Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

“That’s blood!” she gasped. “Old blood.” Her voice climbed in pitch. “It’s leaking from the upper levels! It m-must be from—”

  Blood? Gaelin cocked his head.

  Terrek stepped quickly to clasp her shoulder. “Easy!” he soothed, steering her away from the brown liquid oozing down the wall. Deliberately he transferred her into Silva’s care.

  “Is that what we smell?” Roth squatted to examine the congealing fluid, gingerly touching it with his finger. “She’s right. Ugh!”

  “Of course I am!” Felrina snapped. “And I know where it’s coming from, too! My pool is above us; that must be the source. This ledge we’re on is rotten. Terrek! Erebos is here! I feel him!”

  “Deep breaths, Felrina. We’ll get this sorted—” Terrek stopped, his attention shifting to the giant as stiff-legged, her head lifted and her eyes staring, Avalar approached the drop-off. “Giant? What is it?”

  Ignoring him, she surveyed the immense cavern. “My people have toiled in this place,” Avalar said. “They perished here, for the stones drained them, as now they begin to drain me. This was the cache where the sniffers found the bloodstones. The heart of the magic is here, Leader Terrek.” She nodded at the opposite wall. “Within those formations.”

  Gaelin, his thoughts becoming vague, shuffled toward the pungent pool beneath the cliff. There he unshouldered his sack and began to rummage in it. As Wren sidled closer to watch, Gaelin pulled out a bit of cloth and gestured for him to take the pack.

  “Here,” Gaelin mused aloud, and now it was Holram guiding his fingers. “Here, too.” He dabbed at the slime, scooping up a quivering globule.

  “That’s disgusting,” said Felrina. “Why in blazes would you—”

  “I don’t know,” Gaelin muttered. “I’m not doing it.” He folded the cloth around the goo and tucked it into the pack Wren was holding. “I just . . . I know he needs this, and . . . living flesh, too.”

  Felrina shuddered, gaping at his face. “What do you—”

  Wren, his nose wrinkling, let the bag fall as he turned away. Gaelin snatched the sack from the rotting fluid, hastily wiping the gunk from its side. “That’s how it happens,” he explained to Felrina. “Before I know it, Holram’s telling me what to do.”

  “But you agreed to it. Didn’t you?”

  Gaelin sighed. “It took me a while,” he admitted. “But people are dying, and I want to make that stop. My life doesn’t seem so important as it once did.”

  “Staff-Wielder.” Terrek motioned toward a gouge in the wall at their backs. Gaelin, glancing where he pointed, spied four tiny steps curving into the darkness, a narrow stairway no wider than Avalar’s foot.

  At Terrek’s nod, Gaelin raised his Skystone, and then he saw it—a crumbling pathway zigzagging along the surface of the towering cliff. “The footsteps of doomed children made that trail,” Avalar informed them. “Now upon it we must follow.”

  Chapter 56

  GAELIN STUDIED THE stalactites jutting down at him from above. Cavities dotted the cliff behind him, potential entrances to other passageways, many of them small like the one he and his companions had used. He turned, his gaze lifting as he raised his staff.

  The enormous cave leaned in overhead where the fire mountain had collapsed, splitting the cavern’s opposite wall and exposing its inner trove—countless formations of gnarled yellow crystal, the quartz shining green under the Skystone’s light.

  He glimpsed teardrop-shaped gems deeper in the gaping cleft, the crimson orbs hanging from their tapered points like seeds within a ripened fruit. Bloodstones? Gaelin thought, glancing at the giant. Gravely she nodded as if reading his mind, her face pale.

  “Enough of this,” Terrek said. “Let’s go!” He paused, eyeing the giant. “You wanted to say something?”

  “A word of warning,” Avalar told him. “The path above us is fragile and narrow, for the deaths of so many giants here damaged the stone. We must be cautious. What little life this rock retains does not trust humans.”

  “Great,” Roth muttered.

  Avalar motioned to Gaelin. “Come and mount my shoulders, my friend.” She smiled when he stumbled back. “I assure you, it will be well. If you position your staff in front of my throat and grip it on either side of me, you will not fall.”

  “But won’t that choke you?” he asked.

  “Not if you keep your arms loose. Yet I would rather be injured than have you die.”

  Mutely Gaelin surrendered Mornius to Terrek. As he stepped to accept the giant’s help, he looked once again across the chasm at the wounded wall.

  “Staff-Wielder?” Terrek queried.

  They’re watching me, Gaelin noticed as he returned Terrek’s stare. Holram, too, and he’s their hope. I can’t let them see fear.

  “Try to sustain your light,” Terrek urged him. “We can’t count on Argus to be here when we need him. You had problems earlier, didn’t you? When Vyergin needed to see. I know it’s hard, but if you falter again while we’re on that cliff . . .”

  “I won’t,” Gaelin said. “Holram is—I don’t know, maybe he’s preparing for the battle to come. But as long as I’m in control, I won’t fail you. I promise.” He raised his foot high to reach Avalar’s proffered knee, then seized her thick braid and scrambled up, straddling her neck. Slowly he relaxed as he discovered that the pack she carried supported his lower back. He accepted Mornius from Terrek, positioning the staff as Avalar had suggested.

  “You will go ahead of me,” the giant commanded with a gesture to Roth. When he reddened with embarrassment, she clarified, “to scan the pathway for loose rocks.”

  Roth hesitated, biting his lip, until finally, with an angry snort, he approached the steep steps. Avalar grasped the stone beside him as he began his ascent. “You worry about your feet,” she murmured in his ear. “And I shall remain behind you so you will not fall.”

  Gaelin screwed his eyes shut while Avalar guided the lieutenant. Roth was chatting incessantly, and for a time, Gaelin listened, learning more than he ever wanted to about the nervous young man. The rush of the Shukaia’s current faded as they ventured upward, replaced by icy touches of wind, like fingers dancing along his skin. As the far wall angled closer, the glistening red gems leaned toward him, clusters of bloodstones uncovered by his light. So many, he thought. More than I can count!

  “Is the mountain healing itself?” he asked the giant. “Is that why the bloodstones are here?”

  Her shoulders shrugged beneath him. “I know not, Staff-Wielder. The blood absorbs magic, and the veins of the world carry that power to wherever there is need.”

  “ ‘And water leading the way through the rock,’ ” said Gaelin. “Didn’t your song say something like that? You mentioned the bloodstones, too. In Chesna, we have both.”

  Water pattered on his head from the blackness above. Lulled by the rocking of the giant’s strides, Gaelin strove to stay alert and aware—to keep Mornius lit no matter how his bones ached. On impulse, he tipped back his chin, catching the drops on his tongue. The liquid ran down his throat, its metallic taste making him wince.

  Avalar climbed steadily, walking upright whenever possible. Gaelin heard his companions’ crunching steps behind him, the faint clicks of their buckles or gear comforting to his ears. Felrina Vlyn stayed close at Avalar’s heels, with Wren, Terrek, and Silva following, and Vyergin at the rear.

  How far have we come? Gaelin wondered. A flash of green caught his attention. Looking up, he saw Argus flitting between the stalactites overhead.

  “Gaelin,” Felrina panted. “What did you mean before? He needs living flesh? Who does? Holram?”

  Gaelin grimaced. The odd little gleams brightening near Argus became eyes as he watched, unblinking orbs staring down from a legion of phantom faces, their ghostly mouths stretched wide.

  Are they crying? he thought wildly. Why can’t I hear them? A glowing mist wafted into suggestions of bodies around the Thalian Knight, a multitude of long pearly limbs with spectr
al fingers—then frayed once more into flickers and glints.

  Gaelin buried his face in the giant’s hair, his body lurching in rhythm with her strides as he held out his staff. The narrow path twisted back on itself yet again, slanting past the entrance to a passageway, and then another. Tunnels studded the wall, an untold number of holes carved into the flat gray stone.

  “Gaelin?” Felrina called again. “Tell me what you meant!”

  “Keep going,” said Terrek. “Whatever it is, Felrina, worry about it later.”

  Gaelin felt like an insect upon the cliff, with escape routes above him and below, each one marking a path to places unknown. He tilted his staff, illuminating a dusty fringe of blowing cobwebs inside a long-forgotten shaft, and down its throat, a twisted heap of bones.

  Groaning, he averted his face, while closer to the ceiling, the ghosts wailed. Argus floated like a king among the rest, his minions draping his form with a garment of woven light, echoes of flashes, there and then gone.

  As blackness seized his mind, Gaelin’s awareness expanded. He discerned bugs on the surface of the stone, and the dust motes stirred by his own breathing. He shivered when a chill entered the murk, twining with the counterfeit night between the fangs of the cavern’s roof.

  With a chorus of moans, Argus’s ghosts splintered to pieces. Atop the receding vapor, the nothingness hovered, even darker than before. Gaelin struggled for air in the gathering gloom. He fell out of himself, becoming as a little boy, his legs too short to run.

  “Blazes,” moaned Felrina. “He’s here.”

  “Steady,” Terrek replied. “Keep your eyes forward.”

  Gaelin tensed. His heart labored as a shadow oozed out of crannies in the rock over his head, its massive wings solidifying, unfurling with a snap as a black sinewy neck snaked down. A dragon parted the mist, its silver talons splayed, the beast clinging to the mountain’s teeth while it took form. Gaelin shuddered as its fiery eyes met his.

  The world was falling, spinning him through a tunnel’s unending maw until—

  Shrieking with pain, Seth Lavahl sprawled on the floor in front of him, slipping in his own blood. Gaelin followed, grinning in ruthless delight. Years of fury erupted within him as he stood beside the helpless man, his legs braced.

  Splintering sounds filled his ears as the screams cut short, and for the longest time, Gaelin swung the long-handled ax, the gore spattering his tunic and arms. He would erase Seth Lavahl—remove all traces of his evil from the world.

  “You and I are the same,” a reverberating voice rumbled. “We savor the death!”

  “No!” Gaelin sobbed against the giant’s neck, while Seth Lavahl came at him once more, his brains spilling onto his stained vest, his shoulder dangling from his torso by a thread.

  Gaelin shrieked—the cowardly sound that he hated so much, that so often he had suppressed in his pillow during dreams that would never let him go.

  “Staff-Wielder!” Terrek cut in sharply. “Felrina says he feeds off fear. He’s getting into your thoughts! Don’t let him!”

  Gaelin nodded, the iron-shod crown of Mornius swaying above him as the giant climbed. Abruptly he lifted his staff, its gem, roused by his anger, becoming a crackling ball of defiance to repel the darkness.

  Teeth gritted, his mouth still tasting like metal, he closed his eyes, feeling his warder’s heart embracing his frail and mortal one. Raising his head, he strode from the Skystone that had been his prison, as he had once fought his way from his stepfather’s abuse, the layers of fog rolling back. His heels clicked over a sheen of liquid glass, the blue-white reflection of a turbulent sky.

  Lightning flashed in time with his movements, each surge more savage than before. He stretched out his arm, and power leapt from the floor, piercing his bones, infusing his flesh.

  He tipped his hand, freeing the blaze like multicolored threads of healing—a fire to weave around his friends, forming a protective dome against the cliff. Smoke rose from the stone beneath his feet. He would scour the mountain clean—bring renewal to Chesna’s crippled soul. No, we are not the same! Holram raged to his foe.

  The dragon lunged at him from its ebon lair, wings of ice slapping at his sphere, spreading lurid cracks through his defenses. The fissures spread as the dragon’s tail whipped back and forth, and Gaelin howled. His consciousness toppled when the glass horizon canted, spinning him from its edge. Down into oblivion he plunged, Holram’s wrath falling with him, flailing its useless limbs.

  “Keep climbing!” Felrina cried. “We can’t let them fight! Holram’s not strong enough!”

  Gaelin gasped when his warder, seizing his mind, restored his sinking awareness. He nodded, opening his senses to the pressures rising in his throat, tightening his skin as his muscles sprang taut. Here and now he would surrender his bones—fuel for the flames engulfing him.

  Far in the distance, he heard Avalar scream, and he directed his force upward, away from her magic—the threat of contact with her world. With all his strength, he fought to keep his heart beating, with Holram buttressing his shield, hurling blasts from his mortal limbs down the Destroyer’s throat.

  His body rocked as the giant halted. Through the fire, Gaelin saw his companions ducking under her arms into a narrow, winding shaft. Her body bent low, Avalar followed.

  Gaelin yelped when the giant snatched him from the cavern and his enemy, dashing his small wild sun to pieces, burning fragments skittering along the damp passage. Around a corner she raced—to slam to a stop beside Vyergin.

  Sagging, Gaelin lowered his staff, the remnants of his blaze spilling across the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Felrina grabbed Terrek’s wrist. “Come on! This way! We’ve got to run!”

  “Wait!” Terrek eyed a green stain below the ceiling.

  “Terrek!” Felrina threw herself backward, dragging him farther down the shaft. “Erebos is coming! We have to run!”

  Terrek pressed her against the wall, restraining her until she quieted. He pointed to the faded mark. “What is that, Felrina? What does it tell us?”

  Gaelin extended Mornius, holding its Skystone away from the giant. As she swung him to the floor, Vyergin caught him. “Whew!” the captain exclaimed. “That was some light-show, Staff-Wielder!”

  Leaning on him, Gaelin peered through the glow of Mornius’s gem into the darkness where they had come. I’m getting weaker, he realized, feeling Holram’s power gnawing through his body, his bones aching from the heat of it. Maybe it should end here.

  “I d-don’t know!” Felrina stammered. “Color marks . . .” She sucked in a breath. “Markers! That’s the older system—from the slavers long ago. The lower burrows were color-coded, too. Green signifies . . . the fifth or eighth level, I think. The fourth has my pool. We use the fifth for minor ceremonies, so it would be lighted.”

  “Good,” Terrek said, “we’re getting close.” Gently he tugged at her shoulder. Her body was stiff, resisting his pull. He tilted his head, his hazel eyes narrowing as he studied the giant. Then his gaze shifted to Gaelin.

  You see it. I know you do, Gaelin thought. Holram’s rising in me. I don’t look the same anymore.

  Releasing Felrina, Terrek swung toward Caven Roth still crouched beside the wall. “I don’t like heights,” Roth muttered. He clambered to his feet and Terrek took his arm, helping him down the passage after the guards while Felrina and Vyergin followed.

  “My father had a hat,” said Roth to Terrek as they hastened along. “It was black. Not like mine, but close. He always wore it. I bet he would have liked the one I lost.”

  “Maybe we’ll find you another just as good,” Terrek told him.

  Gaelin trailed his friends. His perceptions—Holram’s—sharpened, and he shivered, hugging his ribs at the fury concealed behind them.

  Chapter 57

  AS AVALAR STUMBLED sideways, fragments of the ceiling her head had collided with pattered to the floor. She hurried past Silva when the guard stopped with a muffled curse,
her gaze on the tunnel’s downward-sloping roof. Once more she could hear it—a faint gurgling of liquid through the rock.

  She glanced back at a scuffling sound. Silva was bent over, balancing one-legged as he tugged at the shaft of his boot. He flipped her a jaunty salute as his foot slid free. Then, grimacing, he tilted his boot and shook out a pebble. “I know,” he said at her look. “I’m supposed to stay by Terrek. But did you see? I would rather walk barefoot than carry boulders like that around!”

  “Pardon me.” Grinning at him, Avalar rubbed her aching brow. “I fear it was I who dislodged the stone when I hit my head. This passage was not meant for giants.”

  She peered forward, anxious at the thought of her leader unprotected. Terrek was standing with his shoulders rigid, a flight of well-worn stairs blocking his path. The granite steps, spanning half the tunnel, vanished into a hollow above the ceiling.

  “I recognize this,” Felrina whispered. Slowly she knelt, staring up. “The path turns high in the stairwell before it continues on. There’s a lot of rock between this shaft and m-my pool. We’re closer than I thought. But I don’t understand. If we’re on the fifth level, why is it so dark?”

  Terrek motioned to the hovering ghost. “Lord Argus,” he said, nodding to the uneven steps. “If you would please guide our—”

  Avalar started at Silva’s scream, whirling with her sword in her hand. Gaelin, with Wren Neche next to him, appeared at her side a moment later. The light from his staff found Silva on his back, pinned by a hulking shadow. A creature was solidifying over the guard, its wolf-form stretching into the shape of a bear, a hissing fluid dripping from its open jaws. With a burst of sudden movement like a moth escaping its cocoon, the upper half of a dragon reared from the bear’s shaggy bulk. The monster’s body wheezed for breath as its shadow wings unfurled, its black scales fading to brown.

  Snarling, the beast ripped at Silva with its claws, the guard’s blood splattering the walls and floor. Its crimson eyes flaring, the dragon lowered its muzzle to tug with its teeth. Then it jerked up its head, flinging a mouthful of entrails at the ceiling.