Stop! The priest offered his heart in exchange for yours. Do not disturb their ritual! Keren felt Akar’s influence crouched at the borders of her mind, ready to pounce if she tried to interfere. The Necrow’s actual body was standing several feet away. Keren knew, though, that she wouldn’t be able to execute an attack with Akar’s mental self poised to wrest control from her. She could overcome the Necrow’s influence, but not while fighting the yokai at the same time.
Just as she was preparing to throw several curses at Akar, however, the yokai cawed and flapped lazily off the priest’s arm. It resumed its place on the pulpit and began to preen itself smugly.
Keren approached the priest hesitantly. “Are you…are you all right?” She remembered how it had felt when the yokai of the forest had drunk her emotions, and couldn’t imagine how the man could still be standing.
Father Johan smiled faintly, brushing off the sleeve of his robe. “The Lord protects me, so long as I am faithful to Him. Gladly do I give of myself to sate this creature if such an offering can spare others from hurt.” He chuckled at Keren’s baffled expression. “As Karasu was saying – humanity is a practice in illusion and futility. Weren’t you, Karasu?”
“Hmph. There is nothing to be said about it,” the crow huffed. “Thou simply hast a more…bountiful host of illusions than most.”
Father Johan sighed. “It is not like a man, you see, but like a beast of the forest. Like a lion it kills only to sate its hunger, despite how much it enjoys the hunt. I have heard there are gluttons among them, but this one only eats to satiation. I will gladly feed this beast to protect my flock. It does no harm to me, for what it receives is a gift of the spirit.”
“This one knows not how you produce such sustenance, priest, but it is filling indeed,” the crow admitted. “For many centuries the hearts of men have shriveled like prunes. They are so tasteless, now. The more their wealth grows, the more passionless they become. Those who claim the freedom to live for everything, live in truth for nothing. So disappointing; it leaves a bad taste in the mouth…”
“Do you have a place to spend the night?” Father Johan asked them. “If not, you are welcome to sleep here. This place may be less hospitable than it used to, but there is more than enough room.”
“We thank you, priest,” Akar said. “The night is cold, and my companion is weary.”
“Yes, thank you,” Keren said, eyeing the crow askance. As long as that thing doesn’t watch me while I sleep…
Father Johan bowed to them and gestured for the crow to follow as he departed the nave.
CHAPTER 17
ORACIÓN
Keren woke to the faint twittering of birdsong. Warm light streamed through the great panes of glass on the walls, soft shadows gracing the statues and arched ceilings of the sanctuary.
She sat up, wide-eyed, half expecting the crow to attack her at any moment. Yet all was still and silent. Dust motes danced through the beams of light.
Akar stood some ways away, contemplating a graven image on the wall. “Are you prepared to depart?” It asked, not bothering to turn its head.
“I suppose. Where’s Father Johan? Wasn’t he supposed to give us directions to that mystic valley – Oración?”
“He has,” Akar said, pointing to the bench beside her. Keren looked over and saw their map laid out, with lines and comments written in fine penmanship. She picked it up and pondered the markings.
The valley was to the northeast…funny, they would be coming back around towards the western border of Herayon. So many months of travel, and they really hadn’t gotten that far from home after all. The notes described the roads they were to take which led to the fringes of the city. There they would find an ancient highway, which they must follow across the moors to where the black hills began. Somewhere deep in the valleys between the hills, concealed by mist, were the sages the monk had spoken of.
Keren sighed, stuffed some rations in her mouth, and looked around the temple one last time. It was truly magnificent. Even the state of its abandonment lent it a kind of grandiosity, a noble defiance against the world. It reminded Keren of the tales of her ancestors, those proud people who had defied their rulers and set out to forge their own way in the wilderness.
The priest and the yokai were nowhere to be seen. Keren let the oaken doors of the temple close behind her with reluctance. There was an anxiousness weighing on her heart, though she knew not where it came from.
Their path led out of the city and onto the moors. The road was paved for a ways, but eventually became so corrupted and upheaved that it was easier to simply walk beside it. The land grew larger the further they went from the city. Again there was only untamed earth and sky coming together in the far distance, heavy with expectation. This land was brooding, the cast of its soil of a kind with the Necrow’s flesh. There were scrappy bushes blooming with tiny mauve flowers, and withered trees blackened by recent fire. Windswept it was, full of longing, pining beneath the fleeting clouds.
For several days they traveled. Keren was able to forget and lose herself in the welcoming expanse of the cerulean sky. Their progress was slow, though they stopped little to rest. There just didn’t seem to be any need to hurry. They traveled beneath the stars as often as beneath the sun, and Keren only stopped to sleep when she happened to feel like it. The horse did very well, its stubby legs pacing out the miles without fail.
The Necrow used its inner sight to navigate when the notes on the map grew vague. Akar claimed to be able to see the rivers of power delineating between areas of fertility and areas of desolation. Keren wasn’t sure how much it helped, considering that they didn’t really know what sort of place they were looking for.
Sure enough, however, on the fifth day she glimpsed black hills on the horizon. The moors grew wetter and greener, with standing pools of water simmering between stands of reeds. A marshy smell pervaded the still, moist air. There were tall gray stones planted in the turf in seemingly random places. Perhaps they were monuments erected by ancient peoples to primitive gods, long ago.
The black hills looked like the spines of dragons, jagged outcroppings of blackened stone thrusting up from beneath the earth. They did not reach nearly as high as the mountains of Iru Mori, but were equally intimidating due to the way they seemed almost alive, blindly groping for the sky. Their flanks were obscured by tangled forests. The branches of the trees were leafless even in the onset of spring, garbed only in robes of spidery moss. Keren wondered if these trees had all been killed by wildfire, years ago. The lichens and tiny relatives of plant life grew on and under them eagerly enough.
They halted at the border of the dark forest, taking a final breath of sunlight before they plunged into the gloomy interior.
Akar spoke absently as Keren ate. “The monk we met on the road…was not human. I asked who he was because he was not what he seemed.”
Keren looked around, startled. “What was he, then?”
“That is unknown.”
“Why are you only telling me this now?”
“Because I have been pondering his instructions ever since that day. It was resolved that they be followed without hesitation, because of what he was. Now, for some reason, there are doubts.”
Keren giggled nervously. “Why? Because that forest looks so darn creepy? What reason would some random monk have to lie to us? Unless he’s not a wandering monk at all, but a jester who likes to play tricks on people!”
“No,” Akar said firmly. “He is not a monk. Neither is he a jester, though he seemed to find humor in everything.”
“You mean he’s a yokai, and you didn’t even tell me –”
“No! Such a creature would not even be worth listening to. He was neither human nor yokai. That was what perplexed me so.”
Keren shook her head. “You’re only making this more confusing. Weren’t we already going to do as he said, even not knowing who he was or where he came from?”
The Necrow gripped the sword at its side. Keren
watched in fascination for several moments as it ran its hand over the hilt. There seemed to be something almost compulsive about the gesture. Perhaps it believed there was power in the blessing the imposter-monk had bestowed on the blade.
Keren shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with – it can’t possibly be as bad as what we had to deal with in Ozora no Kyuden!” She thumped the little mare in the sides and trotted into the trees.
The path they followed was little more than an animal track through the shadowed woods. Old leaves from smaller shrubberies lay rotting upon the ground. Mosses of many colors crept over the dead tree boughs, obscuring the charred evidence of old fires.
Night fell upon the wood, but Keren did not slow their pace. She did not enjoy the ominous presence of the overhanging limbs, the crawling of the mist through the trees. The air smelled of damp and mold. Thick clouds obscured the moon, limiting what little light they had. Keren found a small lantern in the saddlebag and hung it from a pole affixed to the pommel of the saddle. The yellow light bobbed and danced over the horse’s shaggy head, casting eerie shadows across the trees. She flinched each time the horse’s hooves slipped against a stone.
She realized quickly what made her so nervous. There were no night sounds in this forest. Neither bird nor insect raised its voice to bid farewell to the day; no nocturnal creature raised a call in greeting to the veiled moon. It was an eerie counterpart to the forests of Iru Mori. Whereas that forest had been a wellspring of natural life, this one was a graveyard.
Hours passed as they plodded deeper into the tangled thicket. Keren’s heart beat faster, and she began to gain awareness of a change in the atmosphere…
The forest was no longer completely silent. Clicking, rustling movements sounded from random directions. Dry whispers filled the trees – desiccated echoes that had no place in this landscape of mist.
Just as she felt ready to scream from the tension, Akar said: Do not panic. There are yokai following us.
Oh, wonderful! Just a few of them, or…
We are surrounded by an entire troupe.
Keren fought to keep her heart from bursting out of her throat. Why in Samael’s name did we ever come to this cursed place?! I knew that fake monk was playing tricks on us!
Please do not say that name. Also, the monk was not ‘fake’. He was truly a holy man.
Oh, really? If he was a monk, but not human, what exactly would that make him? An alien?!
Possibly, though the exact meaning of that word is unknown.
Oh My God! Please just get rid of those yokai before I lose my mind!
Why? Are they troubling you?
I can hear them everywhere!! Keren pulled up on the horse, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to pinpoint the source of the whispers. As if it wasn’t enough that one naturally imagined enemies lurking everywhere in dark forests at night, Akar had confirmed they actually were everywhere!
The Necrow halted as well, one hand resting on its sword. It did not seem particularly alarmed. Keren felt like she was going to hyperventilate. Damn him, always acting so casual at the worst times!
A shadow dropped head-first from the trees in front of them.
“Greetings, humans.”
Keren screamed.
An enormous spider dangled in the center of the path, its legs twelve paces from tip to tip. Its upper half was humanoid, with a narrow waist, broad chest and muscular arms. A white mask obscured its face, painted with eight glowing red eyes. A wild mane sprouted from its crown, framing the pale mask with tangled black strands. For all Keren knew, the face beneath may have looked similar to Akar’s. On the other hand, it could just as easily be the face of a hideous beast.
The horse trembled beneath her; Keren imagined the only reason it hadn’t bolted was because the Necrow was holding its mind in an iron vice. Not so with her – she shrieked like a banshee, grabbing the pole from which the lantern hung. Keren jabbed it at the creature like a spear, hoping against hope that it would be repulsed by the sight of fire.
The creature merely cocked its head curiously. “What is this? Is thou some sort of imbecile?”
Keren paused in her attack. “What did you expect, you freaking yokai?! Leaping out of nowhere and scaring us like that!”
“Ah. I beg your understanding. We are spiders, and as such we enjoy scaring witless any human foolish enough to wander into our woods.”
“Then why did you call me an imbecile, if you were trying to scare me?!”
“T’was already stated: entering these woods in the first place qualifies thee as an imbecile.”
“Wha – ? The nerve! I’d like you to know –”
“We are seeking the sages of Oración,” Akar butted in. “Would you be of any assistance in directing us to them?”
“Akar! You can’t ask them for directions! They’ll just lead us off a cliff or something!”
There was a host of giggling around them. “True, true. We spiders love our little jokes!”
“Then you will not assist us?” Akar said. Keren felt the Necrow tense, coiling its power in preparation for an attack.
The yokai seemed to sense this. Their leader grew sober. “Nay, damned spirit. Our intentions are benign. To the valley of the sages you shall go. That is, if you trust in canny spiders to lead the way?”
Akar nodded curtly. “You know well enough what shall befall you if deception is practiced.”
The spider’s body shivered and twitched. There was a muffled clicking noise; the sound of armored pincers tapping behind the mask. “Aye. The Aranae know well the many breeds of men which have walked this earth across the ages. There shall be no deception. Come.”
It turned and dropped to the ground, scuttling down the path. Keren and Akar followed it, escorted by a great host of spiders. Glancing around, Keren saw they were of all sizes; some as large as a horse, others only an inch across, with tiny masks on their pinpoint-faces. It would have been cute, had it not been creepy. There were so many of them…
They traveled onward through the shadowed wood, the path they followed branching several times. Keren admitted they would have become completely lost without their strange guides. Still…
“We have no idea where they’re leading us,” she hissed to Akar. “They could be taking us to their own version of Amaterasu, for all we know!”
The spiders clicked their pincers and cackled. “Kehehe! The human thinks we are like foxes! How little it knows the ways of the yokai!”
Keren glared at them, but said nothing more. Onward they rode into the deepening night, the mist gathering thickly over the rocks and blackened trunks. Their guides were dim, twisted shapes rustling under and over the twisted boughs, a thousand legs tapping furtively in the hushed dark.
They broke abruptly into moonlight. Keren flinched, holding up a hand to shield her eyes. The landscape before them was almost as bright as day; the full moon looming imperiously over the jagged peaks of the hills. Akar winced and drew the hood close about its face.
Before them lay a deep valley wreathed in mist, populated by stony outcroppings and trees as pale as bleached bone. They made their way down the slope; the rocky path luminescent before them. Aspens lined the way; the boles of their trunks were like a thousand black eyes watching.
At the bottom of the slope where the path met the valley floor, stood a woman adorned in a white robe. Her feet were bare, and her golden hair drifted about her pale face like a cloud. The woman’s eyes were a startling blue, remote as the glacier of a mountain, serene as a pond at midnight.
“Well done,” she said to the spiders. “We thank you for bringing these travelers safely to us.”
“As we have always done, ma’am,” the spider patriarch said, bowing. The glittering eyes of its mask flashed toward them once more, before its tribe scuttled away into the shadows of the wood.
The woman nodded gracefully to Keren and Akar. “You are well come to Oración. I am Raisa, one of the Order. Your arrival has been expected
.”
“How? From whom?” Keren asked.
“There were signs,” the woman said shortly. “Please come with me.”
She led them through the pale forest, over a narrow bridge that crossed a rocky stream. The path meandered through the ghostly trees till they came to a triangular hut that sat alone in a clearing. Stout twigs formed the frame on which bundles of dried grass were bound. Raisa brushed aside the curtain in the doorway and ushered them inside.
“There is much we have to discuss, and little time to do so. Rest here until daybreak; our Order will meet with you then.” She left before Keren could ask more.
She glanced at Akar, who shrugged and went to stand outside the door. No words needed to be shared between them; such had been their routine, these past months. The Necrow always stood watch while Keren slept. Keren sat herself on the mat inside the hut.
Sleep did not come easily that night. There was an anticipation hanging over her, a vague unease stirring her blood. It wasn’t the thought of the yokai stalking the woods outside. It was something else. She listened intently to the stillness, and heard the sound of chanting rising through the mist. A hundred voices were raised in solemn harmony, echoing through the hills, as subtle as the current of a distant river. Foreign and strange though the chanting was, it dimly reminded Keren of Father Johan as he prayed before the yokai.
However, whereas the priest’s song had descended from worlds unknown, this one rose from the earth itself, carried across the centuries, searching for Elysium.
CHAPTER 18
THE WHITE SAGES
He grew restless as the dark days passed. Was there no end to this existence they led, this life of lies? Would the Necrow always deny what they so clearly saw in the moon, or in the hearts of men? Would they always deny the implications of their decay into madness? Always this avoidance of truth, this blithe dismissal of reality…
Still, he was haunted by doubt. Surely there could not be something wrong with the brethren; surely there must only be something wrong with himself. That would be the logical conclusion, would it not? It was far more likely for an individual to stray from truth, rather than a multitude.
Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 24