Aching God

by Mike Shel

  “Don’t forget the other one,” Lumari interjected. “Bessemer…Wallach Bessemer—he was a priest, too. A warrior-priest of Vanic, but a priest nonetheless.”

  “Their vows are very different from ours,” said Sira, “but a warrior-priest walking away from the Syraeic League is the equivalent of one of us leaving the bosom of Belu. Sometimes particularly zealous priests head off to the Korsa frontier, offer their services to a local lord to patrol the border or participate in punitive raids against the nomads. Or even fight with the beleaguered remnants in poor Ursena. It’s possible he took exile in that form. It’s an honorable course for Vanic’s cult. But there’s a great ceremony for such a change in vocation. Wallach Bessemer had no such ceremony.”

  “If either of them still lives,” said Gnaeus, “they’d be well into their sixties or seventies. I’m not sure Bessemer’s swinging a sword any longer.”

  “He wielded a flail in the mural,” quipped Belech.

  “Sword, flail; the man’s likely walking with a cane by now, if he ambulates at all.”

  Auric and Belech exchanged a wry glance that passed Gnaeus’s notice.

  “Regardless,” said Auric at last, “both were priests whose faith was very possibly broken by what they encountered. Again, this speaks not just to physical danger the place we’re going holds, but mental and spiritual peril as well .”

  “Auric, you’ve never spoken of your own faith,” said Lumari. “We know you didn’t carry any sort of blessed token before being given one by Sira.

  Auric was unable to prevent a sour expression from blossoming on his face. He ran his hand through his graying hair, felt himself rubbing the pommel of his Djao sword. “I was angry at the gods, yes. The loss of my companions in that place caused me to question how much the gods truly concern themselves with our comings and goings, or our cries for aid. Before that, I was as faithful as anyone. I observed the major holidays, had a small shrine to Belu in my home and wore a blue rose pendant under my shirt. Afterward…well, I still feel less than certain the gods wish us well.”

  All but Auric looked to Sira, perhaps expecting the priest to offer some platitude or rejoinder to his statement. She only smiled sadly and looked on Auric with something like kind concern.

  “You are an agnostic, then,” said Lumari finally, in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “If you must use a word to describe me, that one works as well as another. The gods exist. This we know. We have all felt the power of Belu, for instance, when we’ve been injured or fallen ill, channeled through a priest like Sira. That is undeniable. Warrior-priests of Vanic can call upon the god and enter the Divine Fury, performing martial feats far beyond human capabilities. And I’ve seen others do amazing things, having prayed to their gods for aid. But how much do these deities involve themselves in our daily lives? How much do they care for our fates? I have no way of knowing. Thus, I place my faith in my sword and the companions beside me. I trust in them.” Auric paused, put a hand on Sira’s hands folded on the table before her. “And I count on the faith of others when the times require them.”

  “A rather sorry agnostic you are, then,” said Lumari.

  “Again,” Auric answered, “use whatever word works for you.”

  There was a loud knock at the door. Del stood to answer, but before she could open it, the person outside bounded through the portal.

  “Greetings!” said the man in a jovial voice.

  He was a short, pale-skinned fellow wearing dull brown homespun, a fringe of raggedy beard around his chin, his upper lip bare. He had a homely, pleasant face, with a pug nose and lively, dark eyes, thick eyebrows permanently at an angle suggesting amused surprise. His hair was shaved in a bowl cut above his ears and his teeth were small and even. He wore a short sword sheathed at his side in a simple leather scabbard.

  “Eubrin Massey, at your service,” he announced to the room. “I understand you are in the business of hiring for an expedition?”

  “We understood that Pennyman had sent in all she had to show us,” Auric answered.

  “I am the last,” Eubrin riposted with a grin. “You have a reputation for being picky, ladies and sirs! None of the parade of applicants who left the room had smiles on their faces.”

  “I’m not sure Gouric and Messine ever smile,” said Gnaeus sourly, to no one in particular.

  “If you refer to the last two who came out of here,” responded Eubrin, “they weren’t smiling, but they did look sufficiently smug. Based on what I witnessed, I’d say you hired no more than two. But rumor was you had room for more on your imprimatur.”

  “What could you offer if we did?” asked Gnaeus, stuffing another chunk of potato from Pennyman’s stew into his mouth.

  “Why, myself, of course! I’m a jack of all trades, good in a fight, able to pick a lock, detect a ruse, or disarm a trap. And I have the voice of an angel, and wit to make the journey to our destination pass more peaceably.”

  “You sing?” asked Del, now intrigued. “Demonstrate for us, if you will.”

  “Do you have any preferences, my tattooed lass?”

  “A comic song, perhaps,” she answered.

  Eubrin shone a broad smile, his small white teeth straight as soldiers on procession. He began a tune in a tenor that floated lightly on the air.

  The pauper woke at crack of dawn

  But Dawn, she didn’t mind him

  The prince did too, this much is true

  It took three hours to find him

  His bed was large, big as a barge

  Four servants to unbind him

  The pauper’s yell: “I’ll have silk as well!”

  But his creditors declined him

  “Yes, very amusing,” said Lumari, abruptly ending the song. “Have you any experience in the Barrowlands?”

  “I’ve been here these past three years and gone out on several forays into the wilderness. I’ve been to Szuur’ah’caat and Szendesh’ah and a few minor sites in that time. And I have references.”

  He reached into his tunic and pulled out a wad of papers, which he handed to Del. She in turn handed them to Auric, who scanned through them.

  “Benedict of Aelbrinth speaks highly of you,” said Auric with appreciation. “A man who rarely has a kind word for anyone. And you’ve worked with Sula the Fisherman and Dravi Bentem. This is impressive. However, Pennyman didn’t seem to think any of the sorts she was sending us were worth much more than a fart. That seems unfair, given your resume.”

  “As you know, Pennyman does not like comic songs,” was his response.

  “Objections? Further questions?” Auric asked the group.

  No one spoke up.

  “Well, Eubrin Massey, we pay the going rate and leave tomorrow morning. Any encumbrances must be paid up out of your own funds—I will not give an advance on your fee to settle any outstanding debts.”

  “I am blissfully unencumbered, sir.”

  “Good. Then meet us at first light tomorrow morning. You have full gear and a mount for an expedition?”

  “I do.”

  Auric introduced himself and the rest to Eubrin, who gave a friendly nod to each of them.

  “Until tomorrow, then?” said Auric by way of ending the interview.

  Eubrin bowed and left the room, smiling.

  “Seems a nice enough fellow,” said Belech.

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing a song or two around the campfire,” said Del.

  “Well,” said Auric, “I’ll speak with Pennyman to see if she’ll vouch for the man. We’ll need to make certain it’s not just his songs that’ve won her scorn. Otherwise, I think he can join Gouric and Messine in our party. I doubt we’ll have need for his skills with traps and the like, seeing as the temple has already been traveled once. But, as all agents are taught, it’s better to be absent of need—”

  “—t
han for what we need to be absent,” finished Del.

  “That makes nine of us,” said Belech. “That’s a sizable group for an expedition, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” answered Lumari. “I’ve never been in a party with more than six. I hope we won’t be treading on one another’s toes.”

  “Pray Belu that’s the least of our worries,” said Auric.

  This brought a harrumph from Lumari. “Agnostic, my ass.”

  Before turning in, Auric approached Pennyman about Eubrin Massey.

  “Oh, he’s dependable enough, I suppose,” was the woman’s grumpy answer. “He’s too chatty, too jolly for my tastes.”

  “Everyone’s too jolly for your tastes, Pennyman,” said Auric.

  “Not you, Auric Manteo,” she responded. “You’re just the right amount of jolly for me. And you don’t open your yap more than necessary.”

  From Pennyman, this was high praise. “You flatter me,” chided Auric.

  “Mound didn’t like him the first time—Massey, I mean. Growled at him when he walked in. That was three years ago.”

  “And how did the man respond to Mound’s gut assessment?”

  “He brought him a sausage the next time.”

  “A wise fellow, it would seem.”

  “Auric, where are you headed to?” asked Pennyman, abrupt.

  Auric was taken aback. Pennyman rarely evinced interest in the plans of any agents at her establishment. “To a Djao temple beneath a priory, in the hills about thirty miles north and east of Serekirk. St. Besh. We’re returning a relic, found there three decades and more ago.”

  “Returning it?” This earned another open-eyed look from beneath the brim of her unseasonable hat.

  “Yes. The thing has caused nothing short of calamity at the Citadel. The queen herself ordered it returned.”

  “Long may she reign,” intoned Pennyman, always reverent where the queen was concerned. Auric echoed her without enthusiasm, seeing an image of Countess Ilanda kissing the queen’s desiccated hand, Geneviva’s skin thinner than parchment, a worm-like tangle of blue veins showing through.

  “Auric,” said Pennyman after a few moments of silence.

  “Aye?”

  “Have a care.”

  “Aye.”

  “Truly, Auric Manteo. Exercise caution. Mound would be unhappy if anything happened to you.”

  “How could you tell?” he retorted with a smile.

  Auric walked back to his room after receiving a tail wag from Mound, purchased with a single scratch behind the ear. As he lay down in his bed for the night, he thought back to the many times he had spoken with Pennyman, sought out her opinion on this man or that woman, asked her advice about navigating some odd bureaucratic roadblock in the city. He tried to think of another time when she had warned him as she had just now, but was asleep before he could recall a single instance.

  20

  Leaving Serekirk

  Running.

  The flickering light from the candle-filled antechamber beckoned, but seemed no closer as he ran with panicked urgency down the corridor, slipping on slick, uneven paving stones, banging into a demonic stone head protruding from the wall that mocked him with its leer. Brenten’s bloodcurdling, inhuman screams had stopped, replaced by echoes of crunching bones and sloppy, wet chewing. Images flooded Auric’s mind unbidden: of hungry corpses dining on the alchemist’s body, sinking broken and blackened teeth into flesh, cracking bones open to suck at the buttery marrow within.

  Though his body shrieked at him not to, he couldn’t help but turn to look back. Just at that moment, the first dead thing’s hand reached from the edge of the pit and clawed itself up into the corridor. There was more meat to be had. Fresh, terrified meat, running as fast as Auric’s burning muscles would carry it. If he could reach the antechamber, he could close the iron door, and secure the bar across it to prevent them from making a meal of his blood and bones. But he slipped, he stumbled, he ran too slow. Too goddamned slow.

  It was then he heard Lenda’s voice, coming from behind him, muted.

  “Faster, Auric! They’re so close, and they’re so hungry! Faster!”

  He turned to look for her, but of course she wasn’t there. Lenda was dead, along with Brenten, Ursula, and Meric. Each of them had been fed on by those slavering corpses, and now he carried Lenda’s severed head in the satchel on his back. Why? To bury it? To take some piece of his friend out of this dreadful place?

  Four or five of the dead things had emerged from the pit now and were pursuing him with snapping jaws. There were more behind them, crawling up the wall of the pit as easily as one would walk across a flat field, mocking gravity.

  He stumbled again, crashing to his knees and spilling forward onto his face, breaking his nose and scraping flesh from his chin. He scrambled up madly, using his sword as a crutch, but the blade snapped as though it was a rotten tree branch and he stumbled again. He held onto the useless sword, but grabbed hold of the curling ram’s horns of a stone demon head protruding from the wall to lift himself up. He tore off two fingernails in the process, but ignored the pain, and began running again. He dared not turn around to see what ground he had lost to the ravenous corpses. He imagined he could feel their cold breath on his neck, ragged, covetous claws grasping for his flesh.

  Finally, he was through the door to the antechamber. He spun around, slammed the iron portal shut in the faces of the hateful creatures in pursuit, mere feet away.

  “The bar!” cried Lenda, again from behind him, her voice muffled. “Put the bar in place!”

  He grabbed the heavy iron rod from the floor, slid it into its slots just as the first of his hungry pursuers crashed against the door. More of the dead things reached the barrier, pounding, scrabbling at the metal with manic fury. The door’s hinges rattled, and he heard the angry scrape of bony talons on the iron, but it held. For the moment, he was safe. He turned then to the exit—the great iron disk had slid three quarters of the way shut, so that the circular opening looked like a waning crescent moon, the iron disk like the sunless face of the sphere. Could he squeeze through the opening? He could use the iron rod as a pry bar to open it further, but then the corpses would come spilling into the room and fall on him with voracious joy.

  “Open the flap!” called Lenda, the sound of her voice muted by the leather of his satchel. “I suffocate!”

  Horror. He sat down on the stones of the floor, tore the satchel from his back, and pulled open the flap. Lenda’s face, spattered with blood, stared back at him with its lopsided smile, teeth unnaturally white next to black and scarlet gore.

  “I live, Auric! Look! You haven’t lost me! I’m right here!”

  “Gods, Lenda, no!” he wept as he tried to wipe bloody smears from her cheeks. “I’ve lost my mind!”

  “No, no. It is a gift, Auric. The gift of this place. We can both live. But we must stay here. You cannot take me from this place. You owe me this, Auric, you who have been like a brother to me. Don’t let me die. Let’s stay here by the light of these votive candles. Forever.”

  “You’re dead!” spat Auric, tears coursing down his cheeks, snot running from his nose like an inconsolable child. “The evil of this place deceives me. You are dead, Lenda.”

  “And yet we speak to one another,” she answered, smiling. “Tomas is dead, killed by greedy Buskers, in their own graves for centuries. Marta is dead, by her own hand. You blame yourself for that, and you should! Was grief over the loss of Tomas your sole province? Could you not comfort her? And what of poor Agnes? Left on her own in her novitiate at the Citadel, fatherless, while you pushed us relentlessly. You failed me, too, back there in the corridor. You let those things tear my body to pieces, like wolves at a fallen doe. But redemption is within your reach! Let the portal close. Just a few more moments now and the choice is made for you.”

  He turned to the an
techamber entrance, hearing the grinding of metal against stone, saw the disk inch to the right so that the crescent of light grew even slimmer. He yanked Lenda’s remains by the hair from the satchel and lunged at the narrowing crescent of light with a desperate cry, her head leading the way like the figurehead on some mad ship’s prow. The studs of his leather cuirass caught on the lip of the iron disk. He let go of Lenda’s head, liberated from the temple now and mute, tried to ignore the sick sound of it striking the ground so that he could focus every ounce of his strength and terror on squeezing through the opening. He heard a hinge on the barred iron door ring against stone like a bell as it popped loose behind him, causing the corpses to ram the portal with renewed enthusiasm. He pulled himself with all his might, pushed with his legs, panicked. One stud, then two tore loose from his armor and he sprang out of the antechamber, free of the temple that had literally eaten his companions.

  No.

  Auric stood now in the niche-lined chamber again. Lenda, Meric, Ursula, and Brenten were packing rich golden baubles taken from the Djao idols into their satchels, laughing at their great fortune. Meric crowed estimates of the haul’s value. Auric tried to cry out, to warn them of the danger, their lethal folly, but it was as though flesh had grown over his mouth, muddying his voice to an impotent murmur. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the arm of a single corpse in the pit at the center of the chamber stir, then another, rising from their ancient internment to feed. To feed on them all.

  Then his father spoke, his words oozing cruel, bottomless malice.

  “Again, boy, we try again. We will eat you this time. This time you won’t escape.”

  The nightmare woke Auric just after midnight. Belech, with whom he shared a room, was propped up in his bed, staring at him.