by Tim Mathias
Osmun let the wooden cane fall and quickly took hold of Nasiri’s hand and balanced himself once again. He thought he might pull her off balance with his own clumsiness but, despite his teetering, she remained standing straight, anchored.
“Are you ready?” she asked without looking at him. Osmun stared straight ahead as well and slowly set his right foot flat on the floor before carefully placing the smallest amount of weight on it that he could bear. The pain was intense and immediate. Within a few breaths it was as if the entire right side of his body was on fire. He breathed slowly, thinking instead of the purpose of this and not what he was having to endure because of it.
“I am.”
He was again immersed in the silhouette. He could see without sight, hear without hearing. Every sense was felt through the conduit of his god-given ability to commune. Nasiri moved in front of him, looking him in the eye. You have always been motionless when you use your sight, she said. In the trance-like state, her voice was clear and pure, as if it was the first sound ever created. You must learn to be on your feet, to run, to fly in this place. It’s the only way to truly see and feel your way through, to find the keyholes that you may open the door.
Osmun felt himself swaying and nearly fell out of his trance entirely.
Stay here… stay in this place. Nasiri was becoming more distant, almost floating away. Don’t move inside your body…… move inside the world.
He reached out to her but was no closer. I can’t do it, he said.
You can. You’re swimming now, just at the surface. You must let yourself drown.
Feeling the world begin to shift and sway around him, Osmun was pulled from his trance barely in time to catch his balance. “Bloody betrayer,” he muttered. “I can’t do it.” Nasiri slowly opened her eyes and looked at him, and for the first time in years he felt… humbled.
“If you can’t,” Nasiri said, “then we’re done, aren’t we?”
He gritted his teeth, steadied himself, and reentered the silhouette.
Osmun imagined himself in the middle of the Sperian Sea, waves heaving around him, the great breaths of an immeasurable being, and they moved over him, forcing him down, bereft of either benevolence or malice, as though he was nothing. At once the constant, throbbing pain of his injuries was receding into the background like an echo. He was swimming through the liminal grey, his anchor cut loose. Good…… good... he heard Nasiri’s voice.
Once freed, Osmun felt as though he was making use of his abilities for the first time, only now they were untethered. They felt boundless, like a whitewing hawk over the harbour, never fearing that it may reach the end of its realm since its sky is endless.
And there was something else he sensed: almost as instantly as he felt detached, he could trace the hint of a floor, or a ceiling or a wall, and though it did not bind him, he could discern their faint distinctions like the peak of a mountain through the clouds, or the ocean floor through the blue-black of a thousand fathoms to the surface.
He reached and, finding an edge and a weakness, took hold of it.
Not yet, Nasiri said. You need more time to prepare.
I am prepared, Osmun said. I don’t need any more time… I’ve waited enough. He could feel Nasiri near him, but she could not interfere. She could only watch as he created a rift. For a moment he stared into the utter and total black. It was not the type of darkness that was the absence of light, but the kind that destroyed it. And there were hideous things that were bubbling beneath its surface before him.
There are consequences, she said, and he heard the oncoming tumult of anguished cries, wild and strong, rolling towards him like an avalanche.
He ignored her, pushing at the edges he had created, sending them higher and wider until the rift was a maw that nearly enveloped the entirety of the building in which they stood.
What are you doing?! Nasiri’s voice was becoming panicked. What are you trying to do?
In his mind, Osmun was holding his hand over an upturned cup of water. He was keeping them at the edge of the Beyond, hundreds upon hundreds of spectres, some confused, some murderous, looking into the mortal world with jealousy and hunger.
I need to know, he said.
The two of them stood before the rift, Osmun keeping the flood from spilling out, and Nasiri poised nervously in case he failed.
I don’t believe it, she said. How are you holding them all back?
I could do more, he said. I can make the rift bigger. I know it. I can tell. I can make it as big as a church and still hold the darkness.
You don’t need to. Close it. Now.
Osmun pressed the edges of the doorway together and it was gone, almost as simply as if he was shaking cobwebs from his fingertips. He thought that his entranced body must be smiling now. Of course he could do what the clerics had done. He could not recall doubting himself in this. He was always going to succeed – there was no question of if, only how.
With the rift closed, the voices of the Beyond were silenced abruptly, and the resulting quiet was absolute.
He looked to Nasiri, but all he saw was darkness looking back at him. Darkness in her place, standing where she stood. It moved her towards him. It spoke, and in the grey its voice was louder and more terrible than before.
Auj ika kuuthir!
It leapt towards him, a black shroud over Nasiri’s form. Her hands, its hands, closed around his neck. They were cold and hard like stone. He felt the entire world tilt and sway, and he knew that Nasiri’s hands were strangling his entranced body.
With it only inches from his face, Osmun thought he could see its features for the first time as he thrashed his head back and forth and tried to pry its hands from him. He thought he could see a mouth full of jagged teeth and eyes wide with excitement. Then he realized this was his chance…
The pain was not physical; it was an assault on his mind, and he could feel his defenses weakening. He pushed past it, ignoring the danger, and found the faint silhouette where he could grab hold. The shadow seemed to notice, seemed to relent for a moment as Osmun opened the rift. It looked from the rift to Osmun and was then only holding him in place.
You have no place here! Osmun heard himself scream. He pushed against the shadow, trying to force it towards the rift but it was like pushing against a mountain. He noticed, then, that everything seemed still; there was no oncoming rush of voices from the Beyond. The shadow only held him with one hand, still more than Osmun could hope to overpower, and its other hand was to the rift, outstretched.
It was beckoning.
Colour sprang back into the world. Nasiri was on top of him, her hands tightening with unnatural strength. Osmun kicked his legs despite the incredible pain from his cracked and broken bones. His breath was becoming shallow not just for her grip; she had a knee against one of his broken ribs. Her face was twisted into an expression he had never seen her make before, something she likely never had made before. Something monstrous.
The pain, like embers searing the insides of his flesh, was becoming dull. His legs, still thrashing, felt as though they were becoming heavier by the moment and the world was flickering into darkness like a candle about to fade into smoke. He was oddly comfortable then, as comfortable as he would have been if he was asleep in his own bed, and he felt compelled to end his own struggle then. Why not let go? What could really be worth this much suffering? He had endured much, and surely there was much more to come. At last he could sleep, entirely undisturbed by this evil. Why not let it be someone else’s problem?
Who else?
The voice sounded like Nasiri… but she was nowhere, either consumed or stuck under the heel of this shadow.
With the last of his strength, Osmun rolled to the side, throwing Nasiri to the floor beside him. Her head bounced off the stone floor. He took a deep breath and slipped back into the trance. The shadow was still there. The rift was still open – Nasiri was nowhere.
Nasiri! His voiced pealed through the gloom like an alarm bell.
Nasiri! Nearby, the shadow was stirring. Looking back towards the consuming dark of the Beyond, though he could see nothing, something preternatural was warning him that something was there. He shuddered at the thought of what the shadow could be inviting through. Osmun reached out as quickly as he could and closed the rift before returning to his mortal senses.
As he tried to lift himself from the ground, Osmun could see that the look – the otherworldly expression – on Nasiri’s face had not lessened. It was even more fixed and rigid than before.
“Nasiri…” Osmun said uselessly. “Why aren’t you coming back?” He reached for his cane. “Why aren’t you fighting?” She was staring at him as if he were the only possible thing to focus on, and as she began to stand, Osmun swung the cane, striking her in the side of the head, dizzying her, and she fell onto her back.
Osmun was then on top of her, pinning her and pressing the cane down on her throat. She was trying to scream but her voice came out only in rasps and hoarse whispers. But it wasn’t her voice. Not her words. They were the words Osmun heard in his sleep and in his nightmares.
“Ajkah thuun!”
“Go back to the shithole you crawled out of!”
It was still trying to talk, trying to spew its vile language. Veins were pulsing visibly on her forehead. All the sound of the world seemed to fade, replaced only by one droning sound… he was screaming as he pressed the cane down harder and harder, only stopping when he was thrown off of her. Myron looked down at him, his eyes wide with shock. He knelt beside her.
“She’s not… she’s not her. The shadow was in her……controlling her,” Osmun said between breaths. He expected Myron to give some angry barb or insulting quip, but he only heard the thief weeping. Osmun looked over to see him gently stroking her hair as she looked up vacantly at the ceiling.
“I should kill you for this,” Myron whispered.
Osmun sat up. “By Xidius… I didn’t… I……”
Myron shot him a look, his eyes welled with tears, and Osmun fell silent. “She was the most beautiful thing in this city… and now look…”
Nasiri was still, her eyes open and blank. No breath moved within her. Osmun shook his head. By the Beacon, she had been alive, she had been screaming…
From the alley outside, both men heard faint voices, hushed and urgent, followed by footsteps running. Then the footsteps were in the building, on the floor above them. Myron sprang to his feet.
“You’ve drawn them to us,” he said.
“What?”
“The Ardent!” Myron swiftly crossed the room, picked up a satchel from the floor and ascended the stairs in a few bounds, leaving Osmun alone.
“Xidius help me,” he muttered as he got to his feet. The pain was so great he felt as though it would crush him, but he ignored it. He bent over awkwardly and picked up the cane from beside Nasiri. With her eyes open and unmoving, Osmun thought she might spring back to life and attack him again.
But she was perfectly still.
“And forgive me… please, Xidius, forgive me.”
He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, but with his injuries he was moving slower than an elderly pauper. He could hear voices close by. Looking around the warehouse as he reached the top of the stairs, Osmun could see two Ardent near the back end of the warehouse, examining crates and supplies. They had missed the basement stairs entirely. With their backs to him, Osmun slipped out the front door and into the streets...
The heavy door slammed shut behind him.
He cursed himself for being a fool. How could he have forgotten? He walked faster and turned the first corner he could. The streets were mostly empty. Where was everyone?
Bells rang in the distance, answering him with their peal; people everywhere were worshipping. He had lost track of time, which day it was… perhaps even more than that.
He tried to walk faster still as he heard the warehouse door slam shut again. The Ardent were out. He could not hope to outrun them. His only hope was that they went another direction.
A hard hand on his shoulder spun him around. Osmun stared, frightened, into the faces of the Ardent.
“No getting away this time, heretic,” one of them said as he smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “Time to answer for what you’ve done. Elias, hand me some rope, would you?”
“P-Please,” Osmun stammered.
“Don’t say another damned word or I’ll fill up your mouth with horse shit, and you’ll walk in silence. Elias, where is the damned rope?”
The other Ardent took a step back, looked up at the sky, and assumed an expression familiar to Osmun. He drew his blade.
“Please let me go!” Osmun screamed.
“You don’t fucking learn, you damned –”
Elias ran his short sword into his companion’s back. Staring at Osmun, he pulled the sword free and the wounded Ardent swayed for a moment before he slumped to the ground.
“Xidius, Xidius save me…”
“Xidius,” it said back. “Agran mauz ha theara.” The Ardent raised the bloody sword again. It mimicked a smile as it drew the sword across its neck, and even as the Ardent’s blood poured from the wound and he sank to his knees, it never took its eyes from Osmun.
Osmun backed away, staring at the bodies and the growing pool of blood around them. Only when he backed into the side of a stone building did he turn away. He never wanted anything more than to run as fast as he could.
Chapter 22
They were not far into the forest before the sound of turning wooden wheels started to seem loud enough to summon every soldier from Ten Tower after them. The noise of the chaos from Zayd’s diversion was soon swallowed up by the trees, leaving just the sound of the carriage’s wheels to keep them company.
The horses were stubborn in the dark, too; Zayd hoped they would be moving faster, and he could see their path, clear and plain before him, but the animals were uncertain and hesitant. He had to spur them constantly to keep them from stopping altogether.
“One of your men told me to go to you as he cut the ropes that bound me,” Sera said.
Zayd nodded, keeping his eyes ahead on the path. “Yes. On my orders, your people were freed.”
“He said you had something that belonged to my people. Is this truth or a lie?”
“The truth. I found your artifact.”
Sera sat up, as if suddenly awoken, and looked Zayd in the face, trying to detect a lie. “I hope you haven’t freed me only to play at some game.”
“None at all. I mean to tell you everything. There’s no point now that we should lie to each other. We’ve needed each other since we fled the column…… when my men freed you the first time.”
“And now they’ve done so again,” Sera said flatly, and she looked away. She could not have been looking at anything; she was hanging her head in shame. “It is odd that I feel regret for harming those who have done so much harm to me.”
“I understand now how much we need each other. If I had realized it sooner… well, things might be different, I think. Only the Beac… only the gods know for certain.”
“So, tell me how we need each other now. Tell me why I am with you, one who must now be considered as much a traitor as the one who was beheaded yesterday. But, tell me first that you have the Raan Dura.”
“I have it, and I have no intention of keeping it. I want nothing from it. It is beautiful, and perhaps worth a fortune to some, but for it I only ask two things from you.”
“Name them.”
Zayd motioned to the monolith. “The fort commander thought that this was already gone, taken to Lycernum by boat. I hid it, and they took a different carriage. I knew that Walrend would tell them not to inspect what they were taking. He would not risk having it taken again by greedy opportunistic sailors. Only when it reaches the capital will they know that they do not have what they thought they did, and by then, my kin and I should be far enough removed to be of suspicion.”
“Suspicion? What about what h
appened with us? You freed prisoners. Enemies of your god. I am not familiar with your laws, but is this not considered a crime?”
“We made it appear that the fort was being attacked by other Dramandi. My kin will tell the commander that Dramandi slipped into the fort and freed you.”
“And what of you?” Sera asked.
“Right now, I am tracking you.” Zayd smiled. “But, sadly, I will return to the fort after I lose your trail.”
Sera was silent for a moment before she shook her head. “I’m not sure if you have too much confidence or too little sense, though I’m grateful, whatever the answer is.” She looked to the back of the carriage. “What are you doing with…” Zayd could see that she was staring not directly at the monolith, but looking at something near it.
“Are they near?” Zayd asked.
“They’re always close to it.”
“Then we won’t have much time. They’ve influenced soldiers at the fort… I don’t know why they haven’t done the same to you or I, but if they do… this will have been for nothing.”
“They corrupt the easily corruptible,” Sera said.
“So they cannot do the same to us?”
“They might, just not as easily. But they seem disinterested in you.”
“They keep talking to me, asking me, telling me that I’m their servant… I don’t understand, but I would not say they are disinterested.”
“Perhaps not. You will need to tell me what we don’t have much time to do, then.”
“Yes. First, we’re going to bury it. I need your help making a proper grave.”
“This is not a small task,” Sera said. “Just two people digging for this?”
“Is it impossible?” Zayd asked.
“What? No, I suppose not, but –”
“Then we will find a way.” He looked at her, telling her that her objections were understood, but a hindrance.
“What after?” she asked.
“You’re going to take your artifact and find a way back to your people. You will try to do as I have asked, to have them stop fighting.” Zayd could see she was about to speak, but he held up a hand. “I have been exactly where you are now. You have to believe what I say. This is better than nothing. It’s better than death. I do miss Tauth the way it was before we became a part of the Empire.” He paused before looking at Sera. “Many of my kin wanted to do what you want: to fight on and die, never to know surrender. But they were young men, full of rage and ideals that screamed louder than the undignified truth. They were full of romantic notions that their heroism would be remembered. They did not realize that, if anyone were to remember our own heroes, it would be us. Not them.