by Deck Davis
“I had wondered why he hadn’t been to see me.”
“He’s in the common room now, pretending nothing happened. He’s making a move, Bander. You’re not safe here.”
“I’m proud of you, Ethan,” said Bander. “For what you did.”
“Aren’t you listening? You need to leave. If Lillian tries to kill you again…”
Bander shook as a coughing fit took hold. His agonized face aged yet again. “Leave me,” he said.
“But-”
“Leave me.”
Ethan rushed out of the room, rage boiling in his head. Was Bander confused? Was he in a fever, or something? Why wasn’t he listening?
When he stepped out into the hallway, Zewn waited for him. He had a long gouge on his face, his only wound from the dungeon. He seemed to stand taller than before, as if his experiences in the tomb had made him grow.
“He didn’t listen,” said Ethan. “What the hell is wrong with him? We need to make him leave the guild, but he won’t.”
“I need to show you something,” said Zewn.
“Now’s not the time.”
“You need to see it, Ethan.”
Zewn led him down the staircase, across the guild atrium, which was eerily empty, and into the kitchen. Broth bubbled in pots on a stove, but there was no sign of Saim. It was time for the evening meal so most of the guild would be in the common room, but the kitchen was never empty, and neither was the atrium.
“This way,” said Zewn.
He lifted a hatch in the floor in the corner of the kitchen, to reveal a staircase leading into the bowels of the guild. Mana torches flickered on the walls, their ethereal light waving in the breeze, casting a green glow on dusty steps.
Zewn ran down them, his tapping feet the only sound echoing. Ethan followed, emerging into a cellar.
Here, hundreds of barrels were arranged in rows. They looked like wooden beer barrels that you’d find in a tavern, except they were taller than Ethan. On the front, each of them had handles.
Zewn grabbed one. “Brace yourself for this,” he said.
He pulled the handle, opening the barrel. Inside it, was Bunk.
Ethan’s legs weakened. He clutched Artifax tighter. No. This can’t be real.
Bunk wasn’t dead; Ethan could tell that from the way his chest softly rose. He was naked, and his skin was pale and shriveled. Brown gunk stained parts of him.
“What the fuck?” said Ethan, the only words he could summon in that moment.
Zewn darted from barrel to barrel, flinging them open to reveal body after body. Boys and girls of all ages, all naked and covered in goo, all breathing softly, but showing no sign of consciousness.
“Who are they?” said Ethan.
Zewn stopped beside one barrel. Inside it was a boy with shot, blonde hair and a hook nose. “I recognize him. Saw him in Wolfpine once.”
Ethan paced the room. The bodies in the barrels tried to draw his stare, but he didn’t want to look. Finally, he couldn’t resist, and he stared at a barrel beside him.
Shock filled his chest. He recognized this boy! But from where? Where had he seen him? That was it! He’d seen him in Wolfpine, in the tavern. This was the boy whose face was printed on a poster, with the word ‘missing’ underneath.
“This is Lillian’s doing,” he said, his voice choked. “Whatever…this…is, Lillian has done it.”
“What do we do?”
“We need to tell Bander. Now.”
The boys rushed out of the cellar and into the kitchen, through the atrium, up the stairs. When he reached Bander’s room, Ethan was panting. He flung open the door, but Bander was gone.
He grabbed Zewn. “The common room. We need to find Reck or Saim.”
“What the fuck is going on, Ethan?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t stay.”
They fled down the stairs and rushed through the atrium, until they stood in front of the common room doors. The arched doors were shut. Ethan grabbed the black looped handle and turned it. The door screeched, and as it opened, murmurs drifted out of the room.
He strode inside, only to find Bander seated behind the instructors’ table, raised higher than the ones the recruits sat behind. The common room was full, with only two seats left.
“Bander, I need-”
Ethan stopped talking. When he looked at Bander, floods of panic overtook him. Bander’s face looked fleshy and healthy, his color returned to him. But that was not the only thing that returned; Bander had two arms again.
Doors slammed behind Ethan. Zewn moved closer to him, so they stood side by side.
Bander stood up. He didn’t wear his guild shirt now; instead, he wore a black metal chestpiece, with a shape imprinted on it; a red flame.
Recruits followed suit, standing from their tables, all of them revealing the same chest pieces, and the same flame.
What did it mean? He’d seen the flame before, but shock gripped his mind, and he couldn’t force the memory to stir. Come on…think.
The acolytes. He’d seen the flames printed on their robes.
“You could have joined us, Ethan,” said Bander. “I gave you every chance.”
“Joined what?”
“The Brotherhood. You could have been part of his ascension, like us. Infirna would have welcomed you, if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”
Yart stood up from a table. His cat was sitting on his shoulder, its claws out. “What’s going on, Bander?”
Bander smiled at him. “Yart, my boy. Come here.”
Yart walked over to Bander, his steps uncertain. “What’s happening?”
As Yart approached him, Bander drew a sword, this time a normal iron sword, from his sheath. In one swift motion, he cleaved Yart’s head from his neck.
Ethan’s legs threatened to collapse. He gripped Artifax tight.
Bander pointed at Yart’s head, which had rolled to a stop. “What’s wrong, Ethan? You should be happy. The boy did kill you, after all?”
“Then that really happened?”
“We found you on the guild grounds, mangled beyond anything I have ever seen. But the we fixed you, boy. We submerged you, and after bathing in Infirna’s lifeblood you emerged alive, and better than before.”
Ethan backed away. This wasn’t the Bander he knew; this man was insane. What did he mean? Infirna’s blood? Was it something to do with the boys in the barrels? Had he done the same to Ethan?
“Kill them,” said Bander, his voice changed, his kind tones replaced by sternness.
The recruits drew swords, daggers, axes. They faced Ethan and Zewn, and he could read in their expressions that they would follow Bander’s order.
He gripped Artifax in his palm. The sword’s gem stayed dull, and he didn’t speak.
As the recruits advanced on them, the doors behind Ethan flew open. He turned to see Lillian stood there, his scepter glowing red, his robe flowing to the ground.
“This way. Come on, you slow-arsed runts. We need to leave the mountain.”
Trust Lillian, or stay in the common room? There was no choice. He grabbed Zewn and ran out into the atrium. Lillian strode ahead of them, leading out of the guild, where Glen and Yart waited outside.
Ethan stared at their clothes, expecting to see them wearing black chainmail with flames printed on. Instead, Glen wore a cream shirt splattered with blood. Yart looked at him nervously.
“Ethan…I’m sorry. About everything.”
“No time,” said Lillian.
Boots pounded behind them. Ethan turned to see the recruits rushing their way, weapons raised, Bander charging behind.
Lillian led them through the training yard and into the forest, where the trees smothered the light, and fallen logs lay strewn on the ground. Animals called to each other, their cries and grunts broken only by Lillian’s soft steps, followed by the crunch of the recruits’ boots as they trampled twigs and branches.
So many questions flood Ethan’s brain, but he cast them out. He let adren
aline drown him, he let his pulse thunder inside. He was dimly aware of Zewn leaping over fallen logs beside him as they ran, and Yart lagging behind, huffing and panting.
Despite his age, Lillian pushed on ahead, stopping for a moment, choosing a path, then charging on.
In the distance, over his shoulder, came the sound of dozens of boots trampling the forest floor, and Bander shouting words Ethan couldn’t make out.
It was dizzying. How had it come to this? What was this, anyway? Bander had betrayed them, that was clear, but to what end? How had his arm grown back? Who were the boys in the barrels?
A shape sprung from the shadows, crashing into Zewn and knocking him to the ground. The boy grunted, straining to push away the slick shape that tore at him. More shapes slithered out from hidden places, surrounding them.
“Klizerds,” said Ethan.
Lilian raised his scepter, casting a wall of fire that held the klizerds back. The reptile grunted, spit drooling from their mouths, hate burning in their eyes.
Behind, the recruits’ steps grew louder. This was no good. Surrounded by klizerds, and with the recruits tearing after them.
He raised Artifax. He kicked the klizerd off Zewn, and was about to strike, when he stopped.
Wait. He stared into the klizerds eyes, and it stared back, neither of them moving. They held each other’s gazes for what seemed to be an eternity.
And then the klizerd sprang to its feet. It faced its clan mates and chirped at them, urgent squeaks that they seemed to understand. And then, the creatures departed.
He understood now. He remembered. Back on his first day in the guild, what seemed like years ago, he’d helped a baby klizerds get free from a log. Good deeds get their rewards.
The klizerds rushed at the recruits now, meeting them amidst a fury of chirps and growls.
“Don’t waste time,” said Lillian.
Ethen pulled Zewn to his feet, and they crashed through the forest, away from the recruits, away from the guild.
“Where are we going?” said Ethan.
Lillian looked over his shoulder. “Wolfpine. I need to meet a friend. Zaemira can’t wait for long.”
Artifax felt hot in Ethan’s grip. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?”
Ethan took a deep, angry breath.
“You won’t kill me, boy. If I wasn’t keeping Bander in check, you and your friends would have been killed long ago. But he had to be careful when I was around. He never trusted me, and he was right not to. But you…boy…need to learn.”
“I’ll never trust you.”
“Then you’ll never see your brother again.”
“What have you done to Dantis?”
“Not me, Ethan. Zaemira.”
“Who?”
“You’ve seen him, you know. Your brother was closer than you thought.”
“Just cut the shit and tell me where he is.”
“Don’t you remember in the dungeon? I know he was there; I could sense him. Maybe not in his true form, but as something else.”
Not in his true form? What the hell did he mean?
And then images flashed before him. The illusory lava…the glowing moss poem on the walls…and the golem. Was that Dantis? Had he killed his own brother?
“I think you are starting to understand,” said Lillian.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dantis
I am Tula. I am vupyr.
The words crashed in his mind, swirling in the chaos that filled him. He wasn’t Dantis, anymore. A deeper knowledge filled him now, a higher self. He felt it when he left Yutula-na, when he walked from the obsidian rocks.
Screams filled his head. They were his mother’s; maddening, shrill, echoing insanity into his soul.
He stopped in front of the tree. The tree that had stood for so long in the barrens, watching, helping.
He knew the tree deserved his reward. He wanted to thank it, but it couldn’t see him. He was not of this world now, and only those he showed himself to would understand what he was. I am Tula. I am vupyr.
With a deep breath, he sucked time from the tree and then watched as it became smaller until it was just a sapling. With another breath the tree became a man; a young man, pale faced, with curly hair like his mage sister. The man lifted his hands to his face, and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. And then the shock overtook him, and he collapsed onto the ground.
Overhead, the sky rumbled. Not with thunder, but with something much worse. There was no time. Tula knew it. Dantis knew it. Every being of Yutula-na, swirling in his cosmic chasm, knew it. He took to the sky.
Dantis descended upon Wolfpine, a cosmic shadow, a hulking beast of light and galaxies. I am Tula. I am vupyr.
Beyond the city, the Blackrock of Wolfpine had risen from the ground, a dagger pointed at the sky. It was a conduit; an obsidian link of mayhem and power, its lifeforce entwined with the rocks of Yutula-na. That was why the Nevergods had chosen Wolfpine, then. If they appeared here they had only the conduit in their way.
Chaos flooded in him, hot like blood, echoes of mayhem mixing with his mother’s screams. He could feel it now. He could feel the madness of what he had done, how something had changed inside him that night. A force had pressed on him, a yearning darkness had made him feed on those who cared for him.
I am not of their flesh. I was never of their flesh. Ethan isn’t my brother; my only brother is madness, vupyr, the dark light that wards the evil of the Nevergods.
He understood it now; why Zaemira had chosen him. The ancient stone city was his home. Tula was his flesh-mate, and now they were one.
Fly, Dantis, Tula commanded, his ancient voice echoing in his mind.
Wolfpine lay below him, but not the Wolfpine he recognized. Flames engulfed buildings, orange waves of death licking over timber, spreading onto the shirts and coats of terror-stricken townsfolk as they rushed, desperate for somewhere to hide.
Above, the sky bled orange as the Nevergod Infirna shook from his shackles. Across the Fire Isles, his nevermates stirred too, thirty in number, thirty bringers of death.
The Brotherhood of Fire acolytes rampaged through the streets, spreading their hot death everywhere they went. Others joined them; teenagers wearing black chainmail with fire emblazoned on the front, led by the one they called Bander.
Bander. Dantis had known him in another life, in his other guise, before Tula had shown him the truth.
Wings flapped behind him. He looked to see his army of turnings, creatures of death, summoned from Zaemira’s tomb. Dantis was their master now. They went where he bade them, and now, he beckoned them downward, down to the horror on the streets of the once quaint town.
He landed softly on the street. Shops lined either side; bakeries, potion stores, taverns, armor stalls. Flames crackled on their timber, wood crashed to the ground. A sign post crumbled from its fixings, landing on the back of a woman as she tried to drag her child to safety.
He would have helped her once, but the madness forbade him. After what he had done to his parents, after who he had become, did it matter now?
Ahead of him, the chain mailed teens approached. Bander led them, his stare fixed on Dantis.
“Vupyr,” he said. “I know you…or what you were.”
Bander charged at him. With a swipe of an ethereal hand, Dantis passed through him, carving through him like butter, sizzling his organs. He cleaved him in half. No man of flesh could withstand the burning energy of a cosmic force.
He breathed in, sucking every essence of energy from the guildmaster, feeling it imbibe him. In one, deep gust, he sucked everything away from him, felt the man’s memories, his dreams, every word he had ever spoken, everything he had ever seen drench through him and add to his solar whirlwind, to his new form.
I am Tula. I am insane. Dantis, parent killer, vupyr, light in the darkness.
As the recruits rushed at him, swords aloft, flames glinting off their axes,
Dantis spread his arms out, his sprectral form stretching forward, washing through them, draining them dry. It took just a second, and all thirty lay dead, their skin brittle, their souls mixed with his growing ether inside.
Life meant nothing to him now. What could it mean to a parent killer? To a vupyr? To the conduit of Tula and the spirits of Yutula-na?
There was only one thing left for him to do. He cast his spectral eyes around the town, seeing everything at once, thousands of images flooding through him. And it was in one of these, that he saw the boy. The one who had been his brother.