by Chris Moss
Kestel could no longer tell the time of day when the small group reached the caves. Forced to navigate through the fog by touch, his hands slid over trunks of stunted, dead trees.
Creven’s presence nudged his mind. We’re here.
Ahead of them, Tollit gave a shout.
“Arbalis! Kestel! You need to see this!”
Emerging from the murk, Kestel found himself walking on solid ground for the first time in days. Up ahead, fog outlined the jagged shape of a low outcrop, which resolved itself into a wide fissure torn into the rock.
“Angels preserve us,” whispered Arbalis, stepping up to the edge of the colossal maw. A narrow path cut into stone, spiraling down into the abyss. Set into the wall at regular intervals stood smaller versions of the iridescent stones in the swamp. They were covered with carvings, and a tiny ball of blue light hovered over each one.
“Who made all this?” Eriwasteg leaned over a rainbow-hued stone near the lip of the fissure and risked passing her hand over the glowing ball. Kestel stepped forward expecting to hear a yelp of pain from the young woman, but Eriwasteg’s hand passed through the light unharmed. The blue ball dimmed, diffusing into the fog and then reformed.
“That was an unnecessary risk.” Arbalis glared at the young woman. “What would we have done if you had lost a hand?”
“Sorry, Galeria,” said the young woman, but risked a mischievous smile at Kestel.
He grinned and tried to move over to Eriwasteg, but Arbalis took the Baavghir girl and placed her at the front of the group with Tollit. He gave Kestel a stern look and nodded for him to take position at the back with Calla.
Ever since Eri’s surprise kiss, Kestel’s thoughts had been straying more and more from what it meant to be a Herald and more toward how he might steal a kiss back. Calla snorted and gave the young man a good-hearted shove.
“You’re mooning, Kes.” She kept her gaze on the narrow path, her careful steps descending along with the rest of the group. “Stop it, or you’ll go blind.”
“What’s the matter, Cal? Jealous?” Kestel waved his hand through the nearest ball of light. Beneath them, the line of stones formed a spiral constellation that reflected off waterfalls seeping through cracks in the rock.
The scarred soldier laughed, the sound bouncing off the rocks and becoming lost in the echoes. “You wish. Sorry, Kes, you’re not my type, especially as Eri had to practically beat you over the head until you got the hint.”
At the bottom of the spiral path the chasm opened out into a cavernous space, lit by more of the small beacons. The ghost light served only to outline the jagged shapes of the caves, hinting at ornate roofs dripping with stalactites or terrifying drop-offs into the darkness.
Kestel looked up. Above him, the fissure looked like a vague oval of lighter fog amidst the spray of falling water. He fought down a sense of foreboding. “How could anything move in this?” he said, his voice muffled by the waterfall.
Tollit’s steps on the rough path between the iridescent stones sent soft arcs of colored light from the dim globes, lighting up the small space in a stuttering, kaleidoscopic glow.
“It’s beautiful,” said Eriwasteg, walking unharmed through the rainbow sparks. Moving away from the small stone made the tiny lightning storm die down, only to be replaced by the next glowing stone.
Don’t get careless, said Creven. The Sepulchre is still somewhere below us.
“What do you see?” whispered Kestel, moving down the path with Calla.
I don’t know. Something evil.
“I don’t like it.” Calla stared into the flickering shadows behind stalagmites and rock pools. “With all this damn flashing, it’s impossible to see if anything is waiting to ambush us.”
“I’m more worried about the fact that anything down here will see us coming a mile away,” said Kestel, peering into the gloom before them.
“You know, you could just…” Calla waved her hands as if casting a spell.
“I don’t know.” Kestel looked down at the rock-strewn path. “I haven’t been able to make it work since then.” He winced at the memory of Arbalis and Eriwasteg pretending not to see him pick up a dead branch and command it to sprout leaves. No matter how stern his voice or how frustrated he grew, nothing happened. He settled for swearing and throwing the branch into the muddy water.
I keep telling you, Authority is not about getting what you want, said Creven. It’s about seeing what’s needed and accepting responsibility for making the change.
Arbalis finally called for a halt. The group slumped, exhausted, against a rock wall on a terrace overlooking deep caverns. Below them, a pattern of the soft-blue lights formed an underground constellation that traced a network of pathways through the caves. The old soldier had been mindful to stop between light-stones. Kestel huddled with the others in the wet, cold air.
“What are we going to eat in here?” said Kestel, his teeth chattering. “I’m sick of frogs and lizards, but even if we could risk a fire, someone would have to go back up to the swamp.”
“It can’t be helped,” said Tollit, the soft-blue light tracing the outline of his face and beard. “But if I were you, I’d be more worried about what’s waiting below us.”
“The Chonoroq?” Eriwasteg snorted, wrapping her woolen blanket tight and snuggling for warmth against Kestel. “They don’t exist.”
“They do, Baavghirla. The sooner you realize that, the better.”
“What are these Chonoroq, anyway?” said Kestel, aware of water dripping down his neck. He didn’t want to dislodge Eriwasteg to fix the problem. Beneath the blanket, he grasped her outstretched hand and tried not to shiver.
“An old Baavghir name for the servants of Musmahu the Black,” said the small, bird-like man. “I remember sitting by the fire and hearing the stories from the village elders when I was just a kid.”
Kestel looked up to see Arbalis give Tollit a hard stare. The bronzed veteran returned to polishing and checking his crossbow for signs of water damage, his practiced hands moving over the weapon with ease, even in the dim, blue light. “What do the legends say?”
“That they were originally the children of Faoladh, the Wolf Lord, but were taken by Musmahu as his servants when the Faoladh was slain by the hydra. They had furred, clawed arms capable of tearing men in two. Faces like wolves or bears, with ears that can hear the tiniest echo of the valley, and eyes that can pierce the deepest night. After Musmahu was slain by the Angel, the beasts disappeared, never to be seen again.”
“Stories.” Eriwasteg snorted. “My people slew them all, except for those that escaped to the Citadel.”
Arbalis gave the young woman a hard look but kept fussing over his crossbow. “The Canidae Artificers have ever been loyal allies to the Citadel, Eriwasteg. Their link to the old times has never been proven.”
“They’ve never been disproven, either.”
“Eriwasteg, your Commander may be right,” whispered Tollit. “I have heard of the Citadel’s Dog-men, and they don’t act like the beasts of legend.”
“And how would you know?”
“Because I’ve seen the Chonoroq.”
“Impossible!”
Arbalis growled, silencing the young woman. He motioned for Tollit to speak.
“We thought so too, until people started disappearing a few years ago.” The small, bird-like man seemed to focus on some distant memory. “At first, we said it was storms or wolves, but then the beasts became bolder, raiding some of our hidden farms and dragging animals off into the night. Then, women and children went missing. Finally, a beast attacked a camp of hunters—it killed three men before they slew it. They dragged it back to the Kom-Zamak and we all recognized what it was, even though no one had seen such a creature for centuries.”
“Where did they slay this beast?” said Arbalis.
Tollit kept staring up into the darkness, the tiny, blue lights glinting in his eyes. “The Lernaen Swamp.”
Eriwasteg shivered and leaned
in closer to Kestel.
He caught Arbalis’s gaze. “What does this mean for us?”
“I don’t know. Mollis would have known, he—” The old man looked around. “Where’s Calla?”
Eriwasteg nodded to the far side of the ledge, where a dark shape crouched against the rocks. Arbalis twisted around, a hesitant look creeping across his usual determined demeanor.
Kestel looked over at Calla and tried picturing her standing next to Mollis, joking or bragging about whatever game the pair had brought back to camp. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “Let me talk to her.”
Kestel gave Eriwasteg’s hand one more squeeze before pulling away to walk over to the edge of the terrace. Crouched with one hand on the rocky ledge, Calla leaned out, gazing down into the darkness beneath them.
“Hello, Kes,” whispered Calla. Lights sparked in the void.
“Calla—”
“Did you know Mol and I once stayed in the mountains?” Her face twitched. With the unscarred side of the woman’s body hidden from view, it seemed like only a burnt and eyeless visage spoke.
“We had been sent to stop a group of bandits who were preying on travelers near Drapewood, near the borders of the Frostmarch. We camped in the mountains for a fortnight before we found them. However, we discovered they were women, thrown out of their own homes by uncaring husbands and fathers. They tried to kill us, but by the time Mol had finished sweet-talking them, well—”
“Cal—”
“Why am I alive, Kestel? Have all my sins been forgiven?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything.”
Calla leaned forward. Kestel put his hand on the scarred figure’s shoulder. Breathing hard, Calla’s muscles tensed at his touch.
“Not tonight, Cal,” said Kestel. “Come away.”
Calla gave a shuddering sigh and nodded, following Kestel back to the group.
Hours later, Kestel dreamed, his freezing body curled between Arbalis and Calla. Chained and bleeding once again in Maal’s dungeons, Kestel looked down. The blood at his feet thickened into a black, oily liquid, oozing in small rivulets across the dusty floor. Kestel’s breathing slowed at the presence of the hydra before him.
It will be black this time. He traced the black oil across the floor. The dungeon disappeared, replaced by a sweeping cavern, its floor slick with a dark substance dripping from a colossal altar in the center.
Where am I?
The sides of the cavern became lost in the mists clouding his vision but the altar in the center remained lit by dozens of giant carved stones. Blue sparks drifted through the fog like snowflakes. Atop the altar lay the enormous skulls and bones of Musmahu, covered in rotten, black flesh, oozing the dark oil that covered the floor.
“Creven?” whispered Kestel. “What’s going on here? Can anyone hear me?”
Kestel turned to get away but found his path blocked by a multitude of dark shapes, growling and shaking, their clamor sending sparks of blue light into a blizzard.
“It is time!” called out a woman’s voice.
Kestel spun about to see a beautiful blonde figure emerge from the crowd and stand before one of the gigantic, blackened skulls. The woman put her hands on the rotten surface. Pain exploded through Kestel’s temples at her touch and everything went black.
“Kestel, are you alright?” Arbalis said shaking him awake. “You were thrashing about.”
Kestel shrugged. “Bad dreams. It’s nothing.”
“Is it anything to do with the Sepulchre?”
“I’m not sure.”
Arbalis’s face clouded, but he held his tongue, going to rouse Eriwasteg and Tollit.
Was my dream about the Sepulchre, Creven? Kestel rubbed his eyes, watching the others stretch from their uncomfortable positions.
Yes. It is the vision of Maal’s rise to power, said Creven. An event so colossal, the memory of it still echoes through this place.
I didn’t see any Angel. But I think those black shapes might have been the Chonoroq Tollit spoke of.
I agree. These caves are scaring me—and I’m already dead—so trust me when I say it’s a bad sign.
Still trying to collect himself, Eriwasteg leaned down and took his face in her hands. She brushed away his wet hair and kissed him. “Stop frowning. Father always had a saying before we started a journey—it’s easy to worry, but once you start walking, don’t be afraid.”
The warmth of the young woman’s breath on his lips shocked Kestel out of his mood more effectively than her father’s words. He reached out, but Arbalis’s snapped at the pair.
“You two—stop it! Herald, you have larger concerns right now than sweethearts and kisses. Eri, I’m still your Ukmahd until I say otherwise, so stop distracting him. No complai—”
“Commander, you need to see this,” said Calla, interrupting the old soldier’s rebuke.
Arbalis spun about and the group shuffled forward, looking out into the darkness. A thrill of fear squirmed up Kestel’s spine when he saw what the scarred soldier pointed at. Deep below them, colored lighting blazed across the network of tiny blue lights. Beside him, Eriwasteg gasped and reached for the large sword strapped to her back.
“Something’s moving down there,” said Arbalis “But why?”
“I think I know.” Tollit yelped and pulled at the old soldier’s sleeve. “It’s coming up behind us.”
The line of lights marking their descent into the caves flared with color. However, unlike the other lights, these sparks blazed with a wild energy, flaring deep-red and silver. Even from his distant vantage point, Kestel could see a tiny shape loping, hobbling and staggering through the crimson storm.
“It’s Demetros!” Arbalis grabbed Kestel and Eriwasteg by the scruff of their necks and pushed them forward.
The light stones near the group reacted as they moved, but Kestel no longer cared. Scooping up his sodden pack, he sprinted down the narrow, stone path. The others sprang forward with him, sparing no energy for words. Through the hypnotic maze of darkness, they ran, illuminated by flaring-blue lights. Grunting and gasping, they rounded a narrow turn overlooking the vast drop off, only to skid to a halt at a pile of collapsed stone blocking the path forward.
“Vae!” said Arbalis. “Calla, forward with me—protect the Herald! If we attack Demetros, Kestel can slip by.”
“Galeria! I’ve another idea,” said Eriwasteg, looking over the edge of the rock fall. “I can see a light below us—I think there’s another path, not too far down.”
Kestel tore his gaze away from the approaching storm and looked into the darkness below. The network of blue lights looked on fire. Even from this distance, he could discern a pattern of movement. One small light just below, however, remained still.
“Get moving!” said Arbalis, eyes fixed on the red lights behind them. “Calla, you first, make sure whatever’s below is clear.”
Kestel, Eriwasteg, and Calla nodded and got down on their hands and knees, lowering themselves over the side of the rock fall. Lit by a dim, blue hue, Kestel breathed with relief when his hands and feet found purchase on the rockface.
A minute later, Tollit and Arbalis lowered themselves over the edge and followed, dislodging a few small stones that glanced off Kestel’s shoulders.
Kestel tried to focus on the rockface in front of him, but his arms shook and he could hear Eriwasteg swearing under her breath.
“It’s clear!” said Calla from below, her presence firing up the small light stone.
“Wait!” yelled Arbalis from above. “Tollit is stuck!”
Kestel stopped and looked up at the pair. Arbalis had hold of Tollit, trying to help the fumbling man get a handhold to rest his weight on.
“Hurry!” said Kestel. “Demetros will be here any minute!”
The mottled, amber and black man could just be seen in the crimson lightning storm, loping toward the small group.
“Climb down!” Arbalis wedged himself between the
rocks and pulled Tollit up to a more secure handhold.
Eriwasteg needed no further urging, clambering down the rockface and into the pool of blue light centered on Calla. A gurgling laugh from above made Kestel look up in horror. Demetros stood silhouetted against a burst of red sparks.
“I’m coming for you, boy.” The wretched figure dug his bony fingers deep into the cracked rockface. “Haven’t you learned by now? I’m drawn to your presence. You’ll never escape me.”
Kestel wanted to snarl a reply, but Creven held him back.
Don’t waste your strength. Just climb. Climb now.
“Sweet Baabuk, Holy Angel—anything! Just save me!” Tollit moaned but resumed his descent.
Arbalis prodded him on, looking anxiously for his next handhold. “Come on, come on.”
Kestel risked looking up once more to see Demetros drop over the lip of the stone terrace, his movements slow but closing the gap on Arbalis and Tollit.
“Hurry, Kestel!” called Eriwasteg. “There’s another path along this ledge!”
“I can’t get a foothold.”
Arbalis’s words had Kestel looking up. Sure enough, the old soldier’s boots scraped against the rocks, hanging on only by his hands.
“Let me help you!” yelled Kestel, but Arbalis stopped him with a roar.
“Get down right now, Herald! You need to survive this. Now move!”
Risking one more glance at Demetros, Kestel started climbing down again.
Calla reached for Eriwasteg, helping her onto the narrow ledge. A small light stone sparked and flared, throwing rainbow light onto the rockface.
Eriwasteg gasped. “We’re too late. He’s got them.”
Kestel’s heartbeat grew painful at the sight of Demetros, almost even with Tollit and Arbalis. The old man had not found a foothold. Tollit stopped trying, his panicked body trembling, frozen against the rocks. Kestel could do nothing to stop Demetros from springing down the cliff, pinning Tollit to the rock wall with his skeletal hand.
“Get off him!” screamed Eriwasteg.
A dark-red stain spread across Tollit’s chest. The small man’s screams echoed down the rockface, jolting awake the anger lying dormant in Kestel since Mollis’s death. Ignoring his companions, Kestel hauled himself up the jagged rocks.