Ascending Shadows

by Everet Martins

  “Easy for you to say,” Greyson snapped.

  “Isa,” Senka murmured.

  He wiped dust from his head as he looked down at her. His white hand was clamped around her dark wrist.

  “You can let go of me now,” she said and forced a smile. Her sleeve had torn off at the shoulder, left somewhere in the world above. A stone fell, bounced and thumped onto the slab.

  “Shit,” he breathed, letting her go. “What were the chances?”

  “Not good. Can tell you that,” Juzo snickered with a head tilt.

  “Sh! Quiet!” Senka hissed. “Do you not hear that?”

  “Relax.” Juzo dusted himself off. She watched in awe as long cuts sealed themselves back together all over his body. “Nothing down here. Well, nothing but a bunch of lost idiots.”

  She scoffed. “Nothing in the Dead Temple either? No wonder Scab wouldn’t go here. He’s the wise one of this crew. Wisest of all of us.”

  Juzo raised his bloody hands in a gesture of innocence. “Consider my voice lowered,” he whispered.

  “Ev-everyone alright?” Isa asked, rivulets of sweat cutting through heavy layers of dust on his temples.

  Greyson sat on his ass and started rocking, staring up at nothing, mad laughter bubbling out of his lips. “Never get out.”

  “Don’t make me do it again.” Isa cocked his head at Greyson, fingers outstretched for a knifehand strike at Greyson’s neck

  Greyson’s eyes flicked to Isa’s, and he gave a series of quick nods, laughter cutting off.

  Most of the dust finally settled, allowing Senka to see beyond a few paces. It seemed a long passageway ran under the temple, paralleling its direction. The tunnel was wholly unscathed if not for their ruinous fall. Mirror bright tiles lined the passage on all sides, wide and tall enough to accommodate a horse cart. Guttering torches marched in a procession along the walls, fire burning with a sickly green hue in sconces of twisting dark metal.

  “Magic,” she whispered. “No ordinary magic. Don’t belong here.”

  Greyson sniffed. “No combustible substrate in their sconces, just fire hanging in the air. Curious.” Greyson dusted himself off, worked his neck from side to side.

  “Not the Dragon or the Phoenix’s doing, that I can guarantee,” Isa added. He turned his elbow from side to side with a wince. He wasn’t looking good. Even in this light, she could see he was paler than usual. He’d lost a lot of blood, the grisly wound on his chest still leaking and pattering onto the slab. Muscle fibers hung out from his shirt like torn fabric. She might have vomited at the grisly sight if not for the mental hardening she acquired from working at the Jolly Pig.

  Greyson looked at Isa with horror stricken eyes. “Isa, your wounds…” he trailed off, his throat squirming and pressed fingers over tightened lips.

  “Not helping,” Isa muttered.

  Senka eased herself up onto her feet, joints stiff, trying to stay quiet. Her body was filled with new pains she hadn’t felt until now. She tested her limbs, searching for the telltale sign that something was broken or torn, but all felt mostly intact besides the flesh on her hands. There were tens of nicks and shallow cuts, but she wasn’t counting those.

  Her shirt was ripped across the abdomen. She carefully cut the loose half away lest it be snared on something. That would be a sad way to go; accidentally spilling your guts out in the bowels of the earth. Her elbow was skinned and beating with a pulse of its own. Blood curled around the same arm, but she was unsure if it was hers or something else’s, maybe a mixture. She could only hope their blood wasn’t poisonous. She touched the side of her head and felt warm blood there. She worked her tongue around her salty mouth, pleased to find all her teeth still in their proper sockets. Her tongue was sore, a small chunk bitten off the side. She felt at her ribs, sore to the touch and likely black with bruises. Everything still worked if she forced it to.

  “What happened to the Death Spawn?” Juzo asked.

  She shrugged. “Something wrong with them. Not regular Death Spawn. Their bones seemed to be made of dust.”

  “Likely crushed by the temple,” Isa whispered. “See anything, Juzo? Magic ahead?”

  Juzo’s red glowing eye pulsed into a shade of blue, his white skin green as Shadow plague in the light of the fires. “About the same. Place is made of strong magic. Everything about it. It’s remarkable, really. Should stay cautious… don’t know. Not as bright as the Chains of the North, but quite powerful.” He blinked and his eye resumed glowing in a soft red.

  “Isa, let me patch you up.” Senka turned to him.

  He raised his hands. “No, not now. When we’re safe and out of here. Blood’s clotting now.” He gave her a long, slow look, arched a bleeding eyebrow, saying everything without saying more. She knew he was right. They all knew there was some danger lurking, could see it in their faces, likely could all feel in their guts. “Let’s go,” Isa beckoned towards the eerie hallway.

  Senka’s throat went dry as cotton. “Right,” she croaked. “Should be nothing.”

  “I’m staying here,” Greyson said, crossing his arms.

  “Good,” she sneered at him. “Do what you want. Stay here and maybe another group of morons will come through, and you can go with them.” Anger welled up in her, although she wasn’t sure why or where it was coming from. “Idiot!”

  “There has to be another way,” Greyson sniffed, unperturbed.

  “Do you see any other way?” Senka felt heat burning up from her stomach to her chest. Anger at this situation, anger at being down here, anger at her station in life, anger at this fucking Dread Temple. “Useless nobles!”

  “Do you have to do that?” Isa muttered, shaking his head.

  “Do I have to do what?”

  “Be an asshole. Do you have to do that now? You think that’s helpful? Think any of us want to be here?”

  Juzo cleared his throat. Tap, tap, tap went the distant tapping.

  A wan smile touched her lips. She opened her mouth to bite back, but then a heavy sense of failure, of desperation pressed down on her. A strange feeling of wanting only death. She paused, closed her mouth, then shrugged. “You should’ve let me drown,” she said, ice dripping from her words, the corners of her lips pulling down.

  “Huh?” Isa frowned and narrowed his eyes at her.

  She scowled at him, gritting her teeth. “Should’ve let me drown then I’d be on my own, the way I like it! Without you to call me an asshole! Without any of you laying judgment on me.” She jabbed her chest with a pointed finger.

  Uncertain gazes were shared between Juzo and Greyson.

  Isa rolled his eyes and snorted. “Let you drown, you say? Not a problem. Will certainly make sure to do so next time! Fucking cunt!” He winced and put his palm to his bleeding chest.

  “Bastard!” she spat, stalking off into the dark, braving herself to kill whatever creature lay beyond.

  She heard Isa sigh. “C’mon,” he said to the others. She heard them following but didn’t care a shit either way if they all sat there to rot. She wanted everyone to die then, herself included. Things would be easier that way. The tunnel’s brightness seemed to grow the farther she went, the tapping drawing ever closer. Her heart thumped in her head with every passing step. They were stepping into a place they shouldn’t, she knew.

  Isa padded up beside her and let out a heavy exhale. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel the tension waving off of him. She felt him staring at her, trying to get her to look at him. She would not. The group marched in silence for at least five minutes, and the passageway started endlessly curving. The tapping only grew louder, thudding in her skull like a smith’s hammer.

  Then a great light burned ahead, green flickering flames casting swimming shadows over a curving wall. It was a chamber, she realized. She saw something on the ground. A furry carpet in immaculate condition, a skinned Tigerian she realized with a sniff. She stopped at the entrance to the chamber, and her jaw sagged open. Isa mirrored her at her side. It
was no doubt some sort of wizard’s quarters, unfamiliar objects studding the room.

  The room was curved, but curved in a series of harsh lines. A pair of pillars stood in the center of the room covered with sheets of gleaming emerald cut into long rectangles. The walls were made up of beautifully carved bookshelves, every inch filled with ancient looking tomes, though without an iota of dust.

  There were a few strangely shaped objects that looked like vases made of copper, one of them softly hissing out steam through a narrow hole in the top. Upon a desk between and behind the pillars, a song started to play from a wooden music box sitting on a pile of books. The crank turned on its own and played a high-pitched melancholy tune. She felt the hair on the backs of her arms rise under the blood and sweat. Her eyes were involuntarily drawn to a shimmering bauble.

  An enormous glass sphere taller and wider than a man sat near a wall showing their reflections. Within the sphere, were stars that winked in and out of existence, glowing blue-green dust hanging on the air, a series of bright threads connecting the stars and forming a strange web among the shimmering dust. It was both beautiful and horrible. Horrible because she felt like she was seeing something not meant for the eyes of man. Whatever it was, she knew it should’ve remained hidden from the world. The tapestry of light, dust, and stars was ever changing, ever shifting into new shapes and patterns. It seemed to have an infinite depth. The closer she looked at an area, the more it seemed to grow in detail.

  In front of the big sphere was a smaller sphere of about half the larger one’s size, both of them floating on nothing. Her eyes bulged and her breath caught. Within the smaller sphere, she saw a series of images. She saw herself perched against the banister of the Warwick. She saw herself running from Death Spawn within the Black Furnaces, saw her father being mauled by Death Spawn, watched him torn limb from limb. She saw herself bowing before Nyset in Helm’s Reach, pledging her loyalty to the Tower. She saw herself fighting something in the Tower’s courtyard, a giant man in dark as night armor. She was surrounded by wizards and members of King Ezra’s Black Guard. She was losing, a knife through her hand, then another drawn across her throat.

  There were snakes. Thousands of snakes with violet eyes swarming over the Tower’s bridge. There were so many the bridge couldn’t contain them all, some plummeting into the gorge below. She saw the Arch Wizard in her office with the Shadow princess standing over her battered form, limbs twisted in the wrong direction, an eye gouged and hanging from the socket.

  “Make it stop,” Senka whispered. “No. Make it stop.”

  Something tapped and the visions vanished, the smaller sphere once again only showing the group’s reflections. The music box abruptly stopped, became a piercing screech, then nothing. It was as if all sound ceased to exist. The only noise she heard was the gurgle of her own blood rushing through her ears.

  There was a high-backed chair in front of a fire that burned without a crackle. Her breath caught at her lack of awareness. How had she missed it before? A gnarled staff protruded from the edge of the chair and struck the floor with the tap they’d been hearing all this time, its sound the only sound besides her blood.

  “Do you like my baubles?” a crisp voice asked. “They were difficult to come by, a rare treasure in this age. Please… don’t break them.”

  “The fuck…” Juzo croaked from behind, no one daring to move.

  “Dragons,” Senka whispered. “Who’s there?”

  “You’ve disturbed my long peace. You’ve killed many of my old friends,” the voice said with irritation. A man rose out of the chair to face them, resting his gnarled staff against the chair’s arm and held his arms out in a gesture of friendliness. His hair was trimmed short, face long, clean-shaven, cheeks pinked with warmth. He looked to be in his early twenties by Senka’s guess. The man wore simple brown pants and a brown shirt, the linens spotless and without wrinkles. There was a series of bags draped across his chest, at least two hanging from each shoulder and resting on his hips. Around his neck was a pendant that looked to be made of bones. Human fingers, she guessed by the size of them. He wore fingerless gloves and clapped his hands, lips curling into a grin. The sounds of the world returned, fire crackling, earth softly rumbling above, and everyone’s shallow breathing.

  “What brings you to my domain?” he asked in a casual tone.

  “Don’t have time for any of your games, wizard,” Isa snapped. “You’ll tell us who you are, what you’re doing here now, or I’ll cut the words from your throat.”

  “Wizard? No, I’m no wizard. You should use care with whom you levy your threats upon, Isa.”

  Isa furrowed his hairless brow. “How do you know—?”

  “I know many things,” the man cut in. All sense of friendliness was abandoned.

  Senka steeled her guts, her heart, and her breath. She stepped in front of Isa. This man was powerful, powerful enough to warrant some respect, she reckoned. Maybe he’d be able to help them if they managed to avoid turning him into an enemy. Maybe he wasn’t directly associated with the beasts that had attacked them, despite calling them friends. It was a stretch, but she didn’t think they’d be climbing out of this hole. They had no rope, too many injuries, Greyson.

  “Don’t mind my friend,” she said. “We’ve had a hard day, a hard month or so really.”

  “I know.” The man nodded and smiled impossibly wide. His mouth was cascading rows of black teeth chiseled to points that traveled down as far as his throat. His eyes were heartless, constantly shifting in hue from black to blue then to a light brown. Perhaps an enemy after all.

  Senka swallowed, looked down, trying to stifle the urge to burst into tears. Everything was hopeless. There was something oppressive about being so close to this figure, something that made her feel every smothered doubt she’d ever known. They were all sent screaming to her mind’s surface. It was something far deeper than fear.

  She wasn’t smart enough. In all likelihood, she would die alone, unable to ever form the sort of bonds she saw in lovers walking arm in arm around New Breden. She wanted that. She couldn’t make friends. She spent every night in her solitary home, passing time with training, brewing poisons and inoculating herself to their effects. She almost choked on the thoughts pushing through the graveyard of her mind. She wanted to feel special, like her life meant something. She failed to carry on the Scorpion’s torch, the Black Furnaces only serving to burn dust.

  No, no, no, she thought. Focus. When she looked up, she saw that the man was staring at her, and she knew then he’d seen it all. He gave her a knowing smile, an imperceptible nod made only for her. It felt as if he saw inside of her, saw all of her flaws and fractures in an instant.

  She’d seen things like this many times before: Asebor, Death Spawn, members of the Wretched, the Shadow princess, even the Shadow god. He was different. The others she could view with a butcher’s care. Could she kill him if given the chance?

  “It’s nice to see at least one of you has some manners,” the man continued with a sniff, raising a finely manicured eyebrow at Isa. “I know who you are— Senka Graves, Isa Dodred, Juzo Pulling, Greyson Rogard— so I shall tell you who I am.” He sauntered over to them. “I see some of you escaped from the Shadow Realm. Know her mark.”

  Senka became aware of the figure-eight scar on the back of her neck. She’d forgotten it was there, though she never forgot what that place was once like.

  “Rogard,” Juzo breathed. “You’re not just a noble. You really are King Ezra’s son. Didn’t believe it.”

  “I—” Greyson nodded and pursed his lips.

  “Ah. I do love revelations,” the man snickered.

  “Not another step,” Isa growled and twirled his dagger, crouching low to fight.

  “Isa.” Senka started to reach to stop him, her hand hanging frozen in the air.

  Greyson’s knees started knocking, might’ve even heard him sobbing.

  Juzo slid past Isa, fanning out to his side, the three of them
facing the mysterious man.

  His eyes shimmered into a glowing green. “You cannot fight me. I hope you are wise enough to know I could’ve squashed all of you under my heels many times past. When you were in your mother’s wombs, sucking on her tits, training, making love, fucking, whichever. Though that’s not important,” he said with a shrug.

  “Who are you?” Senka breathed. He could’ve been bluffing; any madman could say what he said. For some reason, his words resonated as truth in her gut. Maybe it was this place, maybe his demeanor. Madmen didn’t have twenty rows of sharpened teeth, she reminded herself. Madmen’s eyes didn’t change colors. Madmen didn’t know your names.

  “Ah, yes. I was getting to that, wasn’t I?” The man started to slowly pace towards them, his arms held behind his back.

  “Told you,” Isa growled and pivoted on the ball of his foot before darting at the man, his dagger drawn low for an upward thrust.

  The man raised his chin, his arm shooting out like a viper’s strike, a hand curved as if to choke the air. Isa gasped as he was jerked from his feet, legs flailing. The dagger fell with a clatter as his hands went to his throat. He floated up at least ten feet, legs squirming, head going scarlet.

  “Stop it!” Senka screamed. “Please! Let him go!”

  Juzo ran at him with a snarl.

  “Don’t!” Senka yelled at Juzo. Something rose up from a box behind a desk. Tens of ornate daggers of all kinds. They streaked into Juzo, tossing him spinning onto his back, his torso a pincushion of hilts. He screamed on the floor, hands shaking, legs writhing.

  “Damn it,” Senka spat, rushing over to Juzo. He groaned, head lolled back, gray hair spread across the mirrored surface. Blood trickled out where steel and flesh intersected. She simultaneously started helping Juzo extract the daggers from his body while her eyes desperately watched Isa. Juzo started to help her, his voice blubbering about the pain, though he was healing.

  “No, no, Isa Dodred. I told you that you cannot fight me, though I am aware of your resolute stubbornness. Doesn’t it ever get tiresome? Being so stubborn, I mean?” The man stared up at Isa with a look of pity. “Shall I take your head, I wonder, or could you be of use to me? No, I don’t want your blood soiling my books. It took ages to assemble such a wonderful library.”