by D. P. Prior
“While you can see me, I am unable to respond. Call me a vision, call me a ghost, if that will help you comprehend, but know who I am, my Worthy. Know that I am Dr. Otto Blightey, once considered a luminary, when such accolades were spoken of; a man of science when it was fashionable; a conjurer, warlock, alchemist, and sorcerer; a necromancer who has walked the dark places of the cosmos and set foot where angels would not dare tread.
“But what has it all been for, if I do not perdure? And know that I have not done so, not if you are hearing this. Not if you have set eyes upon this phantom. I did not lie when I said I had entered the Void, for that is the only place that could deny me existence. I have passed beyond salvation, but there is one last thing I can achieve, if that is what is ordained.” Again, the grin, and this time it was accompanied by a gurgling chuckle. “For even in death, I would reach out my right hand and bequeath you the knowledge of millennia. The universe may have finished with me, let me slip from the mind of the Creator, but my wisdom will endure. And it is you, only you, who can receive it, for you are the Worthy, the one the path was prepared for; the one who is to come.”
Me? Silas willed himself to speak, but his lips did not respond. Me? I am the Worthy?
Of course! Who else? Who else had dared read from the book? Who else had the knowledge to decipher its secrets? Who else had the courage to seek what it promised in the nightmare realm of Qlippoth?
Blightey’s eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. “You. You are the Worthy, not some arbitrary chosen one, but a conqueror of wisdom, the one who pulls himself up by his own bootstraps. Your way has been hard…”
The chains fell away from Silas’s will. “Yes! Yes, it has been hard.” No one understood how hard. All the hours of study, the doubts, the warnings.
“… but you have prevailed. You have great knowledge. Hidden knowledge. The knowledge that has been the preserve of but a few in all the epochs of man.”
“I do,” Silas said, riding a wave of euphoria that threatened to burst through the top of his head. “I have secret knowledge. No one else…”
“And yet there is so much more.” Blightey looked up, as if at an endless sky, then dropped his eyes to gaze upon ponderous depths. “Death is no end, my Worthy. No end at all. Not to one who has reached into every dark pocket of existence and harnessed every occult law found therein to his purposes. Beyond the grave, there is so much more: an infinity of wisdom that only an immortal could ever hope to acquire. All you need is faith, my Worthy. Faith in me.”
“I have it,” Silas said, blood whooshing in his ears. “I have faith.”
“You have read of the Ebon Staff…”
“Yes!” Silas thumbed through the pages of the grimoire, seeking the reference that had led him to cross the Farfalls. “I am searching for—”
“… and you have quested for it, as indeed you were meant to.”
Meant to? But—
“But now you are ready. There is a diagram at the very center of my book, a sigil covering both pages.”
Silas flicked through it until he came to the middle, where dark stitches ran like a sutured scar between the leafs, reinforcing the brown resin that glued the book together. Ten circles in various faded colors were joined by intersecting lines, each labeled in a blockish script he’d seen in one or two of the older grimoires, but had never comprehended. There were more of the cryptic letters within each circle, and at the foot of the page there was an inscription in Ancient Urddynoorian, which translated as, “It is a tree of life to those who cleave to it.”
“Gaze upon it, my Worthy. Do not take your eyes from the page. Do not even blink. If the Lord of All Things himself dares distract you, strangle him for a cursed dog.”
The apparition of Blightey began to fade.
“Stare at it. Stare, and do not falter. If you succeed in this, the way will become known to you. The staff will be yours, and it will unlock the final secrets of my book.”
Silas felt rather than saw Blightey vanish. His eyes were riveted to the pages, and nothing this side of the Supernal Realm would make him look away.
Nothing at all.
NAMELESS
“Shog,” Nameless said. “Now look what I’ve gone and done.”
A vast, undulating shadow moved with frightening speed beneath the surface of the lake. The water above bubbled and churned, falling away in a V-wake that extended back to the shore, where Nils was still visible, scrambling to his feet and waving like a lunatic.
“Think we get the message, laddie,” Nameless muttered as he hefted his axe and set himself, one boot on a knob of rock that was lapped by gentle waves.
“Get back from the water,” Ilesa said.
Nameless looked at her over his shoulder.
The island grew to a peak some thirty-odd feet above the lake. It was like a fist of rock that had burst to the surface, and Ilesa stood above him at the base of the pointing finger. Her back was to the pinnacle, and she stared wide-eyed down at the approaching horror, dagger in one hand, sword in the other.
“Not till I’ve taken at swing at it,” he growled, raising his axe.
A colossal scaled head broke the surface and twirled skyward on a sinuous neck. Eyes like evil suns glared venomously, and the jaws parted wide enough to swallow a mule. It swayed and then lunged, fangs like scimitars glistening in the dawn light.
“Smile, you ugly shogger!” Nameless bellowed.
He swung the Axe of the Dwarf Lords overhead and brought it down with thunderous force on the monster’s skull. It was like striking steel. The axe bounced off, spinning through the air, even as Nameless lost his footing and tumbled straight toward the waiting maw. He flailed about for something to grab onto. He found nothing, but something found him.
Ilesa’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, stronger than he’d imagined, and she yanked him away from the water’s edge.
Nameless rolled to his knees and held out a hand to catch the axe, which seemed to wait for him in midair. His goat was well and truly gotten, and he was damned if a shogging snake was going to make a fool of him.
He stood with a snarl and spun to face the serpent, but its hissing head was already barreling straight at him. He twisted aside at the last second, but a curved fang caught his mail hauberk and sent half a dozen links clinking to the rocks.
“Retreat, you stumpy bastard!” Ilesa said, weaving her blades through the air in a glittering blur.
The serpent reared up and watched the display, head swaying, body coiling and rippling in the water.
“I’m not done yet.” Nameless spun with the axe, throwing his entire weight into a concussive blow against the monster’s lower jaw. The jolt that ran up his arm felt like he’d been struck with a warhammer.
“All right, fair point, lassie,” he said, backing onto higher ground.
Ilesa stepped away from the serpent, still twirling her blades.
The monster’s great head shook, as if it were clearing the effects of too much grog, and then it lunged at her. Nameless gawped as Ilesa backflipped, landing with perfect poise right beside him.
“Up,” she said, and led the way with the easy grace of a panther.
Nameless didn’t need telling twice. He felt the blast of the serpent’s breath on his back as he climbed the natural steps toward the pinnacle’s top. He had visions of razor-sharp fangs ripping out the seat of his britches—or worse.
“Can’t reach us up here,” Ilesa said, sitting on the summit and leaning her elbows on her knees, weapons held limply.
Nameless wasn’t so sure. He pressed his back to the rock and kept his axe ready.
The serpent’s head darted toward them but pulled back at the last second. Ilesa was right. It barely came up to their ankles. It roared and shook its writhing body, spraying them with brackish water.
“Sorry, shogger,” Nameless said. “This dwarf’s not for eating. Go catch yourself a fish.”
The jaws gaped so much, Nameless thought its head might split. It
flicked out its tongue, hissing like a forge bellows, thrashed about in the lake, and then dived beneath the surface with an almighty splash.
“That told him,” Nameless said, sitting down beside Ilesa. “So, lassie, this is cozy.”
Already, the thrill of battle was ebbing away, and the black dog was crowding out his good cheer once more. He couldn’t afford to let it cripple him this time, not stuck out in the middle of a lake with a monstrous serpent hunting them. “Know any good songs?”
Ilesa turned her nose up, then looked down at her feet.
Nameless could tell she was still struggling with what had happened earlier, back when she’d almost left him to the wolf-men. He reckoned she’d more than made up for it with the serpent, though. He knew people. He knew she’d come out right.
“About what happened earlier, lassie.” Ilesa stiffened, but Nameless pressed on. He needed to keep talking before the dark mood robbed him of the power of speech. “You did good.”
Ilesa snorted and turned her back to him, glaring out over the settled waters of the lake. Her shoulders were bunched up about her neck, and the slightest tremor rippled through her bodice. She may have been crying.
“More than good,” Nameless went on, giving his voice a jollity he didn’t feel. “You did as much as anyone could, given the circumstances. So what if you panicked? That’s just the way of things. People aren’t much different to animals, when all’s said and done. Got our need to survive, same as they have.”
“Drop it,” Ilesa muttered. She sniffed and wiped her nose with her forearm.
“What I mean to say is—”
“I said drop it.” She spun round to face him, not attempting to hide the dampness in her eyes. “I know what I am, got it? No pussyfooting around by you is going to change that. You stayed for me, and I returned the favor by trying to leave you behind. Big shogging deal. That’s what I’ve always done. Always will. Brau employed me as an assassin, for shog’s sake. What do you expect?”
Nameless laid his axe against a rock and rubbed his new growth of beard. The damned thing hadn’t stopped growing since he’d found the axe. Maybe the Pax Nanorum didn’t like the thought of being wielded by a hairless dwarf. Seemed like a good idea at the time—to wear his shame like a badge. The deeper they went into Qlippoth, though, the more his sense of purpose returned, the less patience he had with self pity. It wasn’t his way. It wasn’t the dwarvish way, either. He might not have seen himself as much of a dwarf, but King Arios had in his city beneath the waves; and according to him, the axe had, too.
If you are not of the bloodline of the Immortals, the Pax Nanorum will reject you.
Nameless kicked the axe.
Well, maybe it should have, the voice of the darkness welled up from beneath the surface of his mind. Remember what happened before?
Don’t, the last threads of resistance replied. Don’t even go there. Why would the axe accept me, if it believed I was nothing but a butcher? What if I truly carry the blood of the Immortals?
The darkness replied, Tell yourself that, if it helps, but did you not feel something similar when you found the black axe in the depths of Gehenna?
“No,” Nameless said out loud, and then muttered into his beard, “I will not succumb. I will not.”
“What?” Ilesa said, pressing her face up close, eyes burning and indignant. “What did you say?”
“Hmm? Nothing. I was just…”
Her face softened, her scowl giving way to a frown of concern. “You getting morose again? Shutting down?”
It was an effort to lift his chin, but he managed to give her a weak smile.
“Well, you can forget it. I’m not doing that dwarf thing, all right? I’m not in the mood.”
Nameless sighed and tried to push himself upright. Heaviness had seeped into his limbs, and he sank back down. He was aware of splashing nearby. The serpent was still out there. He shook his head. He’d been useless against it. Even with the mighty Axe of the Dwarf Lords, he’d been like a child throwing stones at a dragon.
Ilesa’s hand fell to his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
It was a simple statement, but Nameless heard the sincerity. He felt her shudder, knew tears were running down her face, but couldn’t bring himself to look. She leaned into him, brought her cheek close to his.
“Maybe this will help.”
Her lips touched his, warm and wet. He was too shocked to respond, but then she pulled his mouth roughly against hers, her kissing fierce and urgent. Her hands fumbled at his belt, found a way inside his britches. A brand of fire lit up the darkness, set his heart pounding.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Ilesa pulled away and stood. “I just can’t.”
“Is it the beard? I can always sha—”
With a roar and a great splash, the serpent’s head burst from the water and swung toward Ilesa. It snapped at her feet, but she skipped back just in time.
Nameless was up in a flash, the axe finding his hand rather than the other way round. He thrust Ilesa behind him and took a swing, but the serpent recoiled and plunged once more into the lake.
“Persistent shogger, isn’t it?” Still, the excitement had roused him from his depression. Or had it been Ilesa’s touch?
“Look,” she said. “Let’s start again. Promise me you won’t mention what happened with the wolf-men.”
Nameless looked at her, then back at the roiling surface of the lake.
“Promise me.”
“You have my word, lassie.”
She visibly relaxed and then smiled. “Thank you. I know you’re trying to be kind, but believe me, it doesn’t help.”
What happened to you? he wanted to ask, then thought better of it. “Well, if there’s anything—”
“There isn’t.” It was like a door closing on that topic of conversation. She bolted it by slamming her sword into its scabbard. Her shoulders were drawn back, her chin raised, her demeanor suddenly haughty, as if she’d never shed a tear in her life. It reminded Nameless of himself. “So, dwarfy, fancy a swim?”
Nameless laughed, a deep rumbling belly-laugh. Nothing he liked more than a good joke. All they needed was a couple of flagons of ale, and he’d be happy as a pig in—
“I’m serious,” Ilesa said. “That thing isn’t going to hang around the island forever. Sooner or later, it’ll need to go eat, if it can’t take a bite out of one of us.”
Nameless grunted, his guts already cramping like a giant fist had given them a good squeeze.
“All we need do,” Ilesa carried on, “is watch it for a while. If it’s anything like a normal snake, it’s got a brain the size of a pea. There’s got to be a pattern to its movements. We wait till we know what that is, then choose the best moment to swim for…”
Cold worked its way through Nameless’s guts.
“Except, you can’t swim.” Ilesa thrust her fists into her hips and glared out over the water. “Shit. Maybe Nils can build us a raft or something.”
Nameless hoped not. Boat or no boat, it still meant being on the water. It still meant entering that thing’s domain. It was already bad enough that they couldn’t hurt it on dry land. He caught sight of a red ooze seeping through the bandage he’d wrapped around Ilesa’s forearm. “That cut all right, lassie?”
“Fine,” she said. “Stitches pulled when I used my sword.”
Nameless grunted, and then a thought occurred to him. “Remember what happened with those zombies?” Right on cue, his cuts and bites started to itch.
“This is different,” Ilesa said. “Lycanthrope bites don’t affect me. One of the boons of being the way I am, I guess.”
“I see,” Nameless said, running his fingers along the haft of his axe.
“How about you? No, let me guess. Dwarven constitution?”
Nameless gave his toothiest grin. “How’d you know?” Of course, that hadn’t helped with the zombie bites, but the axe had taken care of the infection. He gripped it tighter, trusting it would do the same again.
It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn the handle shuddered, almost as if it had a pulse. The way he hated things unnatural and magical, it should have scared the shog out of him, but instead he felt strangely reassured.
“What the shog’s he doing?” Ilesa said. “Runt boy’s got his sword out.” She stretched up on tiptoe and visored her eyes.
Nameless did the same. His eyes probably weren’t as keen as hers, what with spending half a lifetime at the bottom of a ravine, but he could just about make out Nils looking around frantically before creeping back into the forest.
“Hope he’s all right,” Nameless grumbled. There was shog all he could do about it if the lad was in trouble. An idea suddenly sprang to mind. “Can’t you turn into a giant bird and fly us over there?”
Ilesa was still intent on the shoreline, no doubt wondering what was up with Nils. Maybe Silas was out there calling. Nameless hadn’t seen the wizard since the wolf-men’s attack.
“Never done wings,” Ilesa said. “But even assuming I could, I doubt I’d be able to carry that gut of yours any distance.”
“Gut?” Nameless said. “It’s solid muscle.”
“Whatever. I might be able to make a few changes so I can swim faster, though.”
“Fat lot of good that’ll do me.”
Ilesa let out a long sigh and shook her head at him. “You’d lie on your back and just float. I’ll pull you.”
“I am not shogging getting in the water. Not with that thing swimming about.”
As if to illustrate his point, the serpent broke the surface, glared at them a long moment, then submerged again.
“See that,” Nameless said. “It’s out there, waiting for us.”
“Big dwarf like you.” Ilesa gave him a mocking grin. “Scared of an over-sized worm.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Are.”
“Not.” He folded his arms across his chest and made a show of tapping his foot.
Ilesa gave a good-natured laugh. “Looks like we’re stuck here, then. At least until slave boy comes up with a plan.”
“Slave boy?”