Or is it empty?
All of a sudden, Alant noticed that… something… hung in the air all around him. Wisps of lines flowed all about him, swirling and interacting with each other and all the things in the room. It reminded him of seeing Spectals from the Essence, yet not exactly the same. It was as if the Spectals had been stretched into strings instead of their normal round dot shape.
No. Not strings, more like… Strands. Strands of the Essence. Still, it is an Essence gone mad! The air contains no Essence, the Essence is inside solid objects!
Even as he chastised himself, knowing he could not see what he now saw, he knew he did see it. The swirls formed the very air—so very unlike the Spectals of the Essence—and danced before him. He reached out with his mind. Could he touch these… Strands? He was amazed to make contact. Experimentally, he pulled on a strand. It moved to his will. He almost laughed, and reached out further with his mind, connecting with every strand of…
Of what? Not Spectals certainly! Still, made of the Essence, no less!
He balled them up, unwrapped them, drew them forth, and sent them away. Lost in the revelry of this new experience, a spasm of panic racked him when he remembered that death had been shot at him. Should have long since pierced his breast and left him bleeding—dying. He jerked his head up and his jaw dropped open. Two crossbow bolts hung in the air a few paces from him. He knew they still raced toward him, of that, he was certain. Though, he had no idea of how he knew. Still, he felt he could walk up to them and pluck them from their course. He looked past them and saw that everyone else in the room stood frozen as well. Like living statues, alive and unmoving.
Reality has stopped! Is this what happens when you die?
He started to move aside, to remove himself from the path of certain death, and found that his body would not cooperate. Glancing down, he noticed that he stood frozen in place as well.
It is not the Plane that has stopped. It is that my consciousness has sped!
Looking back at the bolts, he noticed that they drew closer—still slicing through the air.
They are moving! I am sure of it! Not frozen then, just slowed.
Curious, he reached out further with his mind. He could feel the Strands of Essence surrounding the bolts. See how the Strands followed the bolt, led it. He almost understood how they twisted and slid away from the approaching projectiles. He took a Strand and wrapped it experimentally around one shaft. Without understanding what he was doing or how, he pulled the Strand tight, nudging it slightly to the side. The bolt continued on its painfully slow trajectory. Yet, with the Strand attached to it, he noticed that the bolt began to turn. It followed the new direction he had set using the weird Strand of Essence. Reaching out to the other bolt, he repeated what he had done to the first. Once finished, he stepped back and realized he had not been in his body.
I am floating outside my physical form! How am I to return?
Terror gripped him, and he forced it down. Focusing, he slipped back into his mortal confines. He did not know how, he just did what seemed natural.
As if any of this is natural!
Two loud thunks slammed into his ears as the bolts embedded themselves into the soft limestone wall on either side of him. Snapping his head to the side, he felt his stomach lurch. One of the bolts rested no more than a hands width from his head.
It would have pierced my eye!
"Fools! You missed!" Prince Aritian’s hiss echoed across the large chamber. "Kill him! Kill him now before it is too late!"
The Gralet’nars dropped their crossbows and drew their long, sickle-like swords. With only a moments hesitation, they dashed across the room toward Alant.
Noticing that he no longer saw any of the Essence strings from before, Alant tried to reach out with his mind once more. Tried to regain the distorted Sight of the Essence he had achieved when reality had slowed. Yet, he had no idea how he had done it in the first place. Lunging forward, thinking to dash across the dais, Alant was cut off as one of the Gralet’nars hopped in front of him, forcing him back against the wall, once more trapped.
He had to get away, find some way out. Terror gripped him as he watched the Gralet’nars approach, their bulging arms rippling as they gripped their swords. They closed in for the kill. One stepped forward and raised his blade over a shoulder, preparing to slash Alant in twain.
It cannot end this way! I must escape!
Snap!
Pain laced up Alant’s arm, and the Gralet’nar lowered its sword, befuddlement painted across his eyeless face. Alant looked down at his arm and was horrified to see that it had shattered, crumpled into a hideous awkward bend as it rolled up upon itself.
Crack! Crack!
A scream burst from his lungs and Alant slumped to the floor. Both his legs bent back and twisted upon themselves. Through the pain, he saw both Gralet’nars back away. One of them held an arm up as if to protect its face against what it saw.
"What is happening?" The Prince brushed past his Warrior Servants and hovered over Alant, staring down at the boy with a mixed look of anger and terror.
Alant heard himself scream again. A scream cut short when his chest caved in, squeezing out all the air from his lungs. His body thrust forward and his spine snapped with mind numbing agony. His head pounded as though caught in a vice. Even through the anguish, he knew he would not survive. Realized he did not want to survive. All that was left to him was pain and suffering that stripped all hope from him, leaving death his only salvation. A fast succession of pops and cracks resounded through the chamber as the last of his bones snapped and broke. One last, loud crunch resonated in his ears, and he was aware that his skull was caving in. He could not contemplate the horror of what that meant for him.
Everything went black.
An icy-cold droplet of water smacked into the back of Arderi Cor’s head and snaked down his neck, sending a shiver cascading down his leg. Scowling, he held his torch high overhead and peered further along the dark stairwell descending into the bowels under Mocley. For near a quarter aurn, the stairs had descended without end, taking him further and further into the Undercity. The air stank of death, and a thick coating of filth now covered his tongue. Rivulets of water ran down the walls at irregular intervals, and large swaths of a greenish mold grew in the crevices between large stone blocks that formed the tunnel.
A shuffling sound—an image of a corpse being drug across the floor—echoed from below. “Ragnor?”
“Aye, lad. You be almost to me.”
Rounding a final bend in the stairs, Arderi entered a small corridor. As he stepped from the final stair, his feet submerged into water. Throwing out a hand, he grabbed Ragnor’s arm for balance when he slid on the thick, slimy substance covering the floor.
“Easy, lad. The floor under the water be slick as ice. It be easier to slide your feet across the bottom as opposed to walking.”
Arderi regained his footing, then motioned for Ragnor to release his arm. “What is this place?”
Turning, Ragnor held his torch in front of him, and Arderi saw that the same mold-etched stone lined the walls. The corridor ran off to disappear beyond the circle of light provided by their torches. Gliding his feet through the water, his movement creating a thick ripple that lapped against the walls, Ragnor began moving down the corridor without lifting his feet. “This be the Undercity. Very few know of its existence, no one knows its true history.”
On unsteady legs, Arderi mimicked the older man’s gait. Within a few steps, he found that his feet slid easily over the floor, and soon caught up with Ragnor, matching the older man stride for stride.
I cannot tell if the floor here is stone like the stairs were. If it were not for the smell of the stagnate water and the icky feel of it, this might well be enjoyable.
“What do you know of it?”
“Mocley, which do sit above us now, be ne
ar two thousand seasons old.”
Thinking back to Alant’s first Crystal, Arderi remembered his brother’s history lesson. The memory brought back the remorse of his brother’s death, and a sense of loss welled up inside him.
Brother, I have not even had the opportunity to mourn your passing into the aftermore.
Pushing the feeling away, he concentrated on Ragnor’s words.
“No one in living memory has any knowledge of a city at this location prior to Mocley’s foundation by the Elmorian, Artimus Mocley. As far as it did ever be told, this area did be grassland. Home to the Asgarthians who now roam the lands far to the east.”
“Yet, many winters after Mocley did be built, the Undercity did be discovered. Whatever the name of this ancient city, and whoever did build it, that knowledge vanished long ago.” Ragnor slid to a stop, forcing Arderi to do likewise. Turning, he looked into Arderi’s eyes. “Yet one thing be certain, whoever did build this place be far more powerful than any who do live now. There be… things down here.”
The two men continued down the hall, and an odd foreboding settled over Arderi. “Why do you say that?”
“You shall soon see. Suffice it to say that there be secrets to be found down here that no exist elsewhere that I know of.”
Plodding along, torchlight flickering off slick stone walls, Arderi paid closer attention to his surroundings. They did not travel down one solid hall. Many doorways or intersecting passageways appeared at irregular intervals. Stone and rubble blocked many of these areas where whatever lay beyond had collapsed. Still, Ragnor continued at a steady pace, taking a turn here, or ducking into a thin passageway there, until Arderi lost all sense of direction.
If we become separated, I will never find my way out!
So Arderi followed as the older man jutted down one passage until he turned down another intersection that led them off on a new route. For nearly another aurn—Arderi was sure it was no more than an aurn, it was hard to tell in the cramped, dark tunnels of the Undercity—they slid along in silence.
Finally, when Arderi was about to ask for a respite, he noticed a glow emanating from somewhere in the distance. It lay well beyond the light cast by the torches they carried. The glow shone red and pulsed off the slime-coated walls in the way a campfire might.
We are not alone down here!
“What is that ahead?” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, yet it echoed off in every direction.
Turning to look at him, Ragnor pointed his torch ahead. “That, lad, be the reason we did risk entering the Undercity.”
The corridor ended in a massive arch. Carved stones, each engraved with strange runes and glyphs, adorned the top of the archway. Stepping through, Arderi saw a massive round chamber. Its domed ceiling stretched high overhead, and at regular intervals, five additional archways led out of the room. Yet, it was the center dais that captured his attention and held it firm.
Circular stairs set in the center of the room rose up from the brownish-green water to stand about a pace from the floor. Six large pillars, as smooth as silk and blacker than pitch, rose up from the edges of the platform, and each arched in, like the fingers of a giant hand. At their tips, they held aloft a massive red Crystal about the size of a small child.
Unconsciously, Arderi dropped his hand to his sword’s hilt. “It is also like the Ka’gana in Dorochi!”
“Aye, lad. It be, at that.” Sliding up to the dais, Ragnor stepped out of the water. Stopping at the top step, he turned and motioned for Arderi to join him. “This be a Quay’ka’gana—a sending stone.” The older man held out a hand to steady Arderi as he stepped from the water. “It did be discovered by our Order some thousand seasons past. This be the gateway to Bin’Satsu.”
“So this is not Bin’Satsu? Where is it, then?” Arderi stared into the deep facets of the large red Crystal suspended over his head by the thin black pillars.
“It be a citadel. The only safe haven the Tat’Sujen have to call their own.” A loud clack echoed from one of the other passageways and Ragnor snapped his head around. “Quick, now. Although our journey here did be uneventful, this be no the place to tarry. There be things down here that you no want to meet, if you can avoid it. Once you be safe in Bin’Satsu, all of your questions will be answered.”
“Me? Are you not coming as well?” The thought of losing his newfound guide disturbed Arderi more than he wanted to admit.
Ragnor is my one connection to whatever this new life is.
The older man shook his head. “Nix, lad. My duties for the now be here, taking care of Sindian Rillion. Yet, I did bond to you. If you do have any need of me, I will be at your disposal.” Taking Arderi by the arm, Ragnor guided him into the center of the dais, then stepped back onto the bottom stair. Extending his arm, he pointed to Arderi’s hip. “Unsheathe your blade and unwrap the hilt.”
Arderi did as instructed. As he freed the Ka’gana nestled within his hilt, a blinding flash of red light cascaded out and up, merging with the light radiating from the larger stone above. He gave a questioning look at Ragnor. “What do I do now?”
A look of remorse filled Ragnor’s eyes. “Now you have nothing to do except wait. I be sorry. This will no be pleasant for you, lad.”
Snap!
Dorochi slipped from Arderi’s hand as pain shot up his arm. Gripping his wrist with his other hand, it horrified him to see that several of his fingers had bent backwards, the bones within them breaking.
Through the agony of his hand, fear reached out and gripped Arderi. He looked wild-eyed toward Ragnor, who took another step away, a sad look upon his face.
I have been betrayed!
Crack! Crack!
His knees buckled, and Arderi fell to the floor as both of his legs warped into a perverted, twisted shape. The agony of his broken bones caused him to writhe upon the floor. Unable to control himself, he screamed out in anguish until his chest caved in, crushing all the wind from his lungs. Crumpling into a ball, Arderi rolled over onto his back and stared up at the Quay’ka’gana. Streaks of red slashed across the room and bore into his eyes, blinding him to all else.
All is red! There is nothing except the red! Like blood! I am covered in it! The entire Plane bleeds!
A loud crunch reverberated in his ears and he knew his skull was caving in. One last scream escaped him as the pain and torment bore him into nothingness.
The trip out of the warehouse was a hazy blur. Klain remembered Charver leaving for a while as he lay against a box waiting for death.
It would have been a welcome release.
Yet the boy returned before death had taken him into the aftermore. Charver had half-helped, half-dragged Klain outside into the bright noonday sun. Through begging and cajoling, Charver loaded Klain into a wagon that waited in front of the warehouse.
Lying in the back, watching the clouds play in the clear-blue sky, Klain had no other memories of their journey until he awoke here, in a small stone room. Charver sat slumped in an unpadded ladder-backed chair at his bedside.
When the boy noticed Klain stir, he jumped up and ran to his side. “Master Klain! You are awake!” Slipping his tiny hand into Klain’s paw, he gave it a squeeze.
A calm feeling of restfulness covered Klain like a warm blanket.
I feel as if I have slept for days!
Reaching up, Klain waved a paw over the spot Estular’s sword had penetrated. Young Master Vimith smiled, a twinkle glinting in his eye. “There is not even a scar! The Shaper who mended you did a wonderful job.”
Just then, the door cracked open and a balding Human poked his head inside. Seeing the two next to each other, the man smiled and stepped into the room. “I thought I heard voices.” The man was dressed in a plain brown robe. Thin, brown leather sandals and a rope belt finished his outfit. Shutting the door behind him, he looked down at Klain. “How do you feel?”
<
br /> Klain propped himself up on his elbows. He felt neither aches nor pains. “I feel fine. Like waking from a restful sleep.”
The man in brown looked down and smiled. “You should. You have been asleep since the eve before last.” He pointed to Charver. “The boy has not left your side.”
Giving Klain a sheepish grin, Charver let go of his paw and stood. Reaching into a small pouch that hung from his waist, he fished out a fat gold coin and held it awkwardly toward the man. “For your help.”
The man seemed genuinely shocked by the gesture.
Or the amount. I still do not understand the value of Human coin.
Still, the man overcame his momentary astonishment, reached out and plucked the coin from the boy’s fingers. Bowing his head slightly, he opened the door. “If you are ever in need of my services again, young Master Vimith, you have only to summon me. I wish you both well.”
The door closed behind the man, and Klain sat up and swung his paws to the floor. “I stink!”
Giggling, Charver crossed the room and opened the door. “There is a bath down the hall. Be quick, however. I would like to make it home before sundown.”
Taking in the room once more, Klain cocked his head. “Where are we?”
“Still in Mocley. We are at one of my father’s shops in the Merchantillian. This is my father’s apartment. We stay here sometimes when we are in Mocley.”
“Does your father know we are here?”
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