by David McAfee
Then a gruff, deep voice broke through the screams. “’Ere, now,” it said, “The Council’s wantin’ ‘im alive an’ ye know it. So best ye quit.”
I’d heard the archaic accent before, but I couldn’t place the voice. The cold hesitated, as if in response.
“Unless ye want t’ be the one t’ tell the Council why this one’s not able t’ talk.”
The cold receded, like switching on a light, and a sense of awareness started to filter back into my head. I opened my eyes to find myself in the stone hallway again, my jailer staring at me with an annoyed look. I nodded at him, knowing he was the one who pulled me from the fiery lake, his voice that stopped the cold from taking my whole body. Then my legs buckled, and I tumbled backwards to the floor. The last thing I remember is a flash of pain at the back of my head, then there was nothing at all.
***
My unconsciousness didn’t last long. This time, when I came to, the Monk-Guard was carrying me over his shoulder like a sack of laundry. He grunted a little with the effort, but not much. His strength belied his soft, round physique. Much like Kagan, actually. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about him. I had bigger problems. When I looked up from the floor to see whom or what followed behind us, I saw a nightmare the likes of which I’d never imagined possible, and I almost passed out again.
The creature stood about as tall as a man, and humanoid in shape. It wore a wispy, tattered black robe, covered in dust and worn through in places, enabling me to see the horror of what lay underneath. It looked a lot like the popular portrayal of Death; long flowing black robe, hood pulled up to obscure the face, skeletal hands poking from voluminous sleeves clutching a large scythe. But the only thing it really had in common was the robe. It didn’t have a scythe, and its face was not covered by a big, billowy hood. The hands that poked from the sleeves were far from skeletal, though it would have been easier for me if they were.
It had been human once, I could tell that much from the structure, as well as what remained of its features, but there was not enough left to indicate if it had been male or female. All that remained of its once human face were bits of discolored, rotting flesh, which played home to a myriad of insects in varying larval stages. The maggoty things were so numerous that the flesh in which they lived seemed to wriggle and crawl, as though the rotted remains of muscle and skin were themselves alive. As I watched, a large green grub poked its head through the discolored remnants of the creature’s right cheek with a soft, sticky smack and loped northward into the gaping empty hole that had once housed an eye. It left a trail of filmy, whitish goo behind it, like a disgusting parody of the breadcrumbs Hansel and Gretel had used to mark their way through the woods. Like the breadcrumbs, this trail was devoured almost instantly. Not by birds, of course, but by the myriad of tiny creatures crawling about in their macabre city.
The hands were much the same, large deposits of decaying tissue being mined by an untold number of larva, all of them wriggling and squirming through their little lives, feeding on the thing that trailed behind the Monk-Guard and me through the dull, shifting light of the passageways. An involuntary shudder coursed through me at the thought of one of those grotesque things clutching at my shoulder. I felt like I was going to retch, and just barely held it in check. I did, however, gag on the sight and the smell of the rotten thing, which clued my captor to the fact that I was conscious.
“Good,” he said. “Yer awake. Now ye can walk.”
He dropped me to the floor like garbage, and I barely missed hitting my head again. He looked down at me with a mixture of satisfaction and contempt. He seemed irritated, probably not accustomed to his charges trying to jump him in his own jail. He scowled and poked his finger into my chest hard enough to hurt, and offered me a warning, not that I needed one after what I’d just experienced.
“No more o’ that, d’ye hear?” He said, his finger wagging just inches from my face. “Just ye keep yer eyes fixed on the cussed thing walkin’ after ye, an’ know’ it be a Lost One. Be knowin’, as well, tha’ ye be lookin’ upon the price the Council takes from them what angers ‘em. Mind ye, this twice-damned thing’s got no mercy in it, an’ nothin’ short o’ the will o’ the Council be keepin’ it from sendin’ ye on a trip ye won’t like one bit. Ye just be rememberin’ that the next time yer thinkin’ to try an’ knock me from behind.”
I couldn’t think of a response, so I nodded.
“It be behind ye for a reason, don’t ye doubt,” the guard added, “an’ ye’ll find yerself in front o’ the Council either way. Whether ye be on yer back or on yer feet when ye meet ‘em be up to yerself.”
With that, he pulled his finger away from my face and turned his back to me, continuing down the hall towards wherever the Council of Thirteen waited. I got to my feet as fast as my legs would allow, not wanting that thing to touch me again. Once had been enough to last the rest of my life. I have never experienced anything that fills my veins with ice or stills my heart faster or more thoroughly than the touch of a Lost One. Even now, thinking about it makes my shoulder turn cold, and a shiver flows through my body.
I sprinted to catch up to my jailer and fell into step behind him. Whatever the Council of Thirteen wanted to do with me, it was sure to be better than what waited behind me. I wondered briefly what all those larvae must find when they tasted the thing’s flesh, and was sorry that the thought had even popped into my head. I banished it from my mind and instead concentrated on where we were going, hoping I could remember the way if I had to.
I might as well have tried to count raindrops in a thunderstorm. The Monk-Guard led me down a Labyrinthine maze of tunnels and side passages. I lost track after the first few minutes. A person could wander those halls for weeks, perhaps longer, and never find anything but stone, stone, and more stone until eventually they succumbed to starvation or dehydration and dropped. At that point they would just be food for whatever vermin patrolled the passageways. The mental image was so vivid I actually thought I saw a skeletal figure slumped against a wall in a branching corridor. When I blinked, it was gone, and I figured it must have just been a shadow or a trick of the flickering torchlight. With the Lost One behind me I dared not stop or even slow down to investigate.
I don’t know how long or far we walked, I only know that it felt like a long time, with the Monk-Guard leading the way in front and the Lost One plodding along behind like Disease after Famine. After a time, we left the maze of rough-walled corridors behind and the passage became regular, more evenly worked. Doors began to appear at odd intervals, some grand, and some plain. Behind a few of them I heard voices whispering out into the hallway. Behind others I heard the terrified cries of those who would spend their last breaths begging for mercy that would not come. The entire place reeked of blood and sweat, but mostly blood. Its constant, coppery smell set my stomach to gurgling, and it became increasingly hard to keep pace.
At last we came to a set of plain oaken double doors, with dull bronze handles that resembled a wolf’s head. In addition to the door handles, heavy iron rings were set into the doors and also in the walls on either side of it. A big steel bar glinted dully in the flickering torchlight off to the side. I could picture it sliding into the rings, barring the door. What struck me as odd, however, was the placement of the bolt on the outside. One would think they would want to bar it from the inside, to keep people – or things – from getting in. This door was designed to keep whatever was inside from getting out. All at once I didn’t want to go in there. Not one bit. But with the Lost One behind me, I knew I would be given no choice in the matter.
As my ‘guide’ approached the doors, he surprised me by stepping to the side rather than opening them and ushering me through. Apparently he had no desire to go in, either. Instead he jerked a thumb at the doorway.
“They be waitin’ fer ye,” he said, “Move along, now. I got work t’ do, ye know.”
“Gee, sorry to trouble you,” I replied. He scowled but said no
thing. He pointed again at the doors and glanced meaningfully behind me at the Lost One. I didn’t need another warning, and without another word I reached out and pulled open the door that led to the Council of Thirteen, whoever they were.
How I had gotten to this point simply by dancing with a beautiful woman was beyond me. I shook my head and stepped into the gloom.
At first I could see nothing at all, it looked as though light had never visited the place. A musty smell wafted out, reminiscent of moss and something else. Lamp oil, maybe? I hesitated just inside the entrance, unable to bring myself to walk the rest of the way in. Of course, my wishes had nothing to do with anything, and all too soon a frozen hand touched my back and pushed me further into the room. The click of the doors behind me and the sound of the steel bar sliding into place did not come as a surprise.
As soon as the doors closed, thirteen torches sputtered to life about twenty or so feet in front of me. After the shadowy darkness of the halls and the complete blackness of the room only a moment before, the light from so many torches stung my eyes. I had to shield them with my hands until they became accustomed to the glow. I heard murmuring from every direction. Power, ancient and draconian, thrummed through the room with a slight, vibrating hum, making me feel small and weak, as insignificant as an ant standing against a dinosaur. Even though I couldn’t see them, I knew I was in the room with the Council of Thirteen.
“Vincent Walker,” a deep, resonant voice said, “remove your hand from your face and look upon us. I will not ask a second time.” I heard no mercy in that voice, no room for negotiation. I hesitated only long enough to remember my glass bottom boat view of Hell, then I obeyed.
When my eyes adjusted to the light, I got a good look at my surroundings. I stood in a large chamber of gray stone, empty but for a big obsidian table in the shape of a U. In between the legs of the U stood a small dais, just big enough to hold a single person. I could tell I was meant to stand on it, so I did. Once there I looked around the room, taking in the figures seated at the table.
They sat in high backed obsidian chairs. Thirteen robed and hooded figures that would have looked identical to the horror I’d left out in the hallway but for the fact their robes were neither tattered nor decayed, and their hands were fully fleshed and devoid of insect larvae. Their faces were buried deep within the shadows of their hoods; not even the tips of the noses were visible. It was eerie, looking at them that way. It made me think again of the specter of Death, and I shivered. This time there was not just one Death, but thirteen. All in the same room with me, and all of them wanting something from me that I didn’t yet know. I prayed their questions would have nothing to do with Raine. More than anything I hoped I could give them whatever they wanted so they would let me go.
Just please don’t let them ask me about Raine.
“We are the Council of Thirteen,” the figure at the head of the table said, “governing body of the Bachyir and the enforcers of the Father’s will in the physical world. I am Headcouncil Herris.” He then pointed to his right “This is Councilor Ramah. Next to him is Councilor Mattawe…” He went down the line, introducing all of the Council members one by one. All of them gave a slight nod of their hooded heads as their names were mentioned. When he finished the introductions, he went right into the heart of the matter, and my hopes of living through the night were dashed.
“We know you have been in recent company with Raine Winters, child of Ramah,” again Herris motioned toward the figure to his right. “We also know that you aided in her escape from Carl Sanders and his wretched sidekick Joel Kagan, and for that we are grateful.”
I had to think about that one for a second. They were grateful? Grateful? And why not? Apparently Raine’s father was among the Council members. Maybe I would live through this after all. I nodded my head, feeling a little better.
“We also know that Raine has endeavored to Turn you without the express consent of this Council. This is a most grievous offense, and is punishable by being turned into a Lost One, such as the unfortunate creature which brought you here. In such cases, the one Turned is immediately destroyed.” That means you, of course.
He hadn’t said that last part aloud, but I heard it clear as Day. The words hung on the end of his sentence with ghostly fingers, silent as death itself.
The good feeling vanished. So much for leaving the city. It looked like I was never going to leave this very room. Suddenly my vision started turning red and my heart sped up. I had done nothing to deserve this. So be it, I thought, but I wasn’t going down without a fight, useless though it may be. I made ready to spring at the table, hoping to at least get one good hit before they killed me. It was nice to have a goal, at least.
“Be still, Vincent,” Herris said, as if reading my mind. “Do not seek your death so recklessly. We have not decided your fate yet. But dare to fantasize about drawing our blood again and you will beg me to give you to the Lost Ones long before I allow you to die.”
Murmurs arose from the rest of the council members, some highly indignant, while others muttered quietly among themselves. The one called Ramah never moved or spoke. He simply continued facing me while the others around him spoke up for the first time since I’d set foot into the chamber.
“Kill him now, Headcouncil, and be done with it,” came a harsh, angry voice, a woman’s voice, to my left. I searched through my memory of Herris’ introductions and thought that her name was Lannis, but I couldn’t be certain.
“Already the Father’s will calls for his blood, yet here we sit ignoring our own Gospel, and for what? The whiny arguments of that one there, who only desires to see to his own needs while ignoring the will of our Creator.”
As she said this, she pointed towards Ramah, and several hooded heads turned to face him. He did not return the accusations or the looks, his gaze stayed on me.
“He will be our undoing, Headcouncil Herris, as I have said many times before.” With that, she took her seat, but the damage had been done. Her recommendation had stirred a reaction from the rest of the council. Some agreed with her, while others flatly refused her advice. It seemed there were more of the former than the latter, and my hopes sank to a new low. If the Council was a democracy it was already over. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.
“Enough!” Herris commanded after perhaps a minute of debate from both sides, his tone hard and angry. I sensed this was an old argument between the two.
“You forget your place, Councilor Lannis,” Herris growled. “His fate is not yours to decide. Do not dare to question my judgment again.” His voice held a note of menace so palpable I could almost see it, an angry red cloud in the air surrounding his words like a cartoon bubble.
Lannis lapsed into a sulky, brooding silence. She looked at Ramah, then glared at me from under her hood. Her anger and hatred for the other councilor seared through the empty room like a fireball, but Ramah did not seem to notice. His gaze remained on me the entire time. I knew then what had stopped the Council from killing me outright. For some reason, Ramah wanted me alive. Most likely because his daughter was missing and he hoped I would know something. You can’t exactly get answers from a dead man, can you? I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Finally I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any more. Common sense has never really been a virtue of mine.
“You aren’t going to kill me?” I asked, just to show them I wasn’t afraid, even though I felt like pissing myself. “Why not, Herris? What the Hell do you want from me?”
The effect was immediate.
They had been muttering among themselves and whispering harshly to one another – all but Ramah, anyway – but that changed in an instant. The room fell deathly silent and twelve hooded heads snapped towards me. The thirteenth head (Ramah, of course) displayed the first movement I had seen from him the entire meeting, twitching just a little in what may have been a silent snicker. The moment of stunned silence passed quickly enough, and the room burst into angry voices. Some, echoing Lanni
s’ earlier sentiment, demanded that I be punished for my insolence. Others cautioned them not to be too hasty, to wait and see what came next, and not to question the judgment of Headcouncil Herris. I expected Lannis to chime in and again voice her opinion that I should be killed with all due haste, but she remained silent. Herris raised his hand to silence the gathering before returning his attention my way. I felt the heat of his ire settle on me, and I withered under it. I’d made a bad mistake. Whatever he’d had in mind before, my fate would almost certainly be worse after I’d practically dared him.
“You are young,” he said. “The line between bravery and foolishness is a thin one, Vincent. On your life, do not cross it again. You try to hide it, but I feel your heart shiver at the sight and sense of this Council. Your head ignores it, but you would be wise to keep your ears open and your mouth closed until such time as you are instructed to speak. As before, I will not ask it a second time. Should you speak out of turn again you will be given to the Lost One who waits on the other side of the door behind you. Do you understand?”
I felt the blood drain from my face through Herris’ speech. Of all the fates I could imagine, none terrified me more than being given to a Lost One. I nodded, too afraid to speak even though I was fairly certain he’d given me permission.
Apparently satisfied that he’d made his point, he continued.
“Very well, and now back to the matter at hand. Your fate has yet to be determined, Vincent Walker. This council will decide what to do with you in short order. Ordinarily, you would have already been disposed of. However, Ramah has petitioned me to let you speak. After much consideration I have done so, if only out of respect for the aid you gave one of our own.”