by Jim Galford
“I doubt having Turessian markings on his face will go over well with the people of any land these days.”
“So be it.”
Estin turned to look at the big man, but could not see his face around the heavy armor he wore and his height. “You just tried to kill us to protect a secret and now you’re asking me about my family? What is this all about?”
On’esquin leaned back against the coffin and sighed deeply, before answering. “I lied. The sword was nothing. All the power you saw was my own. It was a test Turess and I came up with that we knew the others would fail. Lust for power is an easy trait to use against those who cannot be trusted.”
Leaning forward, Estin picked up a piece of the sword, eyeing the steel. Even with the ability to see magic in the world, he saw nothing special about it.
“Why? What is the purpose to all of this?”
Plucking the metal shard from Estin’s fingers, On’esquin turned it over and over in his own giant hand.
“We were losing control, through the mistakes of my own master,” the orc explained, then flicked the piece of metal across the room. “It took Turess the last days of his life and an army to retake control from the people I once served. My betrayal of them is the only reason he let me live, even if I was to be punished for all time.”
“You’re undead, like the corpses the Turessians send to destroy our cities.”
“Not hardly,” On’esquin said, chuckling. “I’m as alive as you. I just got rid of the nuisance of death. That, and it has made it painful to be around the living…the six of you make my head pound just by being here. Too jittery for my taste.”
Estin looked over and saw that Lorne had gone to Atall, making sure he was all right.
“We couldn’t even scratch you, so I doubt we did anything to your head,” he said somberly, realizing just how much they had put into the attack and accomplished nothing.
On’esquin leaned over and tapped Estin on the forehead. “That right there hurts me more than your spells,” he said firmly. “You use healing magic, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hear the voices?”
“Of course. My teacher once said it is just a part of the magic.”
“It is, but do you know what you’re hearing, wildling?”
Estin shook his head, having tried to avoid the answer to that question for a long time.
“You are hearing the voices of the dead, or those who never lived. They lend you bits of power to do things no mortal is intended to be capable of. There are spirits of most any motivation, willing to aid anyone with nearly any goal, so even the most horrible man can call on their aide.”
“What does that have to do with us making your head hurt?”
“My immortality came with a price,” added On’esquin. “I rarely hear the spirits anymore and can no longer use their magic. What I do hear are the whispers of the thoughts of the living. Even from here, I can hear a thousand little scratches in the back of my mind from those who live in the city. Turess sent me down here as much to protect me from madness as to protect the world from our secrets. Given enough time, I would become like my own master, wanting to stomp out life to make my head silent once more.”
“You can read my thoughts?”
On’esquin laughed loudly, his voice echoing off the walls. “No, it is just like the voices of your magic. I hear mumbling and the occasional faint word in the jumble. No one can read the thoughts of another.”
Estin thought about telling the man about the two voices that stood out in his own mind when drawing his magic together, but decided that would sound insane. Instead, he found another direction to take the conversation.
“The Turessians—those who are taking over the cities—they told me once that they can talk to each other in their minds.”
That halted On’esquin’s mirthful laughs and he turned to look down at Estin.
“They are not like me, then. If they truly can hear each other, then they are undead, as you accused me of being. Only the dead are able to hear the voices of the other deceased spirits clearly and talk to them. By being dead and still having access to their magic, they found a way around this.”
“What if I could make out the words of the dead?”
On’esquin smiled, his tusks peeking out of his mouth slightly. “That would mean they have something very important to tell you and they are working extremely hard to make you listen.”
Estin reached up and rapped his knuckles against the coffin they leaned against. “Are you going to tell me what is in here?”
“Madness,” answered the orc, standing up.
Leaning heavily on the coffin, the orcish man looked over his shoulder at Lorne, Atall, and the kits.
“Woman, take them out of here,” he said loudly, making Lorne jump. “This one should know what he has found before I send you all away. You will wait at the entrance for his return.”
Half carrying Atall, Lorne hurried from the room and up the ramp, this time followed by the kits.
“We didn’t win entirely,” On’esquin said once the others were gone. “The war against our own was a loss for everyone. What we did find, we held onto in hopes that we could hide it until we needed it again, if the war began anew.”
On’esquin easily shoved the stone lid off the coffin, letting it crash to the floor, where it shattered.
“I was the only one left here to guard the miles of crypts we built in these forsaken lands,” he went on, as Estin slowly got to his feet and backed away. “The others fled north in hopes of starting over, with Turess’ heirs doing their best to hide the knowledge we had gained, as well as the location of these old chambers.
“Back then, we believed that with our departure, these lands would likely never host another society. We had hoped the deserts would hide our secrets better than we could protect them.”
The orc stepped away from the crypt and motioned Estin to approach.
“You proved yourself worthy. Sadly, I have no army left to aid you,” On’esquin told him, his voice somewhat distant. “I give you nothing more than a tool to help yourself and others, or speed along the destruction of this age. I care little about which it is after so long. You passed the test, so you may look upon it. You may also choose to walk away.”
Estin took a tentative step toward the coffin, seeing a faint glow from inside. Curiosity drew him another step closer, but he could not make out anything inside the stone box. It was as though the light did nothing to illuminate it.
“Open your mind to the voices,” said On’esquin, turning and walking away toward the darker parts of the massive room. “Anything that happens after is your own fault. I know what you will find in there, but how you use it will make all the difference.”
Leaning over the edge of the coffin, Estin stared into the faint glow. The interior of the coffin was dark, even as light from it lit up his hands and arms.
“We will not meet again, wildling,” On’esquin was saying, though his voice was now distant. Somehow, the other coffins were beyond Estin’s vision, as though shadows were reclaiming them or they had vanished. “I wish you luck against those who defile our history.”
Closing his eyes, Estin did as he had been told, bracing himself as he opened himself to his magic. The voices came easier than normal, making him feel like he was in a crowded room, unable to make out any one person’s conversation in the din.
Slowly, the darkness in Estin’s own mind faded and he found himself dreaming unintentionally. The walls of his reality fell away and he was back in the woods near Altis, standing over a tiny fire pit, over which hung a pot of boiling water. Around him, the walls of an old canvas tent kept him from seeing where he was, though he had his guesses.
Another wildling walked past Estin, giving him a gentle push to get him out of her way. The older female was hunched slightly, but still moved with grace that seemed a part of her very being. Long doeskin robes covered much of her fur, but Estin’s attention snapped
to the yellowish fur of her tail, with its red stripes.
“You trouble me again, child,” chided Asrahn, coming over slowly to the fire. She poked at the pot and tossed a pile of tea leaves into the water as she hoisted it off of the fire. “Did I not earn my rest?”
“I lost Feanne and Oria,” he said without thinking, hanging his head in shame. “Atall and the kits are still with me, though.”
Asrahn poured some of the still-steeping tea into a cup, then shoved it into Estin’s hands. She sat down across from him, shaking her head, as though he had been a fool again. He had seen that expression often when she had been training him in magic.
“A tracker is one thing I am not. Can you not find them yourself, child? It is not my duty anymore.”
Estin sat down, only idly aware that he could feel the cool dirt under him and even the sharp edge of a stone. For a dream, it was incredibly clear.
“They are dead, Asrahn.”
The older female grinned, showing off her deadly-sharp fangs. “Do you think I would spend my afterlife here with that imbecile,” she said, pointing past Estin, “if I could have my Feanne here with me? At least then we could make decisions without asking his opinion.”
Estin turned and saw that an elderly fox wildling stood at the entrance to the tent. The male wore fitted clothing assembled from many lands, and leaned on a feather-topped walking stick. Though Lihuan’s fur had faded mostly to grey, his eyes still gleamed with knowledge that he likely wanted to share.
“She speaks the truth,” Lihuan said slowly, his eyes drifting over Estin, evaluating everything. “Our daughter and yours are not here.”
“Where are we?” asked Estin, turning back to Asrahn as he finally tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. In his movement, he spilled the tea, the hot liquid burning his leg.
“We are dead,” said Lihuan matter-of-factly. “You are visiting. I was rather wondering how.”
“Do shut your mouth you mangy scavenger,” snapped Asrahn at Lihuan. “I would explain to him what he needs to know before we run short on time.”
Lihuan smiled slightly at his mate, but answered, “Your tea will consume most of the time we do have. Tell him what he needs to know before the pleasantries of a hot drink…you harpy.”
Asrahn shook her head, flapping the feathers that hung from silver rings in her ears. “Never let your mate follow you into the afterlife,” she said softly, though loud enough that Estin knew Lihuan would hear her. “There is no peace in this.”
“What do I need to know?” asked Estin, now getting worried about how much time he had. “I want to know so much about what happened…”
“Damned fool got us both killed,” Asrahn blurted out, grinning evilly at Lihuan. “That part was obvious.”
Lihuan sat down beside Estin, saying, “What she is trying to say is that you will need Feanne if you are going to stop Arturis. We can hear him talking and he is not someone you can face alone. Even with her, I doubt you can win. His master will be far worse.”
“What can I do besides run?”
Asrahn gestured to Estin’s tea. “You could drink that, but I would rather you know what we’re doing to you first, child.”
“Doing to me?”
Estin eyed the tea, seeing nothing special about the discolored steaming water with leaves floating around the surface. Shifting his vision to look for magic, he was very nearly blinded as the tea’s water flared brightly.
“That was unwise,” Lihuan told him, catching Estin’s hand before he spilled the water. “The ringtails are always too curious.”
Blinking, Estin saw spots drifting across his vision. Slowly, he was able to make out the room again.
“The place where your body sits is strong in life and healing magic,” Asrahn explained, sipping at her own tea. “Where you really are, I do not know. What is clear is that for all the times we tried to talk to you, this is the first time you answered our call.”
“You were talking to me?” Estin asked, thinking back. “The voices…”
“He can be taught,” mocked Asrahn.
“We thought long about what we could do to aid you,” Lihuan added. “We have a plan. It is not a good plan, but it is all we could come up with.”
“I should run. Is that the plan?”
Lihuan shook his head. “If you run, you will either find mists or more Turessians. We hear the necromancers everywhere. They are in every land. The mists are no better, drifting from one city to the next. Anything that has not already fallen will fall soon. There is nowhere left to run.”
“We cannot fight Arturis and hope to win. I’ve seen him fight. He took Corraith by himself.”
“Not entirely true,” corrected Lihuan. “He managed to get many of his ghouls and zombies through the mists with him. Like any smart general, he had people inside Corraith before he attacked. He is using rumor and perception to defeat the city as much as his powers.”
Estin felt his body burn for an instant. Around him, the tent and the two wildlings wavered, as though he was viewing them through the heat rising off the desert.
“Time is short, child,” Asrahn said quickly, coming around the fire. She grabbed Estin’s hand that still held the tea. “You know what our Feanne is and what she is capable of.”
“Of course.”
“Then we offer you similar power,” she said, tightening her grip on his hand. As he watched, her face wavered again and everything became slightly blurred, though this time it remained somewhat out of focus. “Drink that to accept. If you are wise, you will decline. This is not safe, but it is the only thing we could offer to help you. Just as Feanne’s bond with nature gives her vast powers, this will bind you to the spirits.”
“Remember one thing if you do accept,” Lihuan added. “Revenge is not the path you want. Life is what this world needs, not more vengeance. Once you choose, we cannot help you further. The same powers and strengths can do either, but if you let yourself be consumed by one, you will wind up no better than the Turessians.”
Estin lifted the cup, bringing the steaming contents up to the edge of his mouth. He attempted to drink, but then collapsed as the dream fell away around him. In that second, he went from the warm tent with his lost friends, to lying flat on his back in the chill room beneath the desert.
Turning his head without getting up, Estin saw that that room was empty. On’esquin was nowhere to be found. The piles of bones were still there, but the coffin beside him had crumbled to dust. The other coffins were simply gone. The entire place looked as though it had been abandoned centuries earlier.
Groaning, Estin crawled to his feet, grabbing his swords as he got up. His whole body ached, as though he had been lying on the stone floor for hours. All of his muscles were cramped and the side of his face felt bruised from resting on the hard, uneven stones.
He limped slowly up the ramp out of the room, trying to get his stiff hip to work properly. Old injuries like that hurt more than usual, making Estin wish that he had learned a magical way to deal with minor aches, rather than just life-threatening wounds.
At the top of the ramp, Estin stopped and stared at what he found. Lorne sat with her skirt fanned out around her, while the kits sat around her in a makeshift camp, eating a meal. Empty supply bags were scattered around them, as if they had been there for quite some time. Nearby, Atall lay with his head propped on one of their backpacks, sleeping.
“About time,” Lorne said, trying to make the female kit eat a dried fruit, but the girl snarled and attacked it with her claws. “Atall asked us to wait for you to come back, but I was wondering how long to wait. Much longer and we would have been forced to leave to get more water and food.”
“How long has it been?” Estin asked, checking on Atall. The boy was deeply asleep and his breathing weak, but he would live. “How long has he slept?”
“Hours and hours and hours!” said one of the male kits, excitedly.
“No, really,” Estin said, smiling at the boy.
“How long?”
“He’s right,” said Lorne, eating the fruit herself. “Atall has been out since sometime yesterday, for the most part. He’s woken twice, but passed out again after taking some water.”
Estin sniffed, trying to figure out where On’esquin might have gone, but a thousand scents jumbled his senses. Holding his head, he sat down.
“Why didn’t you come down to get me?” asked Estin.
Lorne eyed him like he was an idiot.
“We did, but you sent us away,” she told him, motioning toward the ramp. “Nothing down there that could hurt you, so we just thought we’d wait until you were done staring at the walls.”
“What about On’esquin?”
“Who?” asked Lorne, squinting at him. “Or what? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“The orc.”
“I haven’t seen an orc in weeks, Estin.”
Estin looked at the kits, but they appeared just as confused. “Then what happened to Atall?”
Lorne reached over and patted Atall’s leg.
“Poor boy was exhausted,” she explained. “You would be too after burying that many people and then hiking across the desert. He just collapsed when we got down there.”
“Lorne, are you telling me you don’t remember Atall and I trying to fight against a Turessian down there? Do you remember anything?”
“I remember just fine, Estin,” she answered testily, catching one of the male kits off-guard and shoving some fruit in his mouth. She clamped a hand over his jaw, preventing him from spitting it out. The kit squirmed and pawed at her hand, but eventually ate the food, after which she released him. “You went all crazy demanding we leave you alone for a while. I think we did fairly well, considering how long it took you to come back.”
Estin patted Atall’s head, trying to rouse him. Atall sat up slowly, though he was groggy and barely aware of Estin’s presence.
“Lorne, what happened down there was…” Stopping mid-thought, Estin sniffed the air again. A single scent cut through all the others. It was far away, but somehow it carried on the little bit of moving air. “Do you smell blood, Lorne?”