by Gav Thorpe
"Only I can help return your family to you," said the high priest.
The sword tip lowered and Ullsaard stepped back.
"Magilnada, then," said the king. "We leave at dawn."
FREE COUNTRY
Early Summer, 212th year of Askh
I
The mountain wind flapped at the tent walls and howled over the rocks. Braziers lit the inside of the pavilion with a ruddy glow, the white fabric dancing with shadows as Lakhyri and Ullsaard entered. Outside, two companies of legionnaires stood guard watching the pass that led down towards Magilnada. They huddled around their fires, quietly wondering what their king and the High Brother were doing, yet reluctant to speculate too much.
Rugs had been spread over the ground, and a plain chair stood in the centre of the pavilion. Ullsaard sat himself at Lakhyri's invitation, dread and excitement warring within him. The high priest had explained nothing of the ritual he was about to undertake despite the king's persistent questioning. Even now, Ullsaard was not sure of Lakhyri, yet for the many days it had taken to travel from Askh the king had not come upon another means to secure his family's release.
It was this more than his life that occupied Ullsaard's thoughts; not that he was willing to die just yet. The helplessness that ever hovered on the edge of his mind returned as he settled back into the chair, and as before his anger at the situation swept away the doubts.
Lakhyri stood before him, a small canvas bag over his shoulder. His spindly fingers delved into the sack and pulled forth a handful of dried leaves.
"So that you understand the bargain we will make, I must tell you that what I offer is a chance, not a guarantee," said the high priest.
"I understand," Ullsaard replied with a nod. "That doesn't mean I won't kill you if you fail."
"If I fail, you will be in no position to kill anybody," Lakhyri said, his expression solemn. "Even if I succeed, there will be a price to pay, a physical toll upon your life. Do you agree to consent knowing this?"
"What sort of toll?"
"It varies," Lakhyri replied with a sight shrug. "A few years from your life at best; crippling at worst."
"How can I make such a decision? Both the terms of success and the price to be paid are uncertain. Only a fool would agree to such a thing."
Lakhyri shoved the leaves back into his bag and stepped away.
"I cannot offer you any better assurance," he said. "Yet it is not the final decision. First I will show you what is possible. It is then that you must decide if you wish to proceed further. You will have one chance to change your mind, but before that you must still place your life in my hands."
"In the spirit of honesty, I should tell you that the second captain of my guards has orders to slay you if I should die." The king smiled at Lakhyri's reaction. "Perhaps that is the extra incentive you need. Whether he will actually do it or not, I cannot offer you any better assurance."
Ullsaard gestured towards the priest's bag.
"What's with the leaves? Is there going to be much chanting and such?"
Lakhyri brought forth the bunched leaves again and placed them in Ullsaard's hands.
"This is not some primitive ceremony of superstition, Ullsaard," said the priest, showing repulsion at the thought. "This is a precise ritual, honed over a hundred lifetimes of mortal men. There will be no chanting or dancing or other nonsense. The leaves are a drug to ease you into a deep sleep. When you are there, I will join you in your dreams."
Ullsaard was becoming less keen on the plan the more he heard of it. It was no wonder Lakhyri had not offered any earlier explanation.
"So it'll be like when Askhos invades my dreams?"
"He does?" The priest could not hide his astonishment. Ullsaard had been aware of Lakhyri's casual yet constant inquiries regarding the exact nature of Askhos's state for the whole journey; inquiries that Ullsaard had met with the same silence with which Lakhyri had answered the king's questions.
"Sometimes," Ullsaard said, wishing he had said nothing. "If I'm going to do this, we might as well get started. How long will this drug take to work?"
He stuffed the leaves into his cheek and almost retched at the bitter taste.
"Do not chew," warned Lakhyri. "Let the juices mix with your spit, absorb it through your gums and mouth. It will not take long at all."
Within a few heartbeats Ullsaard was already feeling numb in the face. His pulse and breathing slowed as Lakhyri took the king's hands in his, for a moment looking like a parent standing over a child. The edges of the king's vision darkened, the red of the braziers deepening, the gold of Lakhyri's eyes growing brighter and brighter.
His whole body was limp and the world had disappeared to a tiny patch filled with the priest's rune-etched face. He could not feel Lakhyri's grasp, or the rug beneath his feet, or the chair he sat on. Ullsaard wanted to say something, give voice to the fear that he was dying, poisoned. Yet the dread was as dull as every other sense. He could not even hear his heart and the wind was a distant memory.
Greyness covered everything, a mist inside and outside of him, neither warm nor cool, until even that slipped away.
II
Ullsaard awoke in the pavilion, alone.
"Is that it?" he asked. His voice echoed oddly from the tent walls. He tried to stand but was paralysed. Panic swelled up. "Lakhyri? What have you done to me?"
There was no reply, save for his owns words ringing oddly around.
"Guards!"
Again there was no response. He was utterly alone. Paying more attention, Ullsaard saw that the flames in the braziers did not move, frozen in mid-flicker. There was no sound of the wind, no tramp of patrolling legionnaires, no strum of rope or slap of canvas. All was still, and he wondered if he had called out at all or if the sound had been only inside his head.
"How remarkable." He recognised Askhos's voice immediately. The tent flap pulled back and the dead king strode in; for the moment the door was open Ullsaard thought he glimpsed a backdrop of stars as he had seen from Askhos's tomb. The First King was dressed as if for a full ceremonial audience in an embroidered gown, gold necklaces and bracelets hanging heavily, beard and hair curled and oiled.
Ullsaard felt a light touch upon his right shoulder and found he could move. He looked up and saw Lakhyri standing behind the chair. The priest glanced at him only for a moment before staring at his brother. Ullsaard looked between the two and found little resemblance; perhaps the line of the jaw and nose but nothing else. Where the king was broad, fulsome and well fed, Lakhyri was a shrivelled husk, at least a head shorter.
"So it is true," said the priest, coming around the chair to examine Askhos more closely. "What a vain man you can be, brother, clinging onto this vision of your best days."
"While your desiccation is no less a badge of honour?" replied the dead king. "You wear your withered flesh no less proudly than I wear this appearance. Both are who we are."
"You faltered," said Lakhyri with an accusing glare. "You lost sight of what we set out to achieve and dallied in your duty."
"The problem of an immortal existence, one where I get to live again and again properly, not like the half-life you eke out, is that it becomes harder and harder to bring about its end."
"Our masters would gr–"
"We're not here for a fucking family gathering!" rasped Ullsaard. "Keep your bickering for another time. Get on with it, Lakhyri. What happens next?"
"I must leave you for a moment," said the priest. "I shall return."
With that said, Lakhyri faded away. Ullsaard glowered at Askhos.
"Your childhood must have been very fucked up," said Ullsaard.
A low reclining seat appeared and Askhos lowered himself into it, one arm behind his head.
"You cannot comprehend the lives we used to lead, Ullsaard," said the First King. "Yet it was not so different in some ways. We had a loving mother and a proud father, and a sister, though she drowned in a river when we were barely old enough to know her."
"And you decided one day that you didn't like the idea of dying and so you started to inhabit the bodies of your children while Lakhyri… well, does whatever it is he does to keep alive."
"We found something that opened our eyes to a wider world," said Askhos. "The Temple, ageless and ancient even when we came upon it. What happened next is not important. It sustained us and those who joined with us. I was once as Lakhyri is; perhaps a little less scrawny."
"I cannot pretend to understand how any of this is possible."
"How could you? It is as far from your experience as the life of a man is for an insect. At its heart it is a very simple thing. The physical world, the one you see and hear and touch and breathe and fornicate in, is but one part of a much larger world. There are gaps between everything, where the essence of life exists, where dreams are made. Its power is limited only by the span of the universe itself. We all live here too, but only from what we learned in the Temple were Lakhyri and I able to see it, to consciously explore it."
"And what is your brother up to now? Has he gone exploring?"
"I believe he has," said Askhos, shifting his weight and bringing his hands to his lap. "From what he said earlier, I think he has gone to look for Noran."
"Noran is here?" Ullsaard sat up and looked around, and felt foolish for doing so. He slouched back with embarrassment. "Here, in your world between worlds."
"His essence, his mind, his life, whatever you wish to call it, is separate from his physical state. He is not dead, and so that force that is Noran must still be here."
"It sounds like a big place," said Ullsaard. "It could take some time to find him."
"It is massive and yet tiny, that is one of its charms," Askhos said with a wistful smile. "The whole of everything within a grain of sand; yet also in every grain of sand and speck of dust and pore upon your skin. Everywhere is everywhere if you know how to walk properly."
Saying nothing, Ullsaard crossed his arms and legs and waited. He knew he was not an educated man, but he had never lacked for cleverness. He had learned quickly his lessons, though they were of a practical rather than philosophical nature. For all that, the things Lakhyri and Askhos told him were very confusing; he suspected he would never get any better explanation from either of them. There was one question that nagged at him as he sat tapping a finger against his arm, trying to be patient.
"The Blood," he said, startling Askhos who had closed his eyes. "I understand it is your link from generation to generation, through the Crown somehow. But what is so special about it? A man's seed carries him into his sons and daughters, not his blood."
Askhos smiled at the question and sat up, suddenly animated.
"Our bodies are but one thing given different forms," said the dead king. "Blood, seed, muscle, bone, all of it springing from the same place. We call it the Blood, but it is in everything that makes us, from the hair on our heads to the nails on our toes. The Blood we share is not the blood of normal men; not wholly the blood of men at all."
"You'll be spewing Salphorian myths about spirits coming down and fucking women in their sleep," laughed Ullsaard. "Your Brotherhood dispelled all of that myth. Talk sense."
"Myth is not the same as fact, Ullsaard," said Askhos. "The Brotherhood seeks to expunge superstition, legend, because it is a fabrication. Yet they are perhaps stories based upon truth, on tales first told by our most distant ancestors. They are corruptions of the truth, but they lead to questions that men should not ask. Our Blood comes not from men, but from something else."
Ullsaard was about to challenge this when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw Noran lying on the rugs beside the chair, eyes closed, hands folded neatly to his chest. He appeared fresh-skinned and healthy, with none of the deathly pallor Ullsaard had seen when he had last visited his friend.
Seeming to step from the shadows cast by a brazier, Lakhyri reappeared, stooping down to lay his fingertips upon Noran's brow.
"Join us," the priest whispered.
Noran awoke with a gasp and looked around with frantic eyes for a moment before springing to his feet. His words were incoherent as he staggered a few paces, eyes roving until they fell upon the king.
"Ullsaard!" Noran seemed startled by the sound of his own voice, which was as mellow and enunciated as it had been before his injuries. "Ullsaard?"
The king jumped up and embraced his friend with a laugh. Noran lifted up his hands and examined them, wiggling his fingers with a smirk. The smile faded and he pulled from Ullsaard's arms.
"This does not feel right," said Noran. He looked around the pavilion room, eyes fearful. They stopped when they fell upon Lakhyri. "What are you?"
"Questions can wait," said the high priest. "Time is now being counted, Ullsaard. I have recovered your friend's essence from the pit into which it had fallen, but to do so I draw on the strength of your body. Every beat of Noran's heart steals one from you."
"What does he mean?" said Noran. As he turned back to the king, he spied Askhos on the couch and gave a delirious giggle. "Do you know who you look like?"
"It doesn't sound like we have much time for explanations," said Ullsaard, grabbing his friend by the shoulders to gain his attention. "Think of this as a dream. That is King Askhos, and this is Lakhyri, the founder of the Brotherhood. You have been brought here to help me."
"How?" asked Noran. Ullsaard looked to Lakhyri for the answer.
"Outside of your dream, your body is in an unwaking sleep," said the priest. "You are in Magilnada with two of Ullsaard's wives and are being held hostage."
"Hostage?"
"Concentrate, Noran, please," said Ullsaard. "Listen to Lakhyri but save your questions."
The high priest waited for a moment, until Noran nodded that he was ready to continue.
"Anglhan had turned against your king, and to stop Ullsaard from taking back the city he threatens your life and that of Allenya and Meliu." Ullsaard frowned and raised a finger to silence Noran as he looked to speak again. Lakhyri carried on in a patient tone. "I will allow Ullsaard to give up some of his life to restore yours. Do not ask how; know only that it can be done. Through me, his energy will pass from his body into this dream and from this dream into your body, restoring some of your strength. You will revive and when you do so, you must escape the city with your queens."
Noran nodded uncertainly.
"I don't know if you are free to move around, if you're imprisoned, in Anglhan's palace or anything else," said Ullsaard. "Nobody expects you to recover, and you must use that surprise to free Allenya if you can. I have troops outside the city, in disguise near the city gate, who will escort you here once you are out of Magilnada."
"Right," said Noran. "Lots of questions, no time. I understand, I think. So, what happens now?"
III
A bird was chirping merrily to itself nearby. Noran felt a soft mattress beneath him, a pillow under his head, sheets tight across him. Probably not a cell, he thought. He opened one eye and in dim, pre-dusk light he saw a ceiling painted with a mural of a boar hunt. He turned his head to look around. Even this slight movement sent a wave of nausea through him, causing him to lurch to one side, vomiting a small stream of liquid onto the carpeted floor.
Wiping his hand over his mouth, Noran noticed a yellow hue to his skin. He opened his other eye carefully, expecting more sickness but none came. His fingernails were brittle, cracked, the flesh wasted away to reveal bulging knuckles.
Noran raised his fingertips to his face, felt hollow, fleshless cheeks and a sheen of sweat. His body trembled from weakness and he lay still for a moment, his breath shallow, heart beating perilously weak. Hunger gnawed at him, every bone ached and his eyes burned even in the gloom, the calls of the bird shrill in his ears.
"Cannot stay here," he said, his voice a wheeze that shocked him. He took a ragged breath and sat up quickly, preparing himself for the wave of dizziness that struck. Glancing down, he saw that he was naked. Checking t
he room slowly he saw no wardrobe or chest that might contain clothes. "Not the first time I have had to run naked from a house," he reminded himself with a chuckle.
He gingerly swung his legs free and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. One hand on the wooden frame, he hauled himself up, steadier than he had expected. Movement seemed to help, quickening his pulse, strengthening fibres and sinews not used for a long while.
Noran slid his foot through the pile of the carpet in a faltering step, half-twisted to maintain his balance with the help of the bedstead. Like a child, he reluctantly released his hold and tottered forward a few paces, a smile on his face.
"Congratulations," he told himself. "Next you can teach yourself how to piss standing up. Come on, this is no time to be cautious."