The Hidden Illusionist

by Deck Davis

  As they walked through another cramped passageway, a dim wailing sound met them. Ahead, Glen signaled to stop. They paused, and the wailing swirled around them, seeming to come from miles away, as if carried by the wind. Hearing no footsteps to accompany it, Bander signaled them on.

  They emerged into another cavern, this one large than the last. Here, there was only a narrow stone pathway, surrounded on both sides by a chasm. Peering over, Ethan felt like he stared into the depths of darkness itself. He couldn’t see anything moving, but the wailing drifted from the chasm. It sounded like voices. Lost and lonely, as if they were moaning in a language he didn’t understand, like phantoms lamenting their deaths from behind a spectral shroud.

  Soon, something else caught his attention. Something large and shiny. At the end of the narrow pathway, illuminated by cavern moss, lay a chest. It was larger than a casket, with so much gold glinting inside that the lid wasn’t shut properly.

  Gold always made his mind race, but he’d never seen as much as this. New boots. A new sword. Armor. Recruits get a cut of dungeon treasure, don’t they?

  While Glen paused and looked at the walls around them, which stuck out as ledges, Zewn couldn’t help himself. He strode toward the treasure chest.

  “Zewn, stop it right now,” said Bander.

  There was a hiss. Zewn froze, and when he looked down, he gulped. He’d stood on a pressure plate.

  “Damn it. I can take you off the streets and train you, but you’ll always be a thief at heart. Obsessed with greed, dribbling when you see gold. Glen, take care of the trap.”

  Glen cautiously approached Zewn and kneeled by him. Using a dagger, he tapped at the plate under Zewn’s foot.

  “You should find better stock when you next recruit, Bander,” said Lillian. “What good is a criminal?”

  “And what good is punishment if it doesn’t reform? Throwing them in cells, selling them to slavers, what good does that do? At least I’m trying.”

  “And here you see why it is regretful.”

  “Any joy?” said Bander.

  Glen shook his head. “It’s activated. No way I can disarm it. As soon as he steps off it, whatever trap was set is gonna spring.”

  “Then let it spring,” said Artifax, glowing in Bander’s hand. “And whatever comes our way…I’ll stab the hell out of it!”

  Bander wiped his brow. It was the first time Ethan had seen the guildmaster sweat, and it worried him. If Bander felt nervous, then it sure as hell was something worth getting nervous about.

  He paced on the pathway, trying to avoid looking down the chasm, trying to tune out the sorrowful wails of whatever waited in the depths. He wished he could help. Sure, he’d learned to spot basic traps, but he was out of his league with pressure plates. If Glen couldn’t do it, he sure as hell couldn’t.

  “You okay, Zewn?” he said.

  Zewn tried to grin. Sweat plastered his hair to his head. He lifted a finger, careful not to move his weight, and wiped them away. “Just taking a break,” he said.

  “Nope. Can’t do a damn thing here,” said Glen.

  “Right,” said Bander. “We can’t stop whatever trap is set. But I’m not leaving without treasure, not when it’s so close.”

  “Has greed got the better of you too, Bander?” said Lillian. “What happened to your practicality?”

  “I’ll have Saim show you our account books, then you’ll understand,” said Bander. “Listen. Glen, check there are no more traps around. We’ll work around Zewn and drag the chest away, and you and Ethan can take it to the dungeon entrance. When it’s outside, come get us. Zewn can take his foot off the plate, and we’ll run like all the beasts of the Cataclysm are chasing us.”

  Glen nodded. “Got it. I’ll-”

  He was interrupted when two black figures dropped onto the stone path. Ethan looked around, to see four more waiting on the wall ledges twenty-feet above.

  He drew his sword. What were they dealing with here? It was hard to know; they were blacker than the darkest night, and their figures blurred when they moved. He concentrated. One looked his way, and he glimpsed its features for a second, but it didn’t clear anything up. Was it some kind of goblin? Its eyes shone impossibly white, and its long ears met above its head, joining together. He’d never seen anything like it.

  Bander held Atrifax aloft. The sword’s hilt gem shone red, and black mist drifted from him. “Keep it tight. Point your swords out, don’t let them close. They aren’t armed, so watch out for teeth and claws.”

  He made it sound so simple, yet a sense of terror filled Ethan. He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt, but all the same, a dark feeling emanated from these creatures.

  Four more dropped onto the pathway, two behind Bander, two in front of Glen and Zewn.

  Damn it. They were all surrounded, cut off from each other with only a narrow pathway to maneuver around. One stupid step and they’d plummet into the chasm, where the wailing whatever-the-hell-they-were waited. Even if all six of them could fight it’d be tough, but Zewn couldn’t move for fear of setting off an unknown trap. Maybe I should have said no to coming to the dungeon.

  Glen was standing in front of Zewn, blocking the two shadow creatures from getting near him. Whether it was to protect him getting knocked off the plate, or concern for a younger recruit, Ethan didn’t know, but he was thankful.

  “This is it. Let’s see how well Reck trained you. Keep your swords pointed and knock them into the chasm when you get chance,” said Bander.

  Ethan steeled himself to fight, and with that, he slashed at the creature in front of him. His adrenaline made him put too much weight into the swing, and the creature avoided it with one step.

  He readied himself for the counterblow, but it didn’t come. Instead, the creature stared at him for an instant, then moved beyond him, leaping at Bander.

  Lillian held out his scepter. The gem capping it glowed orange, burning like a miniature sun, wafts of mana bursting from it. Light shot out, spreading across the creature’s chest.

  Flames lapped over it. Stood amidst the wash of fire, the creature was illuminated. Dantis saw it clearly now; it wasn’t a goblin – it was a fiend. Spiderwebs of runes covered its face, and deep channels of wrinkles were cut into its skin. It moved with a blur, as though time shuddered around it every time it stirred.

  It screamed as the flames lashed over it. It rolled on the ground, but the mana burned strong, and its cries turned to wails that Ethan wished he couldn’t hear. The fiend, sent mad by agony, rolled into off the pathway and into the chasm.

  “Xig!” cried one of the other creatures.

  “They can talk?” said Glen, as two of the fiend loomed closer to him.

  The fiends grunted now. Their figures blurred as they moved, with black mist drifting from them and meeting the mana crackling in the air, and the smoke seeping from Artifax. A medley of aromas thickened; the brimstone of mana, pungent sweat, scorched flesh.

  Two creatures leapt onto Bander, straddling him. Bander grunted under the weight. He staggered backward, toward the chasm edge.

  Ethan rushed forward, but Lillian was closer, and he reached the guildmaster first.

  Lillian shoved him, sending Bander over the edge.

  Adrenaline washing through Ethan in a tide. He dove forward, hitting the ground and stretching out his hands in a desperate attempt to reach Bander…and the guildmaster grabbed his hand.

  Bander dangled over the edge now. With his free hand, he wrenched one fiend from him and threw it into the chasm. The other scrambled up his body, putting its foot on his head and using him to clamber back onto the pathway.

  Each of Bander’s movements made Ethan’s muscles burn. He grabbed Bander with his free hand, holding him with two now, but it still wasn’t enough. Can’t hold him. I can’t hold him!

  Another hand seized Bander’s arm. Then another. Glen and Zewn had pushed passed their creatures to help, and together, they pulled Bander from the ledge and onto the pathway, where h
e took a long, panting breath, and got to his feet.

  Ethan looked to his right, where Zewn had been standing. The pressure plate. The trap. We need to leave.

  He waited for the hiss of poison gas, the rumble of a boulder, the swoosh of a spike rack. Nothing happened. The trap was a dud.

  Bander picked Artifax from the ground. Before he could react, two more creatures leapt on him again, smashing him onto his back.

  Ethan clambered to his feet. He kicked one in the face, feeling the crunch of muscle as his foot connected. He raised his sword to swipe the other. Before he could, the creature grabbed Bander’s arm. With one impossibly strong pull, he tore Bander’s arm clean from his shoulder.

  Ethan’s vision clouded. He lurched back as a spray of blood covered his boots. Glen screamed, a sound too high-pitched for a man. Zewn dropped to his knees, whimpering. None of them could believe it. Ethan’s consciousness threatened to float from him. We’re gonna die. I’m gonna be sick. This…

  Pull yourself together.

  Bander’s face paled, and his eyes were glassy. Blood spurted from his shoulder where his arm had once been. Near him, the creature held his severed arm, with Artifax still in the grip of his hand. Now, not even the sword could find words. This couldn’t have happened. It just couldn’t have.

  Time slowed. Rage met with the sickness in Ethan’s stomach, a toxic mix that weighed him down. He gritted his teeth. He picked up his sword and felt it burn in his grip.

  He charged at the fiend, reaching it before it could react, and he cleaved its neck. Plumes of smoke spat out at him. It rushed into his mouth and down his throat, it misted in his eyes. He wafted it away, to see the creature, on the ground, dead, smoke twirling from its neck wound.

  “Zewn, the health potion. Pour it on his shoulder,” said Glen. He passed a vial of pink liquid to Zewn and franticly wrenched the other from the loop on Bander’s belt.

  A rage flowed through Ethan like nothing he’d felt before. Lillian. He’d tried to push Bander into the chasm. I have to kill him. He picked Artifax off the ground. Despite its glow, the sword chilled his palm, and his gem shined.

  “A new owner, eh? Bander was alright. I mean, they say loyalty’s a prize, but I say…”

  “Shut up.”

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Lillian. Forget why he did it, forget asking questions, he wanted to hack the mage’s head off his body.

  But he was gone. He’d fled into the tunnels, away from the dungeon, his mute spell disguising his footsteps.

  Soon, Ethan did hear footsteps. Plodding thuds, one after the other, approaching the cavern opening. He held Artifax aloft, the weight of the unfamiliar sword making him unsteady. Hot rage clouded his mind.

  The steps became louder until they stopped, and a figure was standing in the opening now. Almost six-foot-tall and made of mud, with its fists clenched at its sides, black holes dug into its face to serve as eyes, and a larger hole as a mouth. It looked like a golem, except it was made from the same orange dirt as the barrens.

  Bander groaned behind him. Glen give orders to Zewn. “On his wound, Zewn. Cover it.” He tuned them out and focused only on the dungeon creature before him.

  The golem opened its mouth. “Eth-”

  Ethan charged forward, fury boiling inside, Artifax shaking in his grip, his gem burning red. Thoughts flashed through him.

  Lillian. Dantis. The guild. The brotherhood.

  “Argh!” he shouted, channeling his rage into the sword.

  The golem stepped toward him, arms raised. With one swipe, fueled by every trace of energy in his body, Ethan cleaved through its neck, severing its head from its body. Light flashed from Artifax’s gem, blinding Ethan.

  He stumbled back, then fell onto the ground. He blinked, but the flashed burned his retinas. Blind, all he could do was listen as Bander groaned in agony and Glen and Zewn hurried to save him.

  The light faded, transforming into spots on the edge of Ethan’s vision. When he looked at the cavern opening, the golem was gone. In its place, a mist drifted in the air.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dantis & Zaemira

  He’d never seen the sky look like that before. The sun was at its zenith but clouds brewed in it, darker than clouds should be, blacker than the stones of Yutula-na. Bolts of blood-red light parted them, shooting toward the Fire Isles like stars, before smashing into houses, exploding through shop windows, booming against the ground and forming craters. People screamed. So, so many screams. Children begging for their parents to make it stop, but the adults couldn’t, because they didn’t know what was looming in the sky.

  A cloud swelled bigger than the rest. Twisting in the sky, drawing even more cloud toward it with each rotation until it filled all Dantis’s vision, until he could see a face in it; one ancient and terrifying, tugging on the outer reaches of his sanity.

  This is the end of days. He’d never believed in gods until now but there was no denying something was intruding on the isles, something powerful and angry, heralding its arrival with blood red comets and rumbles of fury in the sky.

  And below it was the source, the Bringer of the Cataclysm, a figure with a tar-black sword shining red at the hilt.

  No. Not you. It couldn’t have been.

  Next to the Bringer was a body, and Dantis recognized this one too, but the image danced around his mind like a faery, leaping from his grasp.

  He woke, gasping for air. His nightmare stayed with him in the form of a sense of dread washing over him, but the pictures faded, and his real memories stirred.

  “Ethan?” he said.

  No. Ethan wasn’t here now; he’d killed him in the dungeon. Dantis had tried to speak to him, but he’d never seen his brother so angry. Before he could say his name, his brother swung a sword at him, a black sword with a red hilt gem, and…

  A black word with a red hilt gem. The Bringer.

  Another thought struck him; Xig. Poor, poor Xig. He’d rolled into the chasm, fallen into the depths where Dantis had cast his illusion to make it sound like something was wailing.

  Panic settled over him. He tried to breath, but nothing happened. He tried to get to his feet, but he couldn’t feel them. When he stretched his arm in front of him, or imagined doing it, he had no arm to stretch.

  “Where am I?”

  Black stones surrounded him, but only the ones on the outside were dark. Stone dwellings formed in circles that became smaller and smaller until they met in the middle, like rings inside a tree. They shone emerald green, ruby red, glittering under the sun. Figures emerged from them, spectral beings floating across the ground. They had vaguely humanoid bodies, but wispy, and they seemed to taper at the bottom so they didn’t touch the stone.

  They spoke to each other in a language he didn’t understand. It was sing-song and light-sounding, and it stroked his soul to hear it.

  Was this Yutula-na? It couldn’t have been, because outside it, beyond the outer black stones, there were no barrens. The ground was full of green grass, and horse bolted across it, and there was no sign of Wisetree.

  The more he looked, the more familiar the place seemed. Like, although the colors were different, the he recognized the shape of the land. It was the Barrens, just not so …barren.

  “You must be…confused,” said a voice, its tones crackling, as if energy sparked behind every syllable.

  Dantis turned around to see a figure looming behind him. He resembled the tapered being he’d seen in his vision, except he stretched thirty feet into the sky. His figure was of a giant man, all muscle and sinew. Instead of skin, a blanket of stars spread across him, broken by ethereal clouds of red and purple, and suns burning bright and galaxies spreading. Instead of a face, there was a cosmos of light.

  A word came to him. He didn’t know where from, but it seemed right. “Tula?”

  “You are…correct.”

  His voice and appearance filled Dantis with awe. He was sure he didn’t have a mouth anymore but if he did, it would hav
e stayed open.

  “You must have…questions,” crackled his voice.

  “I thought I couldn’t die,” said Dantis. “I thought I’d transfer into my grub body.”

  “The bringer used a gem…blade,” said Tula. “Artifax is the tool of the…bringer. Nothing could suffer it and…regenerate.”

  Along with the crackle of Tula’s voice, there was something else. It sounded like he’d lifted a shell to his ear and heard the sea inside; the tones of Tula’s voice gave the sense of something grander, something more ancient than he could imagine, like the universe flowing along his tones.

  This wasn’t the same city as he’d spent weeks living near, trying to restore. The stones, without their crow-black color, didn’t inspire dread in him. Silence was gone, banished by the light tones of the city’s spectral inhabitants as they sang to each other.