She followed Turpin up the stairs that lay beyond the locked door, and through an office packed with equipment for the drains and sewers. Her eyes darted around in the darkness, attempting to focus on the physical world, not the metaphysical one Mister Oprianal was offering her. She peered through the door and onto the cold empty street. She saw the Turpin’s faint outline quickly scaling the side of a large house. He paused at the edge of the roof to clutch at his side, then he disappeared into a hatch on the roof.
She waited. Euphoria gripped her in its beguiling softness and held her close, like an old friend offering comfort after a loss. However, unlike a friend, the narcotic urged her, unremittingly, to reach for a larger and stronger hug. Thoughts that were not hers were injected into her mind.
"A little more will not hurt. You are well trained and I can help you become stronger, better," Oprianal whispered.
"I need to stay clear-minded. I need to focus." She resisted.
"Let me help you. Jaques could not control his hunger, but I know that you can. We will be an unstoppable force."
Pride filled her with that thought. Her training told her to resist, but the strength and allure of the narcotic, the way it dulled pain, was too tempting and the argument too sound. She pulled the small pipe from her pocket, refilled it from the small bag, lit it with the small firebox, and inhaled deeply. After exhaling, Syndael drew another large lung-full of smoke, then another and held it.
The starbursts now began to take form and moved like marionettes dancing to a melody only she could hear. The buildings around her swayed like spectators enthralled by a stage production. She exhaled the smoke and the illusions took life. The shadows created their own faces, mirroring her emotions, and they laughed and cried at the overly exaggerated, crooked caricatures.
Suddenly the front door of the house Turpin had entered flew open, drawing her attention away from the dancing and singing marionettes.
A cloaked figure ran from the house, leaving an invisible trail of where he had been behind him. The figure held a ridged crystal that seemed to flicker with fire. The cloak the figure wore was covered with blood, as was the wide-eyed face of a boy.
Syndael realized the figure was the thief, Turpin, she needed to follow. Yet she felt an unseen force pulling at her, entreating her to enter the house and see what had happened. She jogged across Castle Road and entered the house through the open door.
The house was well furnished, everything was clean and neatly in its place. The walls appeared to her to be melting like candle wax, but did not collapse. This was from Mister Oprianal, she knew, although she did not fully recognize it as such. Syndael was examining the melting walls when she found an open trap door that led down to a hidden cellar. She descended the staircase and found herself in a rancid laboratory.
She looked around. A dissected gryphon had been nailed to one wall. Broken beakers and jars were strewn across a table and the floor. As she stood there, the whole room appeared to move, yet remained deathly still. The sound of liquid dripping into a puddle drew her attention to the far corner where, along with the visual sound waves of the dripping liquid, she saw a lifeless body. The corpse had been stabbed multiple times and its throat had been sliced open wide.
A nameless terror gripped her soul and tore at it as she saw the face of the dead creature. It was not human. The face was lizard-like, the skull almost feline. Her pulse raced as the words Oprianal had spoken to her echoed in her mind. "We are stronger together."
Remembering the dark, internal monologue, Syndael began to calm, but only for a moment. The left hand of the creature she had thought dead, twitched and moved. Sweat broke out, sheening her skin. She felt herself trembling. The sharp fear that had pierced her when the corpse moved on its own, hallucination or not, paled in comparison to what happened next.
The animal-man sat up. A deep, draconic grunt of pain emanated from the walls and the creature. The next thing Syndael knew, she was running, full sprint, towards the front door. She crossed the road and entered the equipment office she had come from. Once she had locked the door behind her, Syndael took a moment to gather herself.
"That could not have been real," she told herself. "People do not return from the dead like that. There are no lizard-men in Aramathe." The shadows in the room showed their faces and laughed at the thought. Soon Syndael, herself, began to laugh at the spectacle of a highly trained unnamed becoming scared of a corpse, running and hiding. Her laughter grew and became uncontrollable as she sat in the dark room.
A noise echoed from the stairs that led to the sewers. Suddenly everything was still and quiet as her head whipped round, like a startled animal, towards the source of the noise. Had there been a sound that had broken through her hysterical laughter, or had she imagined it? Either way, it brought Turpin and the crystal back into her mind. She crept silently down the stone stairway.
Down in the sewers, Syndael began backtracking towards the chamber where she had seen the ritual. She stopped midway down one of the tunnels to listen to voices that came from behind her.
"Kill him," a deep, emotionless voice said.
"What of the Czar," a higher pitched voice asked.
"After the sun rises he will disappear."
The owner of the emotionless voice appeared from around the corner and, to Syndael, looked translucent. Following him was a small company of archers. From the other end of the tunnel where she stood, pressed against the wall, came a brief yell of pain. Syndael and the assassins simultaneously turned to look towards the source of the sound. When she looked back, her vision blurring from turning her head too quickly, twice, the pale man was pointing down the tunnel.
"Kill her," he said calmly. One of the archers readied his bow. With her perception still heightened by the narcotic, Syndael could see the sound waves emanating from the group. Also, the echo of where they once had been to where they now were, as well as where they were heading. And she saw the path the arrow was about to take.
"We can catch the arrow together," Oprianal whispered.
The arrow that had been trained on her was now free and flying through the rotten stench of the river of waste. Syndael pushed off the wall and leapt across the sewage to the other walkway. The distance she was attempting to clear seemed to grow as she was in mid-air and she panicked, believing she was going to land in the liquid excrement. Her body hit the stone wall opposite where she jumped, and she landed hard almost losing her balance and falling backwards.
The archer quickly knocked, drew and released another arrow at her. The Nameless turned sideways, narrowly dodging the deadly projectile, as she allowed the knife and rope to fall from her sleeve. Syndael began to twirl the rope and spin it around her elbows. The archer closed the distance between them as he readied another shot. The rope-dart was now fully extended, wrapping and unwrapping around her arms and neck. The arrow twanged free from the bow and hurled itself directly at her chest. In response, Syndael released the blade.
The two weapons passed each other as the fighters turned to avoid the incoming attacks. The arrow cut through Syndael's sleeve and scored the flesh of her upper arm. The cut was deep and began bleeding heavily. The Shadow Claw sharpshooter did not escape so easily. The blade of the jōhyō sank deep into his shoulder and lodged in the joint. Syndael pulled on the rope as hard as she could, yanking the blade free from its coppery-smelling bed and sending the archer crashing to the slimy stone floor. Without pausing, she swung the knife on the rope and lashed out with it again.
The archer, who was getting painfully to his feet, looked at her as the blade flew through the air. Her jōhyō struck home, exactly where she had intended it to.
The bowman's eyes widened as he gasped for air. Blood gushed down his tunic, pouring from his neck in a scarlet stream. He found himself unable to move. His body went completely limp and he collapsed, although he was still alive for the moment. The blade had entered his windpipe and only stopped when it hit the bony obstruction of his spine. His whole body became unrespo
nsive when the blade hit the bone. With a hard tug, the blade came free, releasing a new rush of blood, like a cork being pulled from a cask of ale that had been violently shaken.
As Syndael was rewrapping her weapon, she saw what appeared to be the archer's life force lift up from the now deceased assassin and float in the void above the corpse. The faces of the shadows, trapped in the stone walls, watched the fight and the release of the archer’s spirit in horror. The spirit floated gently up and disappeared through the sewer roof. Everything was now calm, quiet and drab. The memory of the hallucination was quickly fading as if it had been a dream. Syndael quickly finished putting her blade away.
She moved to the corner to peer inside the central hub of the sewers. At the center of the circular room, where the waste pooled before flowing away down the mountain, was a platform on which sat a high-backed stone chair. No life was present, save her own. Blood pooled dark and deep around the body of a large man lying on the walkway that encircled the room. The color from the blood, not the blood itself, stained the walls and ceiling. A projection of light centered on the bloodless corpse. Through Syndael's euphoric filter, the fire from the torches looked like men dancing, performing a ritual for the dead.
Upon recognizing no one of note was in the chamber, Syndael turned and headed back towards the end of the tunnel she had come from. She reached the corner in time to see Turpin turn yet another corner. He was moving in the direction of the door leading to the room where she had hidden from the lizard corpse. The walls moved in and out as if they were breathing. They were still melting like wax, but now the tunnel appeared to contract into nothingness, changing as she approached, opening only for her. Claustrophobia began to set in.
She turned the corner, where the thief had gone, and stopped. Had the walls in the sewers opened up to the heavens and accept the life of that archer? It was unclear. Syndael slowly walked to the wall. Evil was beyond. Not heaven. The underworld opened here in this vile place, a place of fire and death.
Her emotions, stifled by years of training, were now clearly visible. Painted on the walls as shadows, or within the buildings above her when the marionettes were dancing in the street, how she felt, without feeling, was visual and visceral and cast a deep fear within and about her. She studied the wall to no avail. Everything she saw moved and changed as she felt the stones. Suddenly the wall shook free and opened.
"Why are you afraid," Oprianal asked.
"I am not afraid," she responded.
"Your shadows say otherwise, trust me, and we can overcome, together."
Syndael looked into what appeared to be a tunnel bathed in light, the source being a gigantic ball of fire. Her heart raced, her palms wet. She knew that once she stepped over the threshold to the Otherside there would be no turning back until her objective was complete. Whatever that objective might be.
"You will be fine," Oprianal continued. "Your senses are in tune with the mirror world now, making you stronger, faster. I am here to help."
Syndael sighed and lifted her iron-heavy foot. She reached out through the gateway to death. Her other foot, just as heavy, moved up and forward and past the first. Step by step she slowly made her way through the smooth, granite tunnel. A jester peered down the tunnel towards her, laughing and waving, but she did not break her unnatural focus on the light as she walked towards it.
At long length, Syndael made it to the opening and saw she was not in the Land of Eternal Flame, but on a hillside overlooking both Bristork and the farms of Fynstork. Agste was beginning to reveal the first rays of the new day. The faces on the stone were set in an expression of anticipation, of wishing to move past this moment as fast as possible. She looked around at her surroundings. The mountain cliffs wavered and melted, the ground felt soft like a feather bed. Over in the distance, near the edge of the hilltop, she saw Frost and an archer. Turpin was also there, crouched behind a pile of stones.
The purity of the colors was absolute. They were brilliant in the morning sun, quite unlike the normal drab color of clothing and the stones. In that one, very moment, Mister Oprianal showed her the inner beauty of life and nature. Her anxiety and paranoia faded until they were non-existent, along with her purpose in being there to begin with. Her objective had been forgotten, frozen in a perfect moment that drew out for eternity. Never had she seen such pure magnificence. The concept of right and wrong was cleansed, and only the glory of the soul remained.
She stood there by the entrance to the tunnel, in utter awe of the scene, until the sound of stones grinding against each other caused her to turn. She expected to see more of the brilliance, however a darkness spilled forth, solidifying into a single being that limped up the tunnel. Soon the figure was in full view and an unutterable terror that caused her skin to drain of blood, took possession of her.
The eyeless corpse was walking towards her.
Syndael could not move, no matter how hard she tried. To make matters worse, the apparently supportive voice of Oprianal had gone from her mind. The lizard-man moved closer, empty eye-sockets looking at her. He was smiling, or perhaps grimacing from pain. It was as if he could see her through the gaping holes where his eyes should have been. The creature stopped before her, looked deep into her soul and, with a kind supportive and yet sad smile, patted her shoulder before continuing on towards Frost.
Syndael could feel the warm wetness of urine streaming down her thighs and splashing on the ground. The giant black stones in front of Frost rose up out of the ground and took the form of a large, long neck, a gigantic serpent-like head hissing and spitting at its end. The creature put his hand to the crimson nightmare of his opened throat and yelled. At the same time, an ear-splitting scream bellowed from the freshly awoken beast.
"Frost!" the lizard-man called again before plunging a dagger into the pale man's back. Syndael watched as the two struggled and fought. At the same time, Turpin, the young thief broke from cover and ran towards the edge of the hill. The archer readied an arrow, aiming at him as he ran.
The beast reared up, opened its mouth, and screamed again. Only this time a great blast of heat billowed forth, followed by the flames of a fire that would have put the depths of hell to shame. The hilltop the four people stood on erupted into fire, not even a moment after she saw the arrow strike the thief in his unprotected back.
The fire rolled over everything, like water bursting forth from a great dam. The scorching heat snapped Syndael out of her trance. In her soul, she knew this was not a hallucination, yet the thought did not materialize in her mind before she had broken into a hard sprint.
"Haila burning shite!" She cursed aloud while running headlong back into the tunnel. The stone door was closed. She slammed her body into the outer sewer wall in an attempt to open it. The hidden door did not budge. Frantically, she hit the stones and crevices looking for the release switch. To no avail. The fire came rolling down the tunnel towards her at great speed. She turned towards the intolerable heat believing that this would be her last moment on Ashra.
The two double knocks on the door, signifying someone with no name was at the door, were frantic. There were no easily noticeable pauses between the raps. To an untrained ear it would sound like a never-ending pounding on the door. Fear and panic rode the sound waves of the knocking until the heavy wooden door opened.
Naethaniel stood there, a look of concern and shock creasing his stone face, as Syndael pushed passed him. The strong smell of smoke hung around her and cascades of ashes fell from her charred dress.
"What has happened," he asked.
"They're all dead," she said frantically as she paced the room. "Burned, shot, stabbed, throat cut but he lived. He spoke. The dragon burned them all. I barely escaped. Lizard-man came back to life. I need to get out of here. I'm done. I can't do this anymore. I can't do this anymore!" She continued to repeat her last statement. The air of the house was displaced by her confusion and terror. Naethaniel studied her.
"Calm down," he ordered eventually. "You
are safe here."
"No," she snapped. "I am not safe. I saw too much. If Jaques knows ... his missing eye will not matter anymore, only my death."
"How did he lose his eye?" a weak voice asked from one of the bedrooms. Syndael turned quickly and saw Treg, his neck was bandaged, and there was a small blotch of red, she assumed it was blood, on the left side of his neck.
"Turpin took it."
"He got me also," Treg said. He pointed to the spot of blood soaking into the wrap on his neck. Naethaniel was silent, listening to what was said as he poured a light colored liquor into a midsized glass.
"How?" She asked eyes wide, full of panic.
"I am not sure. I bested him, but at the last moment..." He paused, searching for the right words, "There was a glow about him, a fire in his eyes that gave him speed."
"A fire?"
"Drink this, you will feel better," Naethaniel said. He handed the glass to her. Syndael took the glass and drank it all in one gulp. Her nerves calmed almost immediately.
"Tell me everything that happened. Are we exposed?"
"I... I am not sure. I do not think so." Syndael sat at the table and told them all that had happened after she had entered the cellar of the Lotus. The tunnel with Jaques lying unconscious; the lizard-man sitting up; killing the archer; the tunnel; and, finally, the dragon awakening and burning the hilltop. She said nothing about the bliss she had felt under the spell of Oprianal.
"The door back to the sewers was closed when I got there," she continued. "The fire burned long before it got close. Then …" her voice began to waver, "I must have hit the release when I, when I..." Syndael's eyes began to close slowly. Her head spun and her sight began to blur. "When I push agains' it." Her speech was slurring, her body relaxing into limpness.
"Syndael?" Treg said. "Are you all right?"
Naethaniel moved towards her, examining her, looking for signs of an injury to her head. Treg snapped his fingers in her ears. She was aware of all that was happening around her, yet she had no control over her limbs. She was powerless to do anything. Nausea then rippled throughout her whole body, forcing her into a dreamlike state. Tremors came next, starting deep within her bone marrow and steadily intensifying.
The Shadow of Bristork Page 6