Aching God

by Mike Shel

  After introductions were made, Rae ushered them into another chamber. An enormous map of the lands surrounding the Cradle Sea was framed on one wall and a large sheet of black slate was mounted on another. Surrounding an ancient oval table of rich cherry were a dozen padded chairs, rolled vellum scrolls sitting before four of them. Auric and his three companions sat in the latter chairs. Belech, silent but wary, sat down next to Auric.

  “I have spoken with each of you individually,” Rae began, “providing more or less the same information. You have the unusual charge of re-entering a Djao temple in the Barrowlands that cost three Syraeic agents their lives, one his sight, and two others their vocations. The Besh relic must be returned to its place of origin. Our scholars and qualified experts at the Queen’s Court believe that doing so may very well end the catastrophe the artifact has inflicted upon us. The scrolls before you contain all we have on the first expedition.”

  Auric’s three youthful companions immediately unrolled their scrolls and began reading. Auric looked down at the scroll, then at Rae, eyes narrowed. “This is all? Where are the maps? The pre-expedition research papers? Where are the transcripts from the post-expedition inquiry?”

  “Sir Auric, I will get to that momentarily. In the meantime, indulge me and read the scroll.”

  Auric grimaced, unrolled the scroll, and read.

  Expedition beneath St. Besh, Year of Empire 745 – Established recollections of assembled lictors, scholars, field agents, and representatives of the Blue Cathedral.

  Expedition agents included:

  Galadayem Pela – Expedition leader, twenty-two-year veteran of the League, expert swordswoman, known for her courage and natural ability to inspire it in others. Had previously entered at least fifteen Djao ruins, including five temples. Fell to her death into what was described as a “bottomless pit.” Body not recoverable.

  Quintus Valec – Priest of Belu, seconded by the Blue Cathedral to accompany the expedition to act as spiritual guide and medicus; previously worked with the League on at least a dozen occasions. Survived expedition. Following the inquiry, left the priesthood and Boudun. Whereabouts and welfare unknown.

  Cosus of Mourcort – Pyromancer, twenty-year veteran of the League. Known to be moody, irascible, but effective in combat. Reportedly “strangled by an enormous serpent” in the depths of the temple. Body not recovered.

  Ariellum Brisk – Alchemist, twelve-year veteran of the League. Known to be quick-thinking and cool under pressure. Killed by “an unseen force that tore her body to pieces.” Remains not recovered.

  Wallach Bessemer – Warrior-priest of Vanic, sixteen-year veteran of the League, known as a risk-taker. High spirited, excellent for the morale of expeditions, dependable. Resigned commission with the League soon after inquiry, left Boudun. No known contact with the Cult of Vanic hierarchy since then. Whereabouts and welfare unknown.

  Gower Morz – Jack of all trades (lock-pick, machinist, cartograher, linguist), ten-year veteran of the League. Quick-witted, agile despite a deformity that earned him the nickname “The Hunchback.” Blinded early during the foray into the temple. Left near the entrance, recovered by Valec and Bessemer as they fled the place. Cult of Belu unable to cure his blindness. Retired to the Monastery of St. Qoterine on the Isle of Kenes. Welfare unknown.

  Expedition details:

  The Besh relic was pried from an idol of an unknown Djao deity described as “fat, toad-like, humanoid, repugnant.”

  This grouping of agents had worked together with distinction many times before. Their achievements sufficiently impressive to earn them a portrait in the entry hall.

  Re-entry to the Djao temple has been forbidden by the ecumenical order occupying the retreat built above it. Known as the White Priory of St. Besh, the order is comprised of priests and devotees of many different gods of the pantheon. Its mission is to foster ecclesiastical cooperation and theological discovery. Leader of the order at the time of the expedition was a priest of Marcator named Jonathon, described as “old enough to have personally witnessed the gods float the Isle of Hanifax from the sea.” Doubtless deceased. Nothing known of its other members or who now serves as prior.

  “Is there nothing more?” asked Lumari, a bite of incredulity in her tone.

  “And what’s this nonsense about ‘established recollections?’” Gnaeus interjected. “Where are the records?”

  All eyes turned to Pallas Rae.

  “There was a fire in the archives the night Jalla unleashed the relic. It consumed all records concerning the expedition. This is everything recalled by those who had seen the inquiry transcripts in the past or had any familiarity with the mission or its field agents.”

  “A fire in the archives?” Del erupted, eyes wide. “There are potent wards protecting them from such a disaster! What other records were lost?”

  “None,” the lictor answered. “We only assume it was a fire because the records of the Besh expedition were reduced to black ash. Not a single sheet of paper from another record was consumed.”

  Rae allowed that to sink in for a moment. Auric left his own flood of questions unvoiced as his younger peers began clamoring with queries. The lictor held up a wrinkled hand. “I have something else to show you,” said the elderly woman, standing up from the table.

  The lictor led the group from the meeting room and out into the great entry hall. Auric knew where they were headed before they reached their destination. Soon they stood before the defaced portrait he and Belech had seen when they first arrived at the Citadel.

  “This is Pela and her team?” asked Del.

  Rae nodded.

  “By Vanic’s balls—who did this?” said Gnaeus through clenched teeth.

  “Wrong question, lad,” said Auric, immediately regretting his fatherly tone. “What did this, more like.”

  “Sir Auric is right,” said the aged lictor. “The night Jalla cut himself on the Besh relic, cracks appeared on the faces of Pela, Cosus, and Ariellum. By the next day the plaster containing the faces of the first two and the entire form of the latter littered the floor, and the others were defaced as you see.”

  “And Morz was blinded during the expedition?” Lumari asked, a quiver in her voice.

  “Aye,” said Auric, looking at the holes gouged into the plaster where the man’s eyes had been.

  “This is a joke. A really sick joke!” sputtered Del, reaching up to touch the mural.

  “We don’t think so, Sister Del,” Rae said in response, a light hand restraining the sorcerer from touching the fresco. “Our Master of Sorcerers detected necromantic residue on the mural, a sort that left him weeping and vomiting for three days afterward. You knew Polosander? He was not a man easily rattled. He contracted the illness a week later and was dead before night fell.”

  Del pulled her hand away and glared at the damaged fresco as though it offended her.

  “All right, all right!” barked Gnaeus. “Some supernatural nonsense is afoot, obviously, but it doesn’t change our goal, correct? So, we charter a ship and leave in the morning. Let’s have at it!”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” said Lictor Rae, steering the party back in the direction of the meeting room. As they walked, Lumari, Gnaeus, and Del chattered among themselves, agitated. Auric walked with Rae while Belech lingered before the damaged portrait.

  “He’s an impulsive one, eh? Eighth son of minor nobility, no doubt, or a bastard?” Auric whispered to the lictor.

  “Gnaeus? Yes,” Rae answered with a smirk. “One of six known bastards of the Earl of Tessy. He grates, but he’s good in a fight and ferociously loyal to the League. Don’t judge him too harshly yet, Sir Auric. The lad may surprise you.”

  “The others are competent, I assume?”

  “And more. The Alchemists’ Guild can’t stop raving about Lumari. ‘The future of field alchemy,’ they say. Morso Khin
ny is Chemical Advisor at the Queen’s Court. He’s bent my ear on several occasions with indecipherable tales of her genius, loaded with enough alchemical jargon to choke an ox. Del has also earned high praise. She’s deeply inquisitive, alarmingly bright. I once heard the Master of Sorcerers describe her as ‘naturally intuitive’ in her grasp of Middle Djao.”

  Middle Djao. The enormously abstruse language of sorcery. Only the most agile minds could master its complexities and labyrinthine rules, which was why there were fifty agents swinging a blade like Auric to every sorcerer in the League.

  “High praise, indeed. Where did she train?”

  “First at the Spire in Aelbrinth, then here in Boudun. Graduated Order of the Inverse Circle. All very impressive.”

  “Have any of them worked together before?”

  “No. They were members of separate novitiates during their training. They’re familiar with one another, but they’ve never been in the field on joint ventures.”

  “And none have been to the Barrowlands.”

  “None have been to the Barrowlands.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments, frescoes of long-dead Syraeic League worthies looking down on them as they passed by.

  “Between the three of them they have nearly fifteen years of field experience,” said Rae. “Frankly, we’re lucky it was these three who answered the recall. They’re all fine specimens of what the League can produce. Its future. Much like dear Agnes.”

  “And how will they feel about someone like me helming this endeavor?”

  “Del and Lumari both read up on you in the archives already. I think you have some respect there. Gnaeus…well, Gnaeus will be a longer-term project.”

  Auric sighed. As they reached the room, Belech caught up with them.

  “That painting bothers me,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone as they resumed their seats.

  “I don’t think it cheered any of us, sir,” Lumari answered with a frown.

  “No, I mean the way it was defaced. There’s clearly meaning there. The Hunchback was blinded.”

  “Metaphorically and literally,” said Del, interested in what the big man was saying.

  “The faces of those known to have died in the temple were removed, and the alchemist woman…what was her name?”

  “Ariellum,” offered Lumari, sitting up in her seat.

  “Yes. She was torn to little bits, so her whole image was removed from the painting.”

  “Yes?” asked Gnaeus, eyebrows arched.

  “Well, why the crosses over the hearts of the other two who survived? What does that mean?”

  The assembly was quiet, pondering his question.

  “Very worthy of further study, I’m sure,” said a sardonic Gnaeus after a moment. “But we have to make our arrangements for the expedition. You said things weren’t simple, Lictor Rae?”

  “No, they are not,” she began. “Before we can mount an expedition, we must first petition the throne for permission to enter the Barrowlands. Chartering a ship—”

  “Permission?” interrupted Gnaeus, incredulous. “You said the throne agrees the relic must be returned to the temple! Why would we need to petition the queen?”

  “Protocol dictates—” began Rae, before the young man interrupted her again.

  “Protocol? Belu’s blue nightie, people are dying here!”

  “Gnaeus…” Del laid a steadying hand on the man’s forearm. He jerked it away and the sorcerer recoiled.

  “No! It’s bloody madness! The empire crumbles while we dance to this insane tune! Bow and scrape to a doddering cadaver—”

  Auric brought his fist down on the table with sudden violence, startling everyone.

  “Enough! Our world is as it is. We must petition the Crown for a Letter of Imprimatur to enter the Barrowlands, as every prior expedition has done, no matter how bloody ridiculous it seems. So, tomorrow morning we’ll bathe and primp and put on our best clothes and present ourselves to Her Gracious Majesty, Geneviva Reges, Imperatrix Hanifaxa, long may she reign. And I will speak for the lot of us.”

  He pointed a finger that trembled, a tic that escaped no one’s notice.

  “And you’ll keep your trap shut! Think thoughts like that while we’re at court and you’ll have our heads on pikes staring down from the Mouth before the lunch hour!”

  The silence following Auric’s outburst was a near physical thing. Del and Lumari looked down at the table, while Gnaeus fumed but dared not speak. After what felt like a generation, Belech rapped his knuckles on the hardwood table.

  “Well, I’ve always found Sir Auric to be a jolly fellow.”

  This elicited a peal of laughter from Pallas Rae, followed in succession by Lumari and Del. Soon enough, Auric and even Gnaeus had joined them.

  The group discussed further preparatory matters, including the need to secure a priest from the Blue Cathedral to accompany them. No expedition into the Barrowlands was wise without support from the healing clergy. Lictor Rae suggested the party stop off at the Isle of Kenes on the off chance that Gower Morz was alive and available for interview at St. Qoterine.

  “He’s the only survivor whose whereabouts we know,” she said. “He might recall details of the temple interior that would prove valuable.” Everyone agreed this was a wise course of action. After a further half hour free of clashes or rancor, Lictor Rae made to wrap up the meeting.

  “Make your individual preparations for the journey and rest up tonight. The entire party must present themselves to the throne when access to the Barrowlands is at issue, so you’ll all attend the morning audience with Her Majesty—long may she reign. I’ll request a cleric from the Blue Cathedral and arrange for a ship to take you to the Isle of Kenes, then Serekirk. Berth for the four of you, plus your priest, mounts and gear.”

  “The five of us,” interjected Belech.

  “Belech,” Auric said, touched by the soldier’s offer. “You’ve discharged your duty to Lady Hannah, got me to Boudun safe and sound. You have no obligation to travel to the Barrowlands. Besides, you have no training in the field.”

  “My obligation, Sir Auric,” the big man in a stern tone, “is to see you safe to Boudun and back to Daurhim. Lady Hannah would skin me alive if I showed up at the keep without you and Glutton. And perhaps you aren’t familiar with my mace.” Belech raised the flanged weapon. “This beauty has cracked more skulls than you children can count.”

  “Tell us what you did in the war, grandpa,” quipped Gnaeus, which drew laughter from both young women and reluctant smiles from Auric and Belech.

  Auric saw that he wouldn’t be able to dissuade Belech from his pledge to accompany the expedition, though he doubted the man truly understood to what he was committing. Rae nodded her approval. The meeting adjourned. Auric caught a scowl from Gnaeus as the younger man left the room, suggesting he had by no means been forgiven for the dressing down he’d delivered.

  That was poorly handled, thought Auric. I’m too on edge. I must govern this emotion.

  As they were led to their sleeping chambers, Belech asked Auric if he’d had an audience with the queen before.

  “Yes,” he answered, nodding with a frown. “I personally petitioned Her Majesty for permission to enter the Barrowlands on a few occasions, and many more times attended as member of an expedition while someone else asked her leave. And she knighted me.”

  “What’s court like?”

  “Strange. Wonderful. Terrible. No telling how much things have changed since I was last in the throne room.”

  “You told me the other day there was less to your title than I might think. What’s the story behind your knighthood?”

  “Ah,” whispered Auric, embarrassed. “Another time, friend Belech. Another time.”

  After they parted, Auric couldn’t help but think back on those earlier times standing before the throne.
It was an intimidating, almost alien world, filled with pomp, ritual, and hidden pitfalls as deadly as any Busker tomb. Please all gods who listen, he thought, don’t let me say anything tomorrow that will land our heads on pikes.

  6

  Courtiers

  Geneviva succeeded her brother, King Edmund V, after he died choking on a chicken bone at an anniversary celebration of his ascension to the throne. Little had been accomplished in the three years of his reign to clean up the mess left by their father, Edmund IV, who had launched a ruinously expensive and interminable war against the Azkayans in the east, leaving the less glamorous aspects of kingship in the hands of venal aristocrats and swindlers. No one expected great things from the youngest child of a middling monarch who had never expected to be crowned herself, given that five siblings stood before her in the line of succession. But brothers Genech and Padrig were both killed fighting in the Azkayan War, sister Elia died in childbirth, and sister Sellah drowned with the queen mother when the Hammer of Warwede sank in a storm on its way to a state visit in the Duchy of Kelse.

  Queen Geneviva quickly shamed those who doubted her. At the age of only twenty-three, she took to the role of monarch with remarkable skill and subtlety, reorganizing her government, weeding out waste and corruption, and putting an end to the petty place-seeking and sycophancy that had beleaguered Hanifax and its empire for years. She beat back the Azkayans, crippling their greatly-feared navy so that the waters of the empire and its surrounding lands were free from piracy and foreign meddling for the first time in over a century. For forty years, Geneviva ruled well, the empire’s culture flourished, and its people prospered. It was, by any reckoning, a true Golden Age.

  Then came the Gray Plague.

  Of course, the disease was believed to have originated in the Barrowlands, from which all manner of evil arose. The Church of Belu did its best to contend with the epidemic that swept down through the western empire and into the main islands of Hanifax. The young and healthy could weather the illness with priestly aid, but the ailment proved far more tenacious in those of frail constitution or past the age of sixty. Queen Geneviva was sixty-three when she contracted the disease. The clergy of divine Belu performed every ritual and liturgical intervention at its disposal, while the entire nation prayed fervently for her recovery. Priests of the other great gods sought aid from their patrons to save their queen, but after many fruitless weeks she lay in her bed, languishing and insensate, her councilors despairing that the end of a brilliant era was at hand.