“If they are…I’ll hold you responsible.”
Rikar waved him away. “I don’t know why Aurellia treats you with such favor. If it were up to me, I’d have dispensed of you along time ago.“
“You think you can make it all on your own? Go ahead and try. Admit it, you need us.”
“I’ll admit nothing except that I respect my master’s wishes. But if you ever get in my way, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” Rikar spun the dagger around in his hand.
“What have I ever done to you?”
Rikar smiled like Talis was a total idiot. “You’re father is Garen Storm. Get it? After I find my father I don’t care what happens to you.”
“And what if you never find him?”
“Then I’ll hold you responsible.” Rikar smirked, and pointed his dagger at Talis. He turned and filtered off through the crowd.
After the feasting was over, sorcerers and servants alike left the room down different hallways. A servant girl shuffled up to him, bowed, and gestured down a torchlit corridor. “Your friends are waiting for you.”
Talis followed her along a passageway formed of chipped stone blocks, through stone doors that opened on their own, down stone staircases that wound around and around until Talis felt dizzy. At last they exited and found a room with low beds and several giant palms near a doorway that led outside. Mara and Nikulo stood on a balcony, staring at the vast city landscape.
“Are you okay?” Talis said.
Mara shook her head, her eyes distant and dark. “I want to go home…I’ve had enough of all this madness.”
“What did they do to you?”
“More like what they showed us.” Mara glanced at Nikulo, who hung his head as if defeated. “All those lost souls…those poor people tortured in the Underworld. Is that everyone’s fate?”
“You know better than that.”
“I know…we’re royals, of pure blood…but what about the other people? I saw entire fields filled with tortured souls. Armies of people in rags and rusty weapons…cutting each other down. What’s the use in that?”
Nikulo looked up, tears welling in his eyes. “I had pity on Rikar…for the first time, I understood him. If my father were there—in the Grim March—I’d want to rescue him too.”
“So let’s help him.” Talis put a hand on Mara’s shoulder. “It’s the only way for us. Once we’re inside the Underworld, the Surineda Map will reveal the way.”
In the middle of the night Talis was startled awake from a loud rapping on the door. Mara and Nikulo lifted their heads, staring blearily. The same servant girl opened the door. “Collect your things. It is time.”
12. THE DEPTHS OF URGAR
Aurellia stood peering into a green fire. The flames lapped around dust that he sprinkled into the fire. “Bones from the crypts…the fire is hungry. This is how the ancients paid for the Heim of their enemies. Dust for deeds. Over the years, they’d add a dash more bone meal to the flames. Their enemies would continue in the Grim March, fighting year after year, until all their bones were consumed by the fire. Then they found freedom.”
When the last bit of dust was cast into the fire, Aurellia chuckled. “Some said this was torture, but to the ancients, this was their just due. The Law of the Deeds. One’s actions deserves punishment or reward. The greater the evil above the ground, the larger the Grim March grows.”
As Mara paled, listening to the story, Aurellia fixed her eyes on her. “Yes…yes, a terrible thing you’ve seen. One so young and innocent shouldn’t bear witness to such wickedness.” He spread his arms wide. “Yet here you are! In the city of Darkov, where the slaves dance with their dead masters.”
Nikulo edged his way to the side of Aurellia’s study, inspecting the books and tablets and scrolls that lined the shelves. Talis noticed him reaching for a scroll.
“When do we leave?” Talis said, trying to avert Aurellia’s attention away from Nikulo.
Aurellia washed his hands in a copper water-basin. “You’re the impatient one. There are times and openings for all rituals.” He dried his hands, and pointed at a stone door chiseled with glyphs and symbols of death. “There is only one opening to the Temple of Zagros.”
“And can you counsel us on what to expect?”
“This one knows the rites of entry.” Aurellia placed a wrinkled hand on Rikar’s shoulders, then laughed a coarse, halting laugh. “The problem is how to escape once you’ve entered. You’re bright…I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Aurellia nodded to Rikar, and folded his hands over his stomach. Rikar marched ceremoniously up to the door, and knelt. Out of the corner of his eye, Talis noticed Nikulo slipping the scroll inside his shirt. Nikulo gave Talis a wink, and stepped close. “Unbelievable,” he whispered.
“Manef, manef, listero, manef,” Rikar chanted. “Pereth holeth, Pereth holeth.” He repeated the chant while stretching the fingers from his right hand towards the door. His left palm was flat on the ground, with knees remaining fixed to the floor. Soon streams of black fibers crawled from the tips of his outstretched fingers, moving painfully slow towards the door. Agony gripped Rikar’s face as he continued the chant. His body shook, as if raising his arm sapped all his strength.
Aurellia seemed amused. The black fibers reached the stone door and burrowed into each of the six symbols of death. Fire sizzled along the edges of the runes as an inky blackness filled inside. A loud, breathy sigh and a grey mist escaped from underneath the door as it swung slowly open.
“I didn’t think you could do it.” Aurellia clapped his hands together and all the candles in the room went out. “Enter quickly before what’s inside escapes.”
Talis walked towards the grey light, following Rikar, and sensing Mara and Nikulo at his sides. Through the door, stone steps spiraled down into the depths. Talis heard a whoosh and a click behind him. They were locked inside.
“Follow my lead…and whatever you do, don’t look things in the eye.” Rikar’s voice sounded weak, like after waking from a long nightmare.
After countless rotations, Talis felt his head spinning. He needed something to orient his view, but everything seemed to tilt to the right. They kept going down for another hour, until Talis noticed the light getting darker now.
They reached the last step and the way curved left and narrowed. Rikar studied a slim keyhole entrance, which only allowed one person at a time. Inside, grey mist obscured the view. Rikar entered and the keyhole seemed to wiggle, then whipped around in one whole circle and Rikar was gone.
“Who wants to go next?” Nikulo said, like he was expecting someone else to volunteer first.
“Go ahead.” Talis gestured him on.
Nikulo frowned, sizing up the entrance. “Can I even fit?”
“We’ll help push.”
They did have to push him into the keyhole. He was almost to wide to fit. Soon he too spun around and disappeared. Mara was next, and Talis entered last. As it spun, he felt like his whole body churned inside.
When he came out the other side, his stomach dropped. He found himself falling into a grey mist. He flailed his arms about, grasping for anything to hold onto. The air rushed over his face, making his eyes water. Then the mist cleared. He plummeted towards six stepped sandstone pyramids. He felt the rush of wingbeats from above and his fall stopped abruptly as black talons wrapped around his body. He glanced up. A raven the size of a house stared at him as if he were food. He cringed, and tried to wriggled free.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mara waving at him from below. As he rushed towards the ground, the bird dropped him, sending him tumbling over the black sand. Nikulo pulled Talis to his feet, and looked up into the grey sky. “This temple’s for the fervently devoted. There’s only one way in.”
“Maybe you can convince one of those ravens to fly you back up there.” Mara flapped her arms like they were wings.
“Stop acting like idiots.” Rikar stuck a finger over his lips. “We’re on hallowed ground.”
The entrance to the temple sloped down underneath the pyramid. As they stepped into a dark tunnel, torches blazed to life along the walls. There were glyphs inscribed on the stones: the wheat harvest, the moons, a crypt, sprouts breaking through soil, a crow, a ceremonial dagger. When they walked deeper into the tunnel, the torches behind sizzled and died.
And then the music started. Weird, stilted notes, as if played for a funeral. Talis could smell incense wafting through the air, heavy and morbid, cloves and cinnamon and cedar. The corridor opened up into a vast room, and as if tripping over an invisible switch, torches flashed to light the interior of the great pyramid. Electricity sizzled through the room. His hands tingled, hair spiked, with jolts striking his fingertips as he lifted them above his head.
There was a giant, glowing ruby in the center of the room, directly under a golden capstone far above at the top of the pyramid. Talis was about to reach out and touch the jewel when Rikar grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t be a fool…touch it and you’ll die.” Rikar pointed out four stone guardians standing under each of the four corners of the pyramid. They had cat faces, long pointy ears, and the body of a woman. One held a two-handed sword, another gripped a dagger in one hand and a scroll in the other, the third held a ball in one hand and a rope in the other. The last one’s hands were empty, one rose towards the sky and the other faced the earth.
“Stand in front of each guardian. Mara, that one”—he gestured towards the one with the dagger—”and Nikulo, there.” Nikulo strode towards the one with the ball and rope, Rikar went towards the one with the sword, and Talis knew the last one was meant for him.
When they were all in position, facing towards the ruby, Talis felt something click underneath. The stones where each of them stood descended into the ground. Soon Talis lost sight of the room. There was only darkness. He wanted to scream, climb out of this tomb, but something inside held him still. He was tempted to use magic and light up the tunnel, but he heard a loud droning sound like a hundred cries from a herd of bulls.
Then the ground gave way beneath him and he was sliding, gaining speed as he rushed down into the darkness. A flicker of crimson light came from below and he slid into an inverted pyramidal room, formed of black marble. Mara, Nikulo, and Rikar slid towards the statue in the center of the room the same time as he. It was Zagros. A statue so life-like it had to be real.
The eyes moved.
Rikar brushed himself off and stared at the statue. “This is it. Only those worthy can pass.”
“Pass where?” Nikulo glanced around. “There’s nothing here but the statue.”
“Not all is as it seems in the temple…like the stones under the guardians. Keep quiet.” Rikar bowed to the statue and the eyes studied him. “We seek entrance to your realm, oh great Zagros. We of humble heart long to be near you. With these four tokens grant us access to your domain.” Rikar inserted four golden coins into the statue’s mouth.
Talis felt the wind pour out from underneath the statue. It whipped his hair back in a frenzy. Mara and Nikulo both took several steps back, faces filled with fear. Rikar’s eyes were wild and fervent, gazing at the statue as it floated into the air.
The way was clear. From the hole underneath the statue wafted the sick stench of rotting corpses, the smell of death itself. A hot, muggy fog broiled out, illuminated by a pale, yellow light. The color of disease. Rikar took a step inside and motioned them to follow.
13. THE UNDERWORLD
After descending hundreds of bone stairs, the way opened up into a cave. Giant stalagmites and stalactites filled an enormous cathedral room. The ground held a light mist, the kind you find in the early morning. The air reeked of rotten flesh. Talis covered his nose and fought to keep his stomach down.
Rikar motioned them to the right, down a round, ridged tunnel. Talis spotted chunks of gold and silver lodged many places along the jagged volcanic rock wall. They walked for hours through tunnels and caverns and chutes, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth.
“How much farther do we have to go?” Mara wiped the sweat from her forehead.
Talis rummaged through his backpack, pleased to find some water and dried meat left.
“Not much farther.” Rikar stretched and rubbed his knuckles together.
They set out again. Each chamber opened up into progressively larger chambers. The air turned hotter and muggier the deeper they went. Talis was sweating so much his shirt and pants were drenched.
At last they reached the largest chamber of them all. Mist wafted in the chamber. And at the opposite side, two hooded wight-like figures, a hundred feet tall, stood guard in front of a square stone entrance. Golden glyphs blazed above. One held a scythe and the other held a hammer.
“The guardians of the Underworld. Behold Izria and Ishtia.” Rikar went down on one knee and pressed his palm towards the entrance.
Rancid yellow smoke billowed out from the Underworld and curled its way up and around into the guardians’ nostrils. A fat wretched-looking man charged out from the fog, his eyes desperate and stupid. The guardian Ishtia lifted its hammer quick as lightning and smashed down on the pathetic man. Ishtia pinched the flattened man and tossed him into its gaunt mouth.
Talis clenched his jaw as he watched the grim scene.
“You can’t be serious about going in there.” Mara swallowed and ran a hand through her sweat-drenched hair.
“They won’t harm us.” Rikar clapped his hands together and caused a summoned pair of golden cymbals to crash together in a terrific sound.
The guardians quickly turned their red, blazing eyes towards Rikar. They bent their heads as if sniffing prey. With giant leaps they bounded across room, gripping their weapons with both gnarled hands.
Talis raised his hand in defense, but Rikar pulled him back. “Stop. And don’t look them in the eye.”
“Izria and Ishtia!” Rikar shouted. “Hear our plea. We journey here not as one of the dead. We’re on a sacred quest to see Zagros.”
Izria laughed in a stuttered cackle, twirling its scythe in its hands. “Only the dead can bear the sight of the Master. You foolish mortals dare to venture so?”
Rikar displayed a black medallion to the guardian. “I hold in my hand the right of entry. Do you grant us passage?”
Ishtia huffed, and great puffs of stinking smoke billowed out of its mouth. Both guardians bent down to inspect the medallion. Golden symbols illuminated on the surface and reflected off the long, ivory fangs of the guardians.
“You speak no lies, mortal.” Ishtia lifted its hammer and smashed empty ground four times. “Four strikes to appease the record-keeper. Go, before my hunger rises.”
Without hesitation, Rikar marched towards the entrance. Talis, Mara, and Nikulo followed, uncertainty rippling through each step. Inside the nauseating smoke, Talis sneezed several times and covered his face with his shirt. There was a sickly light permeating throughout the smoke. Farther in, the smoke gave way to an eerie mist. Talis made out shapes in the distance: mounds of bodies strewn like rag dolls, rivers of blood moving like tar. Farther out, volcanos spewed iridescent lava, stone arches rose a thousand feet tall, and bones of some ancient creature poked out of the loamy soil. There was a great mountain beyond, stretching to the dark sky. Thousands of lightning strikes kissed the shrouded peak, and fingerling streams of lava coursed down the mountainside.
The fathomless moaning started as a distant rumbling.
Just like in the stories told, of the cries made by those chained to the Grim March. The dark song blossomed: shrieks, wails, thumping, hisses, and strange animal grunts. And larger than all those sounds, a background of deep moaning, filled with dark notes of suff
ering and agony. They had reached the realm of the dead.
Rikar stretched himself taller and scanned the horizon, as if he could feel a presence nearby.
“Father!” he cried.
Talis remembered a tale told by the sages of Naru. When Prince Lanir, the Hero of Spring, entered the Underworld to save his fallen love, his lungs were forever tainted by the fog that infected that place. Now Talis knew why. He hesitated before following Rikar further into the mist. Would it corrupt him, allowing death to infect his body before his time? Maybe they’d never even make it out of here.
Past a hill littered with volcanic rocks and crows devouring shredded bodies, the air cleared until a grey pall was cast over the landscape. Battle drums boomed. An army appeared. A motley gathering of hundreds of thousands of pathetic soldiers stood, ordered to battle, aligned in long rows, marching endlessly in formation, marching to war. Dim-witted generals stood atop rocky outcroppings, shouting, “To fight, to march, to die in glory!”
Talis scowled, watching the dead charge off to battle, driven by illusions of a glorious death. Two armies collided, the dull thud of rusty weapons clanking together, bones shattering and snapping. The fury of war, the frothing of fetid mouths, the inane lust for violence consumed the dead like maggots to flesh.
The battle waned, everyone lost, and only the generals were left, shouting raving curses at the groaning, twitching, slumping bodies. The scene was consumed by madness.
Rikar charged forward, but Talis held him back. “Wait until the calm.”
Next the wizards came, angry at the failure of the armies to win the day. Waves of fire spilled from their fingertips, consuming the field of fallen soldiers in dancing, devouring flame. The field of motley soldiers were charred and silenced. Bodies motionless, the smoking remains wafted as incense to Zagros, higher and higher to the lava-filled mountains above. To the lair of the gods in the Underworld, the ones banished to rule this macabre place.
Sun Mage Page 7