Gabryl’s, and I bet this one is as out of bounds.” He swung away. “Besides, they don’t open. There are no lids; this is a solid device.”

  “Use your ancient breath.”

  “We have no idea what we will face. No.” Shifting back, Alusin opened his mouth to say more, and closed it. He stared at Tristan for long beats. “Silver eyes. I get beyond anxious when your eyes do that. What are you thinking?”

  Wrapping his hand around the Medaillon, Tristan looked up into the dark depths above. “Our words no longer echo, have you noticed? This blue light absorbs rather than rebounds.”

  He released his hold to delve into his tunic at his neck, hauling forth the Medaillon for true touch. Clasping it, he lifted his free hand to the blueness. The light’s behaviour altered, from glows to tendrils, from dull to sparkling, and commenced pulsing, a double beat to simulate …

  “Heartbeat,” Alusin whispered.

  Abruptly Tristan lowered his hand and let the Maghdim go. Inhaling, he stepped aside, exiting the blue space. Closing his eyes, he lowered his chin to his chest and breathed slowly, deeply; meditation breathing.

  Abruptly enlightened, Alusin hit him. “You cannot! Snap out of it.”

  Stumbling back, Tristan opened his eyes.

  “You dare not,” Alusin stated.

  Straightening, Tristan touched a bloody lip. “What is it you think I’m about to do?”

  “You sought the ancient breath and believe you found it. Not the empathetic kind; the time kind. That Medaillon transfers knowledge, Tris, not attributes, despite what you believe.”

  One eyebrow hiked upward. “Truly?” Tristan strode in, bent over, and breathed on the sarcophagus.

  The ebony casket vanished.

  And so did they.

  Stone Chamber

  SHE DANCED AROUND her space, hugging herself, despite the fact that he was watching her. She did not care. So close now.

  Now she wanted to live, no matter the cost.

  “Did I not say you would be their undoing, Cathian?”

  She swung to him, but her words died unsaid. He was right, after all.

  “I hate you,” she spit out.

  He laughed mirthlessly. “I am well aware of that.”

  Chapter 32

  Bog water will give you the runs, boy!

  ~ Tattle to his scribe ~

  Eurue

  The Kiln

  GABRYL’S ENTIRE FORM shook with satisfied laughter. Finally. The final action had been put into play. Let the games begin. Chortling, he knelt amid his sacrificial offerings to touch the sterile earth. “They come, my children. Prepare.”

  Rising, he cast his icy gaze over the staked forms of the Kaval, artistically arranged in a circle, spread-eagled upon the ground as skydiving enthusiasts adored to emulate in the heavens elsewhere.

  All were unconscious, oblivious. Nothing in the multiverse was able to rouse them into awareness, not unless he allowed it.

  Smirking, he shifted etherically to mask his presence, awaiting the arrival of his gaoler and his saviour.

  WHITE LIGHT EXPLODED into shards of blue brilliance, piercing, blinding.

  Tristan stumbled and flailed, falling to one knee.

  Alusin hurtled into him, crashed down and rolled, groaning and cursing in the same breath. Rising to bemoan the Valleur’s stupidity, he stilled. Peripherally, he caught sight of bodies, and the horror evident on Tristan’s face further froze him in position.

  Carefully, he moved his head to his right … and then he staggered to his nearest Kaval brother, to shake, to search for pulse. “Amunti! Wake up!”

  Tristan lurched to someone on the other side of the macabre circle. “Assint, can you hear me?”

  Stumbling from one to the other, without succeeding in the waking, stymied they finally stood together at Belun’s feet, staring down.

  “Alive,” Alusin managed, “but under enchantment.”

  Hands clenching and unclenching, Tristan asked, “Where are we?”

  “This is the Kiln.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Tristan muttered, “My impulsivity has turned on us.”

  “At least we found them,” Alusin said.

  “This is a trap, Alusin.”

  “I am aware.

  “I am summoning the Valleur …”

  “That will be your greatest mistake to date,” Gabryl’s voice intruded, causing both men to snap around. “Bring them in and they will die here. Your Kaval will succumb also.” He sauntered closer, his fancy velvet frock shifting in the low breeze. With ice chips as eyes, he flicked a glance at their surroundings. “Watch now. You do not wish to miss even a moment.”

  Upon the word ‘moment’, fog, dense and cloying, sprang from out of the dry air as if summoned, which, of course, it was, except it was not natural vapour, whether summoned or a freak of nature; the daetal had erupted from ages of imprisonment under the surface of a world, appearing as an ever-shifting host in an instant.

  “By all gods,” Alusin whispered. “We are too late.”

  Laughter floated through the thickened ether. “You are too late indeed.”

  “What must we do to stop this?” Tristan demanded.

  Gabryl appeared before them as the ‘mist’ separated into distinct and individual spheres. As the orbs coalesced, a sense of terrible hunger sucked at the air. Soon it would be tangible. Soon they would start to feed.

  “You have but one choice before you,” Gabryl stated.

  “And that is?”

  “Come with me.” Gabryl spread his hands.

  Tristan folded his arms, bouncing on his toes. “And you will leave the Kemir here alone, disperse your daetal?”

  “I give you my word.”

  Alusin snorted, but Tristan murmured, while trying to ignore the tentacles now emerging from the rippling surrounding them, “What of the Kaval?”

  “If this plain is emptied, they will awaken. Again, you have my word. I have no quarrel with the Kaval.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re entertaining this?” Alusin exclaimed.

  Both Tristan and Gabryl ignored him, fixated on each other, neither surrendering.

  “Answer, Gabryl, or I take my chances with the Valleur host,” Tristan murmured.

  The Original smiled. “We are to return to the place where Timekeepers are born … or made.”

  Tristan’s arms loosened and briefly his jaw slackened. “Gods, always there are two, each being the witness for the other. You are the true witness for …”

  “Rivalen. Indeed.”

  “Fuck, he left the Path of Shades, w
hich means the Path was where you were incarcerated.”

  “Until Rivalen, dancing upon the corners of curves, opened the door. He did not exit alone, although that creature was too myopic to understand what it was he had wrought.”

  “The Path of Shades is sealed,” Alusin said.

  Gabryl flicked him a glance, thereby severing the connection with Tristan. “The Path is not where Timekeepers herald from.”

  “We agree,” Tristan stated.

  Alusin rounded on him. “This is madness! Another ploy, a new trap, and we aim to accept it?”

  Eyes as strange as quicksilver speared the Kemir. “The madness becomes personal, a threesome of terror. I am willing to accept that.”

  “Why?”

  “I entered the jaws of death to defeat Rivalen, because Akhavar and the Valleur deserved peace. Now we do so for Eurue and the Kemir.”

  “Make your choice now; I cannot hold them back much longer,” Gabryl said.

  The daetal were not only multiplying by tenfold degree, but were shifting every faster, tentacles rising and falling as if tasting the air for warm blood. As soundless as they were, nevertheless their silence screamed need.

  “Fine, I agree,” Alusin sighed.

  “As do I,” Tristan said.

  Gabryl inclined his head and reached into an inner pocket nestled over his breast. He drew forth a small silver sphere, held it up. “You are free, my children!” An instant later he crushed the orb, releasing a vapour smelling akin to long standing bog piss.

  Thrashing, the spinning spheres flexed, folded and vanished.

  Shaking the foulness from his hand, his lips curled in distaste, Gabryl said, “I suggest you ensure to gift every Kemir an amulet to ward their substance. Oh, I knew what you were up to.”

  “They will return?” Alusin snapped. “How is that keeping your word?”

  “I have freed them. They are now unmade, and yet it cannot still the hunger within the essence of what they are constructed of. Perhaps one day too soon they discover the means to satiating that hunger. Ward your people, in the event.”