The Dark Remains

by Mark Anthony

  “Vani,” Grace said.

  Only as she spoke the word did he realize he was no longer gazing at Beltan, but at the assassin. As if she sensed his attention, she looked up with gold eyes. Then she turned her gaze back to the artifact.

  “What’s going on, Grace?” he managed to croak.

  “I don’t know. I think maybe …” Grace drew in a breath. “Back in the hotel room, in Denver, Vani asked me about you and Beltan. She asked me if you loved him. When I said yes, she seemed … broken.”

  Understanding washed over Travis, along with a sick feeling. “Last night, when Sareth was talking about their friend, Xemeth—the one who died—it was clear that Xemeth loved her. But Vani mentioned something about the cards, something they had said to her.”

  Grace seemed to think about this. “The Morindai believe in fate, Travis. Maybe the cards told her who she was fated to fall in love with, and maybe it wasn’t Xemeth. Maybe—”

  No, he didn’t want to hear it. Beltan loved him, and he loved the knight. That was the one thing he had finally managed to figure out in this mess of a life, and nothing was going to take that from him.

  Except Grace spoke, and she did.

  “Maybe it’s you she loves, Travis.”

  In the center of the balcony, Vani stood up. The blue smoke of incense coiled around her like ghostly fingers. “Are you ready, Travis?”

  He looked at Grace, but there was no more time for words. And maybe it was better this way, going beneath the city to face the demon—one monster to another. Better that than choosing between two people, both of whom deserved so much better than he.

  Travis moved to the artifact. He reached into his pocket, felt the smooth surface of Sinfathisar. Despite the dread in his chest, he found himself grinning. Whether he lived or died, at least he was trying to do something good. Whatever fate would make of him in the end, that had to count for something.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Melia stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Do be careful, dear.”

  Aryn clutched the bright blue fabric of her dress. “But he can’t go alone. We have to watch … that is, someone has to go with him.”

  Lirith shot the young baroness a sharp look.

  “I will be going with him,” Sareth said. “I am the only one of us who has been to the demon’s cavern before. Which means I must open the gate.”

  Grace stepped toward the gate. “Well, we’ve been through this much together, Travis. Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me now.”

  Her words pierced his heart like knives. This was ridiculous. It was too dangerous; they might never come back. And she was the queen of a lost kingdom. There was absolutely no way she could go.

  Then again, if she was a queen, who was he to question her?

  “Oh, Grace …” he said, and it was enough.

  “Things are going to be bleak and perilous below,” Durge rumbled. “I imagine there’s no hope of any of you coming back. But never let it be said it was not because you didn’t have a sword with you.”

  The knight moved to the artifact.

  “Well, Grace,” Lirith said crisply, “it is unseemly for you to be the only lady amid this brutish gaggle of men. I shall accompany you, for propriety’s sake.”

  The witch cast a glance at Aryn, then moved to stand next to Durge.

  Falken crossed his arms and glared. “Is everybody going beneath the city?”

  “No,” Melia said. “Just those who need to, I think. If they will be so kind as to remain with us, Beltan and Vani will help me with any sorcerers who might somehow get past Ephesian’s soldiers. And you, Falken, can keep watch over Lady Aryn in such an event.”

  Beltan’s face was hard. He gripped the curved Mournish sword strapped at his hip. “No sorcerers will get past me, Melia.”

  “They will not get past either of us,” Vani said, folding her arms across her black-leather jacket.

  The assassin gazed at Beltan. The knight returned her gaze, then after a moment he nodded.

  Travis looked at Grace, Lirith, and Durge. None of them had to come with him. They should stay up here. All the same, he was glad for them.

  “Thanks,” he said. It was utterly inadequate, but it was all he could manage.

  Aryn let out a gasp. “Something is coming. No, somethings—I can feel them.”

  “Scirathi,” Vani said.

  Beltan drew his sword, and Falken moved closer to the baroness.

  “The sorcerers have heeded the rumors,” Melia said. “You had best hurry.”

  Sareth knelt, touched the small stone prism, and turned it so its sides aligned with those of the artifact. There was a crackling sound, like distant lightning. The air parted, and it was there: a jagged oval of darkness, edged by blue fire.

  Travis felt a hand grip his. Grace. He squeezed back. Durge and Lirith moved close.

  “Think of nothing as we pass through,” Sareth said. “You must let me envision the cavern. And we must keep close together no matter what. Do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  “May the gods go with you, dears,” Melia said.

  Travis cast one last glance at Vani and Beltan, but neither of them was looking at him.

  “Now!” Sareth said.

  And in a tight knot, Travis, Grace, Lirith, and Durge followed after the Mournish man, into the crackling circle of the gate.

  77.

  It was hot beneath Tarras.

  The stifling air of the tunnel wrapped itself around Travis like black blankets, rendering breath an exhausting labor. Sareth held a small lantern, although he had positioned the tin shield so that only the scantest fragments of light escaped. It was not difficult for Travis to make his way along the undulating passage; despite the darkness, his new eyes easily discerned the smooth, rippling walls and floor. However, Grace, Durge, and Lirith stumbled constantly, groping blindly as they went. He could see the desperation on their faces.

  “How much further?” Travis whispered to Sareth.

  The Mournish man had said nothing since the shimmering gate vanished. A few times he had hesitated as a side tunnel branched off from the passage they trod, muttering under his breath, but after a moment he always continued onward. As far as Travis could tell, they had moved consistently downward.

  “I directed the gate to deliver us to a place just outside the cavern,” Sareth said in a barely audible voice. “However, it seems we arrived somewhat farther away than I intended. Still, we are nearly there. I think.”

  The grinding of Durge’s teeth was considerably louder than Sareth’s words, as was Lirith’s sigh. The sound of it seemed to hiss around them like invisible snakes. Lirith quickly clamped a hand to her mouth.

  “It feels like the whole world is weighing on this place,” Travis murmured to Grace.

  “No, just a city.”

  Sareth came to a halt. Once again the passage forked. The Mournish man rubbed his chin, staring first at one opening, then the other. He was muttering, louder than before.

  Panic rose in Travis’s throat. The only way they could get back to the surface was to reach the cavern and find the passage Sareth had once taken from the sewers. Sareth still had the gate artifact, but it was empty now, the fairy’s blood consumed by its magic. If they didn’t find the passage, they would be trapped down here forever.

  But that wasn’t true, either. The Scirathi would find them sooner or later. If the demon didn’t consume them and the entire city first.

  “This way,” Sareth said, moving toward the left-hand passage.

  They pressed on down the sinuous tunnel. Travis found himself wondering how these passages had been formed. Not by water. Although they were smooth, here and there sharp edges protruded from the walls. Nor had these tunnels been hewn by men; they were too … organic. All in all, they reminded Travis of the branching pattern of arteries and veins in a body.

  Sareth held up a hand. “I recognize this place,” the Mournish man whispered. “We are
near.”

  “But I sense only emptiness ahead of us,” Lirith said, fingers pressed lightly to her temples.

  “Truly, my lady?” Durge rumbled. “For I was thinking I had never in my life breathed air so thick with danger.”

  “Emptiness is all there is to the demon, beshala,” Sareth murmured. “Perhaps that is what you sense.”

  “No, there is something ahead,” Grace said quietly. “But it’s hard to make out—like a shadow on black.” She let out a breath. “It’s gone now.”

  Travis reached into his pocket and gripped the hard orb of Sinfathisar. “I suppose I had better lead from this point on. The rest of you stay back.”

  Lirith started to protest. “But the light—”

  “I don’t need light,” Travis said, and started down the tunnel.

  Fear rose in him with each step.

  This is stupid, Travis. Beyond stupid. Sareth said the demons were capable of eating entire cities. They turned most of the southern continent into some sort of wasteland. What makes you think you can stop it?

  He couldn’t—but Sinfathisar could. And because of what Jack Graystone had done to him, making him a runelord, Travis was the only one who could touch one of the Imsari and live. That was why the fairy had brought the Stone to him.

  The Stone of Twilight is going to do all the work, Travis. You’re just the deliveryman. It’s not a great job, and not one you asked for, but you can manage it.

  They had not gone far when Travis noticed a faint light on the air, like the splotchy purple afterglow one saw after staring at a bright light. Behind him, Sareth blew out the lantern flame, and Travis guessed it wasn’t only he who saw the light. With each step the purple glow brightened, rippling on the heavy air.

  Travis felt it before he saw it. A puff of slightly cooler air moved against his face, and the faint echoes of his footfalls no longer returned to him so quickly. There was a space ahead. A big space. The purple light mottled the darkness now like a livid disease. An acrid reek permeated the air. The walls fell away to either side.

  Had it not been for his preternatural eyes, he never would have seen the edge. As it was, Travis’s right boot skittered over the precipice. The rest of his body nearly followed, then strong hands caught his shoulders. Durge.

  “I thought you were supposed to be keeping back,” Travis whispered.

  “As you wish, Goodman Travis. I will heave you over the edge and return to my place.”

  Travis winced. “That won’t be necessary. And thanks.”

  The others drew nearer, and Durge’s outstretched hands kept them from drawing too close to the edge. They stood on a flat slab of stone that jutted out into the void. In the center of the slab stood a cylinder of dark stone, about four feet high and as big around as Travis might encircle with his arms. It looked like some kind of pedestal.

  The purplish light flickered in all directions like heat lightning, making it impossible to gauge the size of the cavern. It was huge, that was all Travis could tell—so huge he wondered why the entire city hadn’t already collapsed into it.

  Sareth let out a hiss. “It has grown. The cavern was not half this size when I was last here.”

  “The demon,” Lirith said quietly, although her words still echoed. “Where is it, Sareth?”

  “Should it not be upon us in its hunger?” Durge said. He was holding his greatsword now, as if the massive blade could damage a being that didn’t truly have a body.

  “I do not know,” Sareth breathed. “The demon is …”

  “It’s gone,” Grace said simply.

  The others turned around.

  “What do you mean gone?” Travis said.

  She spread her arms. “Gone. The threads of the Weirding are all tangled, just like you said, Lirith. And some of them are half … eaten. But the thing that did it isn’t here anymore. I’m sure of it.”

  “The ground tremble we felt,” Durge said. “Could that have been caused by the demon’s escape?”

  Sareth clenched his hands into fists. “No, that is impossible. Had the demon escaped at that moment, there is no doubt we would have known it.”

  “Then maybe it just broke free,” Travis said. “Just minutes ago, after we passed through the gate.”

  Durge scowled at this. “Surely we would have felt more tremors in the tunnels if it had done so. Logic says that the demon could not have escaped this place so recently. Which means it must still be here.”

  “Except it’s not,” Grace said.

  Lirith crossed her arms. “One of you has to be wrong. The demon can’t possibly be here and not here at the same time.”

  Travis’s mind buzzed. Time. Then, in a flash, he had it.

  “Time!” he said aloud, and the word ricocheted all around the chamber. “That’s it, Lirith.”

  Sareth glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  Understanding fluttered in Travis’s brain, moving so quickly it was hard to pin down. “You were talking about it last night, Lirith. And we saw it when we walked through the city this morning. Gods and people are getting lost in dreams of the past. It’s the demon—it’s been distorting the flow of time here in Tarras, first for the gods of the city, and now for its citizens.”

  Lirith nodded. “The demon is not just consuming the Weirding. It’s tangling the very threads of the tapestry of time.”

  Grace’s eyes lit up. She turned toward Sareth. “Vani told us the morndari don’t have physical bodies. Is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “Travis,” she said, “do you know anything about the theory of relativity?”

  “You’re the doctor, Grace.”

  “Yes, but unfortunately not a doctor of physics. Yet from what little I know, relativity says that time, matter, and space are all linked. If something had no body—no mass—it could move at the speed of light. And doing that would have relativistic effects on time.”

  Sareth’s angular visage was grim. “I do not pretend to understand what you say, Grace. But while the morndari do not have bodies, the demons do. They were morndari given form by the sorcerers of Amún.”

  “That’s right,” Grace said, chewing her lip. “But what does it mean?”

  Travis laid a hand on her arm. “We’ll chat about Einstein later, Grace. However the thing managed it, the demon isn’t here anymore. We have to find Sareth’s passage and get out.”

  “Give me a moment,” Sareth said, stepping to the edge of the precipice. “Things have changed since last I was here. I have to think about where the passage to the sewers would be.”

  Durge tightened his grip on his sword. “I would urge you to make haste in your determinations. We cannot expect the Scirathi to be tricked indefinitely by Lady Melia’s ruse. And do not the sorcerers have a relic by which they might transport themselves here?”

  Sareth said nothing as he scanned the darkness.

  “You need light,” Lirith said. She made a weaving motion with her fingers, then held aloft a softly glowing orb of greenish light. The darkness receded a fraction. Grace’s forehead creased in a frown, then she repeated Lirith’s actions. A second globe of greenish light appeared, this time in Grace’s hands.

  Still the darkness pressed close.

  “Lir,” Travis whispered, and the silvery radiance of his runelight joined that of the witchlights. The darkness retreated another fraction. It would have to be enough.

  Sareth turned to continue searching. Grace, Lirith, and Durge moved after him. Travis started to follow, then something caught his eye: spidery outlines flickering in the green-and-silver light. He moved toward the circular pedestal he had glimpsed earlier.

  No, not pedestal, Travis. Altar.

  A thrill coursed through him as he knelt beside it. He reached out a hand, hesitated, then touched the symbols carved into the smooth, black stone of its sides, symbols that gleamed in the magical light.

  “Everyone,” he said softly, although the word echoed all around, “I think you should co
me look at this.”

  In moments the others were there. By then, Travis had already realized the purpose of the symbols. They weren’t runes or another kind of writing, but rather sharp, angular pictographs: drawings meant to be read without language.

  “It’s a story,” he said.

  Lirith knelt beside him. “A story about what?”

  “A sorcerer,” Sareth murmured, dark eyes gleaming in the witchlight. “Look, there he is.”

  Sareth pointed to a stick figure. The figure gripped a curved shape in one hand, and from its other trailed a line of small dots.

  “But what is he doing?” Durge said, the pale illumination deepening the creases in his face.

  Grace touched the altar. “He’s binding the demon.”

  Together, glyph by glyph, they deciphered the story. The sorcerer shed his own blood, enticing a being that was represented only as a dot surrounded by concentric lines of power. The demon. Jagged outlines suggested a crag that could only be the hill of Tarras. The sorcerer created a hollow in the hill and with more of his own blood lured the demon inside.

  “But it wasn’t just his own blood,” Lirith said, pointing to a glyph. In the stick-sorcerer’s hand was a dot with eight small lines radiating from it.

  Quickly, they read the rest of the story. With the scarab, the sorcerer enticed the demon into the prison in the rock, then worked a great magic. The very last glyph showed a rain of dots pouring from the sorcerer’s body as the circle of the demon shrank in on itself.

  “That’s all?” Durge said, frowning. “But the story does not seem complete.”

  “I don’t think we’re seeing everything,” Travis said. “Look, here’s the edge of another glyph. But the rest has been erased somehow.”

  Then he understood. On one side, the stone of the altar was warped and rippled like the walls of this place. Whatever power had carved the tunnels had deformed the stone of the altar, wiping out the last part of the story. However, Travis thought he could guess the final symbols: the sorcerer, with his remaining power, carving his story here.

  They rose, standing around the altar.