Victorious Cross

by Jesse De Rivera

  “Grey,” Gatina said, her large eyes pleading. “Look, we know you’re not the Bearer and you’ve never wanted help from the Guard…but even despite all that, you have to know just what would happen if Lord Enki became a part of the Empty. They took him.”

  Gatina’s words struck Grey, and he noticeably swallowed. “Or your god just decided to bail finally.”

  All three of them bristled. “Enki has been the soul of the Cartesian Guard since it began,” Brasil growled. “He wouldn’t abandon us.”

  “Even if he did, he wouldn’t just let the Empty invade one of his own worlds,” Gatina added. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Grey grew quiet, his lips tightening into a thin line. “How long has it been?”

  “Nearly three hours,” Gatina said. “And that’s just since the attack. Enki’s probably been gone for longer.”

  Gray-faced Victorio as though he was the most trustworthy. “Are they lying? Have you seen any of it yourself?”

  Victorio’s lip curled in disgust. “Tch. That’s a really stupid thing to lie about,” he snapped.

  As Grey’s drink was set in front of him, he thought for a moment. He tapped his fingertips on the bar top. Grey got to his feet and readjusted his heavy, beaten trench coat, ignoring his glass. “It might already be too late. Let’s go.”

  “That’s the ticket!” Gatina chimed in as she jumped back to the floor.

  “Dacks,” Grey called to the bartender. “I haven’t touched this glass, pass it on.”

  A smile curled the bartender's full lips and she nodded. “Hey, if you’re still payin’ for it I don’t care what ya do with it.”

  “Of course I am,” he replied with a half-grin. “Also, lemme take care of my tab.” Out of his trench coat pocket, he pulled out a several-pound bag of flour and set it firmly in front of Dacks.

  Was Grey an idiot? Who carried bags of flour? Victorio saw the reactions of everyone at the bar. Anyone near was visibly impressed, and the bartender’s blue eyes widened. She grinned and nodded. “That more than covers it, princess.”

  “I’ll be seeing you,” Grey replied. His calm said that ‘princess’ wasn’t an insult. He waved for Victorio, Brasil, and Gatina to follow and led them up a staircase on the opposite side of the bar. “Fine. I’ll help you. But only because I know how serious it is.”

  “Ye’d make a fine Cartesian Guard if ye’d just let yerself,” Brasil pointed out as Grey opened the door of a second-floor room.

  He scoffed with an acidic smile and closed the door behind them. “Sure, right. Whatever.”

  Victorio rolled his eyes. Victorio must have sounded like this several weeks ago. No wonder Brasil and Gatina had gotten sick of it, it was annoying.

  The room was a bed-and-breakfast-style bedroom. Grey knelt next to the nightstand and picked up a light pack. Strapping it on the back of his waist, he continued, “We’re out of view here. I can get you into the Forges of the Empty without having to go through the Black.”

  Victorio frowned. “How can you travel without the Spear?”

  Grey glanced at Victorio as he straightened his coat. “I haven’t given up the fight, even if Creation gave up on me. I’m no ‘Chosen One,’ but that doesn’t mean I can’t find my own way to get around.” He held up his arm and pulled down his left sleeve. He smirked as he showed off the tangled network of glowing circuitry that spun down his arm like an extra set of veins, leading to a blue, lit plate on top of his wrist. Grey then glowered at Victorio. “Well, kid? You ready to prove to me you can fill my shoes or what?”

  Victorio’s face hardened. “You bet I am. So, suck it.”

  “We’ll see how cocky you are after you see the Forges,” he said cryptically as the blue plate began to glow brighter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arges, Smith of Darkness

  Pulsing, thumping bass, the whistles, and groans of bellows. And sighs. And weeping. Every breath was hot, stinging. The scent of ash and molten metal.

  Enki’s eyes dragged open as a weary consciousness thrust him into awareness. All around the ceiling were spiderwebs of steam-filled pipes sending out a foul-smelling odor. Across every surface were organic forms, faces, and sinew compacted and sculpted into smooth stone. Shadows swayed across every surface, and some paused to stare down at him with bright eyes.

  Never had he seen the great Forges, and yet he knew this place. In the deepest, most reviled depths of his being he knew this lust for nonexistence. And despite never having laid eyes on it, he also knew the shape hunched over a forge lit by white and blue flame; the hulking mass of solid muscle rippling as they stoked their leathery, sturdy hands directly into the fire itself. A cloud of eyes hovered over shoulders supporting no head, idly bobbing around the largest orb in its center; thankfully none of them faced Enki currently.

  Every part of him was sore…pain anything remotely like this was a sensation Enki hadn't felt in eons. It was a brief reminder of mortality, existing in a moment rather than ages. He even felt the need for his body to breathe…what a rare feeling. He shakily struggled to control said breath as he very, very cautiously attempted to move. His wrists were restrained, as were his ankles and rib cage. Oh, look…what he lay on was once itself a rib cage. His breath strained once, and this light sound over all the din of the forges caused four of the smaller of the High Forger’s eyes to focus on him.

  Having shades of a trickster in him, Enki couldn’t help but laugh painfully. “And hello, High Forger Arges,” he said with a weak smile.

  Arges didn’t turn, but their eyes remained on him. “Pleasantries? It is a rare moment I receive pleasantries. Hello, Enki,” they finished in their low, rumbling voice, like a shower of boulders tumbling down an old mountain.

  He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “I hate to be a bother…but the, uh…the wrists are a bit tight.”

  “I will release one as I begin,” they informed him coldly.

  “Begin?” Enki repeated with a strained laugh. “Oh, reshaping me. If I’m getting an upgrade, may I at least approve the design? I like being pretty, and I’d hate to be just some bit of architecture, you know?”

  The High Forger paused, and several of the eyes fixed on Enki tilted slightly. As Arges returned to the flames they mused, “Stalling for time, Enki? Why? Surely you see the change is inevitable. Surely you wish it to be so,” they added with a chuckle.

  Dryly Enki laughed with them. “Well…half of me does. The other half wants to drive a scythe through your eyes.”

  “You have never been a warrior, Enki,” Arges chided him. “Changes shall be an improvement on the matter. Just be patient.”

  “I am, but only for The Cartesian Guard.”

  “Ah, your guard,” they scoffed. “Had you kept your hands free from the affairs of mortality you would not be here. Hope in them is useless. Hope does not exist in the Black,” they said, turning fully to face Enki. As they steadfastly approached him, Enki held his breath fearfully. His eyes locked onto Arges’ calloused hands, white-hot from the flames and searing steam wafting from each digit. They needed no tools, only hands with which to sculpt.

  “Nothing exists here,” they finished.

  The restraint on Enki’s left wrist released as Arges reached over him, and he instinctively tried to move his arm away from Arges’ touch. The soreness had reminded him of the slivers of his tenuous immortality; but as the Forger grabbed his arm, his suit coat sleeve instantly burned away, and his entire body was wracked with pure agony. It overwhelmed him and blanked his mind of anything coherent. There was only scorching, searing pain and his head snapped back as screams shook his entire body and echoed through the chamber.

  The Black was laughing at him. Although he could hear nothing but his own, despairing wails, he knew it was so.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Black

  Around them was nothing. No smells, no ambient sound, no light. Victorio wasn’t even sure what he was standing on. Was he standi
ng? It didn’t feel like he wasn’t, but it didn’t feel like he was, either. Hadn’t he been holding on to Gantina’s hand before they teleported? How long ago had that been? It was no longer clear.

  Then the silence was cut: “Just concentrate on the sound of my voice. Feel around you. You’re real, and so are your surroundings.”

  When Victorio heard Grey’s voice he instantly felt himself more grounded. There was a solid surface beneath his feet, and the comforting softness of Gatina’s paw rest in his hand.

  “Just focus. Your companions are beside you, and so am I.”

  Yes, yes, they were. Victorio was now very sure of it. He looked to his side and saw Gatina, and to her left was Brasil, holding onto her other hand. The two of them had their eyes closed, and Victorio could see them straining to breathe. They were also shaking, and he could make out a sweat on Brasil’s forehead. He suddenly remembered them saying the Black did things to most people, that must have been happening.

  “Hey,” Victorio said aloud. “We’re here. It’s okay, guys.”

  “Good,” Grey affirmed when Victorio spoke. “Listen to the Spear Bearer. Time is passing normally as we speak.”

  Gradually Gatina and Brasil opened their eyes, and Gatina half-smiled at Victorio as she steadied her breath. “Hey, Vicky.”

  He nudged her, but with a sympathetic grin. “Told you not to call me that.”

  Brasil uneasily wiped the sweat off his brow and let out a long sigh. “Is that…Is that smoke?” he murmured.

  Now that more reality was forming around them, Victorio could smell it too. But it wasn’t just smoke, it was also like…a barbecue. Charcoal and ash and definitely meat, but nothing at all appetizing. Also metal, like how he imagined foundries in movies must smell. Every breath felt hot, like a mid-August day during the droughts that plagued southern California nearly every summer, drying up the back of his throat with every inhale.

  “Now look in front of you. I’m here.”

  Victorio blinked several times and finally saw Grey stood in front of the three of them, almost as though he had appeared from nowhere, yet Victorio was aware he had been there the whole time. And now that he was focused on Grey, Victorio could now see what had been in front of them since their arrival, and his jaw dropped.

  Before the group was a massive complex, dozens of stories tall with a network of smokestacks spreading from every corner like the branches of a centuries-old tree. It was unclear where any light source was, but he could still make out the slick, stone walls that eerily reminded him of muscle, and the obsidian and red structures that stretched out and upward above them.

  Brasil let out a long whistle as he adjusted the brim of his hat. “And there it is.”

  Gatina took a step forward, her large eyes glistening like mirrors. “We’re seeing something no one besides a Spear Bearer has ever lived to talk about, Braz.”

  “Let’s make sure we live long enough to do just that,” he agreed in a low growl.

  “Good,” Grey began with a sigh. “You’re all here.”

  “These are the Forges…?” Victorio asked in a whisper.

  “There’s no need to be quiet,” Grey continued. “The fact that we’re alive is all the Empty will need to sense us. Being quiet won’t keep us hidden.”

  “Magic will keep us hidden,” Gatina offered, shaking out her sleeves and holding up her wand.

  “Not for long enough,” Grey said with a shake of his head. “The only thing that will keep us truly hidden is the aura of entropy itself. We can go in a lower window, take down some lesser smiths, and use their hides as cover while we search.”

  All three of them gawked at Grey in stunned silence, and Victorio could feel his lip curl in disgust very, very slowly.

  Grey stared back at them accusingly. “What. You want to find Enki or not?”

  ✽✽✽

  The ensuing argument had finally ended with Grey outvoted, and the four of them have scaled to the top of the lowest smokestack with Gatina’s magic covering them. The hope was that the foul mist would conceal the group further, and the chimney would provide a direct route to the base of the Forges.

  “My idea was better,” Grey grumbled as he lowered Brasil onto one of the pipes below. “This is suicide.”

  While Gatina floated down she said, “You mean your idea was grosser. Quit whining. I’ll hide us for now.”

  “I’m not worried about now,” he snapped back as he hopped down and landed on the pipe beside them. “It’s a long way down.”

  Victorio jumped between the crisscrossing network of pipes, each step reminding him of the summer before when he’d braved a giant slingshot at a tourist trap. This was a lot more precarious than he liked, but it was the only way down. Not looking at where he was going wasn’t an option, giving him a perfect view every time of the distance he could plummet. Even through the hissing mist and steam, he could make out just enough to imagine the red smear he’d become if he fell.

  As the group traversed, he kept looking over at Grey. The prior Spear Bearer. Victorio couldn’t even imagine the things he’d seen. His face was calm as he concentrated on their path, his glossy, impenetrable eyes surveying the lattice of massive pipes.

  “So, hey,” Victorio ventured, getting closer to him. “You were the Spear Bearer before me, right Adam?”

  He half-smiled bitterly and sighed. “Yeah, that’s right. Listening not your strong suit?”

  Ignoring his jab, Victorio continued, “That means if you're not the Bearer anymore you can go home, right?”

  “No one to go back to,” he replied coldly, his eyes instantly distant.

  Suddenly feeling he’d crossed a line somehow, Victorio swallowed hard. “Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t know your…reality was gone…”

  Grey rolled his eyes, then picked up his pace to easily slide down a dip to another branching pipe. “It’s not. I just don’t care to go back.”

  This caused Victorio’s face to tighten. “Well, that’s gotta be better than wanting to go back but not being able to.”

  “Yeah, sucks to be you.”

  “So, how’d you lose the Spear?” Victorio cut angrily.

  “I didn’t lose it,” he snapped. “Creation took it from me. Along with someone…” he said low, but just loud enough for Victorio to still hear. “The only person who mattered. And I made a mistake. And that was it. One mistake is all it takes for the universe to give up on you.”

  “You did something,” Victorio clarified. “You used the Spear more for yourself than your purpose.”

  And Victorio could guess there weren’t that many uses for a spear.

  Grey stopped and glanced over his shoulder, throwing a smoldering look at him. “And?”

  “And so you can’t blame Creation for what you did yourself,” he pointed out.

  Grey’s face tightened in anger and he spun on him. “I did everything that was asked of me and when—” He stopped himself and gritted his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I was almost as stupid as you when I took the Spear. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “I know that it doesn’t matter if I asked for it or not,” Victorio said defensively. “Sometimes you just have to do what you don’t want to when you don’t want to because of something more important than you.”

  “Let’s see you keep up your self-righteous bullshit when you really lose everything!” he shouted.

  Victorio straightened, ready to just throw down in the middle of nothingness against someone a lot older, but then felt Brasil's hand on his shoulder. “Enough. Both of you. I don’t know what started this, but let it go.”

  Grey put up his hands and shook his head. “Sure. Whatever.”

  When Brasil arched an eyebrow at Victorio he mumbled an apology, a little bit guilty. He also could faintly hear Gatina grumble, “As if any of you know what it’s like to lose everything.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Disposable Material

  Again the group fell int
o quiet concentration, Brasil leading the way and glancing at the network of metal and the mist slithering between. “This is getting too thick to hardly see through,” he grumbled. “Wish me nose would do any good, but all I smell is ash.”

  “Are we getting close?” Victorio asked. “I think I hear voices.”

  Grey held up a hand, the gesture silencing the group, and tilted his head. “Those aren’t voices,” he whispered. “Hammers.”

  Victorio squinted his eyes, a habit that somehow made listening easier, and he indeed heard the distant din of metal on metal…but the voices. He knew he heard voices. A lot of them. And they sounded like they were in pain. Beside him, Gatina’s tail stood on end and her ears flattened against her head.

  Victorio whispered low to her, “You hear that too, don’t you?”

  She nodded, eyes wide. “It’s…It’s like the Empty, but not…”

  As Brasil’s pace down the pipes slowed, Victorio could see the unease was infectious to all but Grey: while his lips tightened, his focus was on the ever-compacting spider web of metal that stretched downwards. The air now sat heavily, thick and tingly from the heat in each breath. Brasil jumped from one pipe to another, then shrilly yelped, and struggled to leap to a previous pipe. He crumpled onto his side on this new surface, and Victorio and Gatina were instantly next to him.

  Gatina knelt beside him, a white paw resting on his firm shoulder. “Braz!”

  Spewing out a steady stream of curses in the thickest Irish accent Victorio had heard from him so far (and holy shit he was awesome at swearing, Victorio was actually impressed), finally he pushed out, “It’s hot! Made a right haymes of my feet—running first and bein’ a moran for not bein’ able to fit shoes.”

  Glancing at the bottoms of his feet, Gatina grimaced largely and then hovered her wand over them. (Based on that expression, Victorio didn’t want to see anything for himself.) “I don’t think we’re getting any further down the pipes.”