Aching God

by Mike Shel

  “Sister Teelu has informed me of this,” Colette said, her tone even.

  From the corner of his eye, Auric watched Benlau’s reaction carefully, seeking some sign that would betray him. But the old man was impassive, nose upturned, an almost comically exaggerated frown on his grizzled face.

  “From the depths of that place they carried with them an artifact, taken from an idol. Despite careful study, nothing definitive could be gleaned from the relic, and it was ultimately placed in the Hall of Glories at the Citadel in Boudun. It remained there, inert, for all these years. But several weeks ago, a novice managed to cut himself on the artifact. He succumbed to some terrible infection and was soon dead. Since then, an insidious disease of supernatural origin has spread, and the bounty of Belu offers no respite from its ravages. For now, the contagion is contained within the Citadel, though we know not how long this will remain the case.”

  “And the advent of this plague appears to coincide with the quake that brought down the south bell tower and Prior Quintus’s stroke,” added Sister Teelu.

  “Yes,” responded Auric, nodding his appreciation. “The League’s scholars, aided by Her Majesty’s Sorcerers’ Council and the religious authorities in the capital, agree that our best hope of dispelling this plague is by returning the relic to the idol. This is the beginning and end of our expedition—take the relic and put it back where it was originally discovered. Nothing will be removed.”

  “This is a most unusual mission, then,” observed Prior Colette.

  “And the queen herself endorsed it,” added Sira.

  “But she did not override the priory’s authority over the site, did she, sister?” snapped Benlau.

  “She did not,” Sira answered. “But again, her religious advisors and the Sorcerers’ Council—”

  “I would suggest,” Benlau interrupted with a glower, “that those ‘religious authorities’ are nothing but petty place seekers and sycophants, who are legion in the capital. And the sorcerers, like all their kind, are contaminated by their reckless flirtation with dark Djao necromancy. One can trust none of their pronouncements. If the queen was so supportive of your aim, why didn’t she simply grant leave to enter the place without our prior’s blessing?”

  “Things in the capital are not so simple,” responded Auric, the taste of bile rising at the back of this throat.

  Benlau let out a humorless guffaw. “‘Not so simple’ he calls it.” The old man’s lips quivered as he pointed a finger at Auric. The gnarled digit bobbed up and down as he continued. “Speaking of simple, why not simply sink this artifact of yours in the center of the Cradle if you wish to be rid of it?”

  “As I said, our scholars agree with the College of Divinity and magical authorities,” Auric answered, deciding. “Or would you deny the sterling reputation of Syraeic scholars as well? I assume it was your personal experience that they are the most learned across the empire, with access to the most extensive libraries of knowledge anywhere.”

  “What do you mean ‘personal experience’?” Benlau asked, angry. One of his eyes was larger than the other and seemed to bulge from its socket.

  “Prior Quintus was one survivor. Another was a Syraeic agent named Gower Morz. He’s blind still, and living at the Monastery of St. Qoterine. They call him ‘Brother Watcher.’ He spends his days in contemplation, sitting on a balcony overlooking the sea. We spoke with him before coming here. The third was a Syraeic brother and warrior-priest of Vanic named Wallach Bessemer. We are convinced that you are that person, Venerable Benlau.”

  The old man’s face was emotionless.

  “Please explain, Sir Auric,” said Prior Colette, brow furrowed.

  “At the Citadel there is a mural of the party that descended into the Djao ruins beneath us. It was marred—supernaturally, we believe—the night the Besh relic was…awoken. The figures of those who were killed were vandalized so badly they couldn’t be recognized. The eyes of the man who was blinded were gouged out. But the other two survivors each had a cross scratched over their hearts. Belech recognized Prior Quintus’s rather distinctive features as he lay on his bier, especially that magnificent beard. The other was harder to reconcile, but we are quite certain that we are correct. Brother Benlau is Bessemer. You wielded a flail, did you not, before retiring from the god’s priesthood?”

  Benlau did not speak.

  “Venerable Benlau,” said the prior, turning to the old man, “how do you respond to this assertion?”

  Still the man was silent.

  “I have seen your flail, Venerable Benlau,” said Sister Teelu. “It lies before the altar of Vanic in his chapel, along with your chain shirt. Skull-shaped heads adorned with spikes?”

  Benlau glared at Auric as though he hadn’t heard Teelu’s words.

  “Brother Benlau?” asked Colette again.

  The old man muttered something, still glowering at Auric.

  “What was that, Brother Wallach?” asked Sira gently.

  “I deny it,” he said more loudly.

  “You deny the weapon in the chapel is yours, or you deny that you are Wallach Bessemer?” asked Auric with mock puzzlement.

  “I deny that I am this man you speak of, agent of the League!” he roared, sitting up with sudden violence. “My name is Conal Benlau! I’m the son of a farmer in the Karnes, born in a little village north of Ainsley! I was called by the Great God Vanic in my sixteenth year and anointed at the temple in Ralsea before I was yet eighteen! I fought for three decades on the Harkeny frontier, under a succession of nobles, giving glory to the Lord of Battle! I came to St. Besh at the god’s urging on my fifty-first birthday and have served here faithfully ever since!”

  “That sounds like a much-rehearsed speech, Wallach,” retorted Auric. “You have not needed to give it in some time, I would think. It still rolls off the tongue nicely, though.”

  The priest’s face was crimson and he trembled, but with what seemed a supreme act of will, he sat back in his chair and rested his gnarled hands on the polished surface of the stone table. “I am Conal Benlau of Vanic.”

  “The weapon Sister Teelu describes matches that held by Bessemer in the Citadel portrait, sir,” said Sira, without Auric’s sarcasm.

  “Gower Morz,” said Auric. “He said you were ready to abandon him in the Djao temple as you and Quintus fled. ‘Leave him,’ he says you called out. That still pains the man to this day, that you were willing to desert him. He said you were weeping with fear. What had you so terrified, Wallach? You, a warrior-priest of Vanic?”

  “I will not let you bait me, Auric Manteo. I am not this man you say I am, so you insult him, not me.”

  “You make this accusation without hard evidence, Sir Auric!” snarled Sub-Prior Narlen. “Venerable Benlau rejects the charge that he is this man!”

  “Three dead,” said Auric, ignoring the old man’s denial and Narlen’s objection. “And all for this.”

  Auric slammed the satchel containing the Golden Egg on the table. All the priests jumped save Benlau, who kept his hateful eyes trained on Auric.

  “This is the relic you speak of?” asked Prior Colette, uneasy.

  “It is. May I show it to you?”

  “What difference can this make?” growled Benlau, but there was a hint of fear in his rheumy eyes.

  “Perhaps it will jog your memory,” was Sira’s calm reply.

  Auric reached for the satchel’s flap, undid the clasps. Benlau’s upper lip recoiled, as though anticipating a foul odor, a slight tremor in his hands resting on the table. Auric slowly flipped over the leather cover and looked up at Benlau meaningfully.

  “I’ve faced down roaring Korsa tribesmen, baying for my blood, Manteo. You think your Djao bauble will unnerve me?”

  “Was it you or Quintus who carried this thing out of the temple?” asked Auric, patting the satchel.

  “It mus
t have been him, Sir Auric,” answered Sira, staring at the simmering old man across the table. “Quintus Valec was aiding their wounded comrade. The one Wallach would have left to die. Does this guilt weigh upon thee, Wallach Bessemer of Vanic? Unburden thyself. Fetch the sin eater, Sister Teelu. Is not a priest of Ussi resident at St. Besh? She could hear his confession.”

  “Really, this is a childish game,” said Narlen, eyes shifting between Benlau and the relic Auric had yet to reveal.

  “Take it from the damned satchel, Manteo!” shouted Benlau, spittle leaping from his lips. “Watch your little farce fall flat!”

  Auric jerked the leather of the satchel down, startling the priests facing them, revealing the shiny brass of the Egg.

  “What is this?” scoffed Benlau. “You said you had the gem! This is a reliquary, and no ancient thing! What stupid game do you play with us?”

  “Gem” you call it, thought Auric. I have you, old man.

  “Sir Auric said nothing of a gem, Wallach Bessemer,” said Sira in a quiet voice. “He called it a relic, an artifact.”

  “He did not call it a gem,” repeated Sister Teelu.

  “H-he said it was pried from an idol’s forehead,” the old man stuttered. “I naturally thought it was a g-gem of some sort!”

  “I said it was taken from an idol. Djao relics are made of many materials, their idols and statues adorned with many things,” said Auric. “This is common knowledge. You thought it was a gem, because it is a gem, encased in this device, manufactured to shield us from its evil. You knew it was a gem because you watched it pried from the effigy, and that’s what you toted out from the depths of those ruins, thirty-three years ago.”

  “Brother?” queried Prior Colette.

  The old man was silent, staring at the Egg, his lips quivering.

  “Brother?” repeated the prior, more forcefully.

  “I am Conal Benlau, a warrior-priest of Vanic,” he said, his voice empty now, easing himself back into his chair, eyes still fixed on the Egg. “This grave robber has proven nothing.”

  “Sub-Prior Narlen?” said Prior Colette, turning to the bald priest whose face was dark with confusion, his single brow pinched.

  “Yes, Prior Colette?”

  “Please see to it that Venerable Benlau is confined to his cubicle. We will have our priests of Tolwe conduct a Ritual of the Question and ascertain the truth of this.”

  “Yes, prior,” said Narlen, shaken. He tried to take Benlau by the shoulder, but the old man jerked away as though the bald priest carried pestilence.

  “I can walk without your assistance, brother,” he grumbled, glaring at Auric. “Before you have him lock me away, Colette, might I have one last word?”

  “Speak.”

  “If I were this man Manteo claims I am—and I am not—what difference does it make? Our departed Prior Quintus was in those ruins and judged them sufficiently vile and perilous to deny admission to Syraeic thieves for three decades. The gods found the Djao so unredeemable and wicked that they destroyed their cities and laid waste to their lands. They were worshipers of demons and fell gods, practiced human sacrifice and other abominable rituals too foul to recount. As our deceased prior often said, what the gods have buried, no man should unearth. Please heed my warning. Nothing good will come from allowing these adventurers into those ruins, even if they speak the truth regarding their intentions.”

  He makes a good argument, thought Auric.

  The old man spared one more glance for the Golden Egg, then turned to the door and walked out, cudgel keeping the time, Brother Narlen in his wake. The room was silent as a tomb for several minutes, Auric, Sira and Teelu waiting for Prior Colette to speak. She stared at the brass container on the tabletop, taking in long, slow breaths. After touching the cold metal with her fingers and recoiling, she looked at Auric and Sira.

  “The idol. What was the name of the deity or demon it represented?”

  “We know no name,” Sira responded. “Valec and Bessemer called it the Aching God, according to the third survivor, Gower Morz, the man we spoke with on the Isle of Kenes.”

  “You are certain that returning the thing in this case to the idol will end the evil it has caused?”

  “No,” answered Auric. “No, we are not.”

  “But you have no other ideas?”

  “None,” said Sira.

  “I have never heard of this ‘Aching God,’ and I have read every book in this study over the past twenty years. Prior Quintus certainly never used those words in my hearing. I confess I find the Djao and everything about them…unsettling. But I am inclined to grant your request. At the same time, I fear what might happen should you fail.”

  “The same fear haunts me, prior,” said Auric. “My daughter is among those afflicted in the Citadel.”

  “I will pray for your daughter, Sir Auric,” said Prior Colette solemnly. “But my first concern is for St. Besh and the people within its walls. What happens if whatever it is you attempt to appease below our house is instead further enraged? What if your adversary beneath us is Leviathan, with a mouth large enough to swallow us all?”

  The party assembled in the now-deserted dining hall. The long table they sat at was illuminated by an oil lamp Sira had brought from her cubicle, where she slept alone. Lumari tapped vials together, Del was crouched on the bench, bouncing on the balls of her feet like an excited child. Belech, Gnaeus, and Eubrin sat on one side of the table, hands folded before them as though posing for a portrait. Auric and Sira had recounted the meeting with the new prior and other priests, the confrontation of Benlau-Bessemer, and the consent they had received from Colette to enter the Djao temple.

  “So, when do we enter?” asked Gnaeus, working to contain his own excitement.

  “After the funeral,” Auric answered with a sigh. “I would like to descend just before the sun rises, but we must wait for the old prior’s ceremony to conclude. That would be the proper etiquette. We just can’t afford to offend anyone at this point.”

  Hang on, Agnes.

  “The funeral for Prior Quintus is scheduled for daybreak,” said Sira. “Belu’s ceremony for the purpose is quite brief.”

  “Tomorrow morning, then,” said Eubrin, eyes alight.

  “Then get some sleep,” said Auric, feeling weariness pervade his body. “Do whatever you must to prepare yourselves for what lies in store for us tomorrow. Please be present for the service. We should pay our respects. Whatever he did the past thirty years, Quintus Valec was still a brother.”

  Lumari left the hall, still tapping her glass tubes. Gnaeus and Eubrin followed, the swordsman tracing the designs on his rapier’s guard with a finger, the hireling’s grin broad. Sira and Belech lingered for a little longer, but when Del conjured a dancing light before them, the priest fetched her oil lamp and the two headed to their cubicles.

  “A word, Sir Auric?” asked Del, the sorcerous light dramatically illuminating her complex tattoos.

  “Of course, Del. What is it?”

  The sorcerer grinned, her disarming smile so strange in contrast to her body art. She tapped on the opal set in her forehead self-consciously. “Thank you for this opportunity, Sir Auric.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said with a smile of his own. “But it wasn’t an opportunity I provided you. You should have thanked Lictor Rae at the Citadel.”

  “Oh, I did. But I also know that you rarely included sorcerers on your expeditions in the past…forgive me, I read the archives. Each one of your missions. A really amazing career. But my point is, I know you could have objected to my presence and had me excluded from the team. I hope I give you no reason to regret that.”

  “Del Ogara, you’ve already demonstrated your great value on this expedition. I’m very glad you’ve been with us. You’re a credit to the Royal College.”

  “My father was in the League, you know,” s
he said, her smile now pensive, but her eyes fixed on him. “He didn’t approve of my attending the Royal College, even less following in his footsteps. You remind me of him in some ways. He was killed two years ago, drowned in some sea caves about twenty miles west of Mache… Damned Buskers. Anyway, we never mended our breach. Foolish as it sounds, it feels in a way that I seal the breach with father through you.”

  Abruptly, she hugged him. Auric returned the embrace awkwardly at first, then relented, thinking of Agnes.

  “Forgive me, Sir Auric,” said Del when she broke away, wiping tears from her eyes. “Shamefully sentimental for a sorcerer.”

  “No need for apologies, Del. You honor me.”

  Del smiled again, pale flesh above her dark tattoos flushing with embarrassment. She said goodnight and scurried from the dining hall, the conjured lights trailing behind her, leaving Auric in the dark. He laughed.

  Agnes, we must embrace like that, he thought. When I return. When we all return.

  25

  Sleepless

  He stood alone in the niche-lined room, leering Djao idols clad in gold and jeweled ornamentation mocking him. He spun around wildly, searching for the exit, but there was no way in or out of the domed chamber, only alcove after alcove, each occupied by a carved marble pedestal hosting its own bloody-minded Djao demon icon. The tangled jumble of corpses in the central pit was motionless, though whenever he turned his head away he caught a sinister hint of movement from the corner of his eye.

  He went from one niche to another, knocking aside each grinning idol, seeking a secret latch or knob, a false panel that might reveal a passage, some way of escape, so he could run from this horrific, strangling nightmare.

  “This is our home now,” he heard Lenda say from behind him.

  When he whirled around she was standing before him. Her body was battered and bloody, leather armor torn, a great curtain of dried blood and gore cascading down from her neck. She cradled her own head under an arm. She held her sword with the other hand, unsheathed and stained red, tapping the flat of the blade against her thigh.