by Mike Shel
“I can’t even imagine,” answered Lumari flatly, staring off into space.
“It’s monstrous,” said Auric, wondering how far that blasphemous act lay from his own shameful impulse to skewer Brenten in the pit three years ago.
“The manticores,” muttered Gnaeus, after several silent moments.
“What?”
“When we encountered the manticores, after leaving Serekirk. They offered to let the rest of us go if we gave one of our number to them.”
“But those beasts stood right before us,” said Lumari. “As disgusting and terrible as it is, that thing in the other chamber is only an idol.”
“You told us Gower Morz said it spoke to them, this Aching God,” Gnaeus answered.
“Gnaeus may have it there,” said Sira. “It certainly couldn’t have been an act of willful adoration. No sane person would ever bow down and glorify that…thing. But fear…fear engendered by the kind of appalling evil Sir Auric spoke to us of, after we sailed off from Kenes. The words he used…a vigorous, unholy evil…We’ve all been frightened before, yes, but have any of us experienced the kind of terror that—”
“Turns your bowels to water,” interjected Gnaeus, cradling his head in his hands.
“Or worse,” Sira continued. “Fear that burns your most dearly held beliefs and principles to ash. A sort of…absolute moral ruin.”
“Please, sweet Blue Mother Belu,” prayed Belech aloud, “let me never be so unmade.”
“I confess I felt fear in there I haven’t felt since I was a little girl,” said Lumari in a quavering voice. “Since I was…” She trailed off, her eyes distant.
Sira put a comforting hand on the alchemist’s shoulder. “I, too,” the priest said. “Like a child, I felt myself inches away from panic in that room, before that thing. This must be necromancy, not just natural fear.”
“Regardless,” said Auric at last, enveloped by a ubiquitous unease, “we must do what we came here to do. We must return the Besh relic to the statue.”
“Did anyone see where the jewel belonged?” asked Gnaeus. “I could barely look at the thing for more than a few moments at a time.”
No one spoke.
“It was allegedly set in the thing’s forehead,” Auric responded. “The idol’s head tilts back. Perhaps we need only set it in a fitting, even if it isn’t exactly secured in place.”
“Or feed it the g-goddamned thing,” Gnaeus spoke, voice shaking. “Its fucking mouth is big enough to take the whole Golden Egg.”
“I agree,” said Sira. “I can’t see why cementing it back in place would somehow fulfill our duty more completely than simply returning the gem to its setting.”
“Alright,” said Auric. “Lumari, you’ll need to be in there to open the Golden Egg for us. I don’t want us to be exposed to the relic unshielded for any longer than is absolutely necessary, so we’ll crack open the Egg right before the idol. Belech, I’ll need you to lift me up to the idol’s head. Can you manage that?”
“You’re a short fellow, Auric. I think I can, though Sira or Lumari would be easier.”
“I think I should be the one to do it, Sir Auric,” said Sira. “As the only priest among us, it seems that should fall within my province.”
“No,” he said in a voice that brooked no dissent. “It’s possibly the most dangerous act of this entire endeavor, to touch the unshielded relic. I won’t allow anyone else to handle it.”
Sira looked as though she might argue, then thought better of it. “Regardless, I must be present to recite a litany against evil,” she said, her own resolve firm.
“My gloves,” said Lumari. “You should wear them to avoid touching them—the idol or the relic.”
Auric nodded. He turned to Gnaeus. “I think necromancy is a good guess to explain the effect being near the idol has. Since you’re the only one who doesn’t have a set task, you needn’t be in there. You’re welcome to wait out here in this chamber while we do what must be done, no shame.”
“Do you think for one second that I’m sitting out here in this fucking dreadful place by myself?” growled Gnaeus. “I’ll be available for helpful suggestions, from a safe distance, but I’m in there with the lot of you.”
“Alright,” said Auric with a smile that came to him unexpectedly. “Everyone will be present. We do this as quickly as we can sensibly manage, and then we get the hell out of this awful place. Have I neglected anything? Does anyone have any objections to this course?” His companions were silent, looks on their faces of grim determination mixed with worry. “Then let’s execute our charge.”
31
The Aching God
Auric and Belech approached the idol with slow, deliberate steps. Auric found that keeping one hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword provided some steel to his will, though the gesture seemed foolish. They came alongside the beastly effigy in tense silence, as though they approached a sleeping predator. Belech offered a perch for Auric’s foot, the fingers of his hands intertwined. Auric steadied himself on the adjacent wall, avoiding any contact with the disgusting totem itself. Looking down on the statue’s upturned, eyeless head, he saw two slits for a nose, a yawning darkness within its gaping mouth, and an oval indentation in the thing’s forehead. Dried tears of some black substance streamed from what looked like a vacant eye socket. At the center of the indentation was a small pool of the tarry black stuff that bubbled once or twice as Auric stared down on it. Though he could smell nothing but Lumari’s powerful ointment painted beneath his nostrils, he felt a strong nausea rumble in his gut at the sight of it.
“There’s an obvious place where the gem would fit,” he said as he lowered himself from the stoop Belech had provided. “The black tar Gower Morz spoke of is there as well.”
Lumari knelt a few feet away from the idol, clasping a flask of opaque white glass, the Golden Egg sitting before her. She eyed the statue with wary discomfort.
“I’d like to get a sample of the mucous covering the thing, and the tar,” she said in a quavering voice, doing her best to maintain a dispassionate air. “Does it appear as though the substances are exuded from the stone itself, or is there some other source?”
Auric looked at the alchemist with a sober expression. “I distrust my ability to refrain from vomiting if I inspect the idol any more closely than I already have, Lumari. I recommend you let this particular curiosity go.”
Lumari nodded, turning her attention to the Egg. She wrapped a cloth over her nose and mouth and put on her goggles. Shaking the contents of the flask in her hand, she looked to Auric for confirmation that she should proceed.
“Open it,” he said.
The alchemist retrieved a brush made of lacquered wood, its horsehair bristles black and silky. Removing the flask’s rubber stopper, she dipped the brush in and withdrew it carefully. Like an artist doing delicate work on a canvas, she painted the three locks with the colorless liquid from the flask one at a time. She then stoppered the flask and stepped back. Within a few seconds, curls of smoke began peeling from the brass locks, and an angry hissing filled the air.
“This should take several minutes,” said Lumari, watching her compound work on the ensorcelled metal. “The acid is burning away the metallic surface to which the enchantment clings. Breaking this attachment is what takes the most time. Once the sorcery has nothing to hold on to, the remaining brass should corrode quite quickly.”
Sira stood just behind Lumari, a laurel wreath held in her hands, chanting a protective litany, invoking Belu’s blessings on their endeavor. Auric wished her prayerful efforts gave him some comfort, but he felt as though he stood in a place of supreme unholiness, the idol’s naked foulness so colossal that not even the Great Goddess Belu could wash it clean. He focused his eyes on the sizzling locks, hoping the alchemy would help him forget where he was, if only briefly. But at that moment, the hissing grew louder and
the smoke winked out as the remnants of the corroded locks fell to the floor. The seam of the Golden Egg popped open a fraction of an inch with a sharp ting, startling everyone in the chamber save Sira, deep in her sacred ritual. Auric walked quickly to the Egg and knelt before it, donning the gloves Lumari offered him. He opened the brass encasement, deliberate and careful in his motions, revealing the Besh relic to himself and the others for the first time.
The gem was a sinister black-green, its facets seemingly cut at random, artlessly, its angles strange and disorienting. A ghost of sickly green light swam deep within its crystalline form, a will-o’-wisp whose dance was weirdly enticing. He couldn’t recall Lictor Rae mentioning this oddly alluring feature. An electric thrill jolted Auric’s heart, and he was overwhelmed by the conviction that he mustn’t follow the light’s languorous path. Look away! Lest it befoul or control you! a voice seemed to say.
Auric turned to Sira, who shone her crooked smile but did not interrupt her chanting. He found the smile more fortifying than her formal prayers. He turned then to the old soldier. “Belech,” he asked, “are you ready?”
“Aye.”
Auric reached down to retrieve the jewel from its brass casing. It slipped out easily and he held it cupped in both hands. He turned to walk to Belech, who stood at the ready next to the idol, which seemed to lurk beside the square-jawed man like some tumid killer. The gem’s supernatural cold penetrated the gloves he wore—it was as though he held tight to a sphere of ice. Reaching Belech, he placed his left foot in the old soldier’s waiting hands and allowed himself to be boosted up.
The tarry black pool in the statue’s forehead was larger now, bubbling near the edges of the socket, as though it sat atop a stove. His heart pounding madly, Auric laid the relic in the turbulent tar, sickened by the squelching sound it made, and watched as the gem closed into the fitting, as though drawn in by an unseen, hungry force. He leapt down from Belech and away from the revolting statue, the old soldier on his heels. The volume of Sira’s prayers increased, with Lumari and Gnaeus standing beside her, anxious attention on Auric and Belech as they retreated.
Sira’s chanting ceased, leaving the chamber silent save for Auric’s own heavy breathing. The five of them faced the grotesque idol. It stood before them, impassive, emanating a kind of stupid, malevolent arrogance.
“What’s supposed to happen?” asked Gnaeus. “I suppose I expected some dramatic effect.”
Auric wasn’t sure what he thought would happen once the task was complete either. Did he expect the ghastly totem to speak to them or provide some other sign that their task was complete? He concluded that anticipation of a signal was absurd. What they had set out to accomplish was done. There was nothing more to do now but head out of these accursed ruins. “We’ve discharged our responsibility here, friends,” he said at last. “I suggest we leave this profane place immediately.”
“No argument from me,” quipped Belech.
“Oh, fuck,” Gnaeus cursed as he turned for the way out. In place of the passage that led to the adjacent chamber was a wall with a long, vertical seam running from ceiling to floor. The room where they stood no longer had an exit.
Foolish, said a deep, malignant voice. It was the voice of Auric’s father. It was the voice of Samic Manteo. It took a moment for Auric to realize that the voice came from within his own head. He saw his companions looking about the chamber, afraid and confused.
“Did anyone else hear that?” asked Gnaeus, a tremor in his tone.
“Yes,” said Lumari.
“Yes,” said Belech.
Foolish, the menacing voice repeated. Foolish to put the cork back in the bottle after that which it contained has spilled out.
Sira grabbed hold of Auric and Belech’s hands. “We rebuke thee, demon!” cried Sira, unmistakable fear in her voice. “We are clothed in our Great Blue Mother’s most sacred protections and she will not permit any harm to befall us!”
Great Blue Mother! said the voice of a young child, followed by raw, guttural laughter.
Gnaeus took to inspecting the seam in the wall, trying to wedge his fingers in it, as though he could pull it apart if he found purchase. His movements were quick and frantic, telltale signs of rising panic. With a sudden cry, he drew his rapier and began pounding on the wall with the weapon’s fanciful guard, the tempo escalating.
“We have to get out of here now!”
Belech moved to the blond swordsman and put a fatherly hand on his shoulder to calm him. Gnaeus spun, a reckless swing of the rapier’s blade grazing the old soldier’s leather cuirass. Belech moved with surprising agility. He managed to get behind Gnaeus and put him in a bear hug, his mouth near the man’s left ear. He whispered something to the swordsman, Gnaeus wild-eyed and struggling. After a few moments in the big man’s restraining embrace, the swordsman reined in his panic, whispering something back to Belech.
Tears are wasted here, said Samic Manteo’s voice, sonorous and mocking.
Sira clung tight to her laurel wreath with both hands, holding it high over her head. “By Belu’s sacred sign—”
The laurel began to thrash in her grasp, as though it was an angry viper. She wrestled to control it, a look of disbelief in her eyes. With a high-pitched squeal, the laurel blackened, shriveled pathetically, and then turned to ashy powder, drifting down about the priest, who held back livid tears.
And Belu’s sacred sign is wasted here, tiny priest, said Auric’s father. You are utterly abandoned and at my mercy.
Szaa’da’shaela seemed to tremble angrily in its scabbard. Auric felt an impulse to draw it, but without an obvious enemy, decided the gesture was both foolish and futile. He felt a fear that was both terrible and familiar creeping up from his gut. “Enough of your taunting games, demon!” he shouted, to bolster the courage of his stunned comrades, as well as his own. “Show yourself!” His words echoed in the chamber for a moment before they were swallowed by an unnatural, deadening silence.
“What is it?” whispered Belech when the silence grew too oppressive.
“Possibly the demon-guardian of the temple,” Auric answered. “Some of the Djao’s gods had Netherworld servants that watched over their inner sanctums, bound eternally by infernal oaths.”
I am no demon, said the voice of Ilanda Padivale, silky and seductive. And I have no need of a watcher. Kneel, little mortals, before your god.
Auric stiffened, feeling a wild terror flutter in his heart. “And when have the gods of the Djao ever spoken to anyone, demon?” he retorted, feeling his will on the brink of collapse. “Your deception won’t succeed with us!”
Deception? it replied, still speaking as the countess. Ah, the others first thought me a demon, too. Doubted my divinity. But in the end, they slit this little one’s throat for me, so that I might drink her down, and fell before me in adoration. You shall worship me as well, when I reveal myself to you fully.
“Name yourself!” shouted Sira, fright staining her words. “What being demands our obeisance?”
Name? said the hateful voice of Wallach Bessemer. So many names, I have forgotten most of them. But they are no longer needed. Those who came before you called me the Aching God, because of this vessel I inhabited. Call me what you will, little priest, it matters not. Only know that I will fill my need. And soon.
“I defy you!” Sira wept, though the lack of conviction in her voice brought tears to Auric’s own eyes.
Lumari pulled a pair of vials from one of her bandoliers and threw them at the idol. They exploded as they struck it and fire spread over its form, the mucous that covered the statue popping and sizzling. A disgusting yellow smoke rose from the effigy, as though exhaled by its distended, upturned mouth.
You seek to destroy this icon? croaked a masculine voice, one Auric didn’t recognize. I require it no longer. Let me speed your intent, mortal.
The alchemical flames intensifie
d, grew hotter, so that the party had to press back against the far walls to escape the great heat emanating from the pyre. Soon the statue was melting, as though it was an enormous candle caught in the yellow inferno. It took several minutes, but finally it liquefied entirely, the idol’s watery remains soaked up by the spongy flagstones at their feet, the fire fading, guttering out.
Where the idol had stood was now a dark hole.
When you are ready, said a grandmotherly voice, its pleasant cadence an obscenity in this place, you may come deeper and present yourselves to me, truly. Don’t make me wait as the ones before you did. I will not have the same patience with you.
Auric found himself trembling, the blood pounding in his head and heart like heated iron being shaped on some manic blacksmith’s anvil. Sira wept angry tears, Gnaeus stood silent with his face to the wall. Lumari fumbled with flasks and jars from her pack. Belech, Busy Marlu still held tight, looked to the ceiling and covered his face with his hands. Auric fingered the pommel of his Djao blade, as though the weapon could somehow provide him with a course of action. When none was forthcoming, he sat on the uneven flagstones of the chamber. The newly formed hole looked back at him, a wordless reminder of the Aching God’s dark invitation.
“Is it really a god?” asked Lumari in a soft voice.
Auric wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the thing invited them deeper into the temple. They were now congregated on the chamber’s flagstones after what felt like hours unsuccessfully seeking some means of escaping the chamber. No one spoke as Auric’s mind raced with frightening memories and fleeting thoughts—quickly dismissed—of opening his veins right where he sat. He closed his eyes, shook his head in a weary gesture.