Darklands

by M. L. Spencer

  “Sareen’s soul is still in the keeping of her master.” Naia clenched her fist, crushing both candle and flame. She worked her fingers together, crumbling the tallow. She opened her hand and spilled out the remains.

  “What are you doing, Naia?”

  Kyel spun toward the shrine’s entrance, his heart lurching at the sound of Luther Penthos’ voice. He found the old man standing at the top of the steps, one hand on the shrine’s great oaken door. His face was pinched into a frown of concern.

  “Father,” Naia gasped, sweeping toward him.

  The High Priest of Death lingered in the doorway. He was staring back and forth between Kyel and Naia with cold conjecture in his eyes.

  Naia moved up the stairs, her black cloak billowing out behind her. When she reached her father, she drew up and embraced him. The old man made no attempt to return the gesture.

  “I’m lighting votive candles, Father,” Naia explained, releasing him. She glanced back at Kyel.

  “Votive candles? For whom?” Naia’s father looked profoundly skeptical.

  Naia shrugged, retreating down the stairs. She walked with her hands clasped in front of her, a tranquil smile on her lips. She appeared unbothered by her father’s abrupt appearance.

  “The first is for Mother.” She stood before the shrine, indicating the first glowing candle on the ledge. It still gleamed with a wavering dance of light.

  “The second is for Sareen Qadir. To make certain that her soul is yet confined to the Netherworld.”

  She dropped her hand, pointing downward at the scattered tallow on the floor. She nudged at a cake of it with her foot.

  Her father nodded slightly. “That is wise, I suppose. What of the third?”

  “The third,” Naia echoed. Reaching down, she took an unlit votive candle into her hand and grasped a metal striker. “The third candle is for Meiran Withersby. To make certain she’s still alive.”

  “And does she live?”

  Holding the candle up before her, Naia muttered another brief, unspoken prayer and depressed the striker’s mechanism. Another spark flared into being, wafting directly toward the candle’s wick. The spark missed, arcing downward to the floor. Naia repeated the motion, producing another spark. This, too, had no effect.

  “I conclude that the Prime Warden is most likely still alive.” She set the items in her hands down upon the ledge of the shrine.

  Luther Penthos seemed accepting of the news. A thin smile spread on his lips. A proud smile. There was still a trace of sadness in his eyes, though, enough for Kyel to detect. No matter how impressed the priest might be with his daughter, he still regretted losing her.

  “That’s good news.” Naia’s father leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Continue with your prayers, my dear. Just please keep me informed of any changes.”

  “I will, Father.”

  Nodding, the High Priest of Death released his daughter and turned back toward the stairs. As soon as his foot reached the first step, he stopped and turned toward Kyel.

  “And are you here to offer prayers, as well, Grand Master Kyel?”

  Kyel shook his head. “No, Your Eminence. I’m not.”

  “Please remember that the Conclave is awaiting your answer. Are you still considering their request?”

  “I am,” Kyel answered stiffly.

  Naia shot Kyel a questioning look as her father took his leave. She waited until the old man was well out the door before striding across the shrine.

  “What is this about the Conclave?”

  “It’s nothing,” Kyel grumbled. He wished Naia hadn’t been made privy to that particular exchange. He intentionally hadn’t told her; Naia was upset with him enough already.

  “Don’t be evasive,” she admonished. Her eyes glimmered with impatience. “Out with it. What’s going on?”

  Kyel sighed, outmatched by her stubbornness. He ran a hand through his beard. “The Conclave wishes to address my training as a Sentinel. They feel that I haven’t progressed as far as they think I should have.”

  “You can’t be serious! The audacity—!”

  Kyel cut her off. “We’re beholden to the Conclave now, Naia, not the other way around. At any rate, I have a feeling they’re going to want me to make a change. I’m not sure what kind. I suppose I’ll be finding out.”

  Naia raised a finger, eyes gleaming with outrage. “Don’t let them control you, Kyel. You may have yielded some authority to them, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still your own man.”

  “Not anymore,” Kyel said. “Not unless we can get Meiran back. The truth is, I’m inclined to agree with them. I learned more in the few months I spent with Darien than I have over the past two years.”

  Naia looked troubled by his statement. “We both know Darien was much too hard on you.”

  Kyel hadn’t shared his feelings with Naia on the matter. At least, not recently. Not since his feelings had changed. “Darien knew exactly how much time he’d have with me. And he also knew it wouldn’t be enough.”

  Naia’s frown deepened, but she nodded anyway. She gazed up at Kyel with turbulent eyes. “So, you’ve forgiven him?”

  Kyel had to think a moment before answering that question. Like everything else, it was complicated. “For the way he treated me? Aye.” Kyel’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. “But not for what he did to you.” He looked down. “For that, I’ll never forgive him.”

  Naia reached up and patted his arm with a valiant attempt at a smile. “It’s getting late. We need to start.”

  She turned away, striding across the floor toward the entrance to Death’s Passage. “Bar the door.”

  Kyel followed her directive, moving quickly up the stairs and bringing the wooden beam down across the doorway, preventing anyone from accessing the chamber while they worked. He joined Naia at the base of the steps.

  “Do you still remember the Stricture?”

  Kyel nodded. “No talking to the dead.”

  “No interacting with the dead,” she corrected him. She reached up, physically turning his face toward hers until he was looking into her eyes. “Not in any way.”

  Kyel nodded. He understood. She smiled, patting his cheek. Naia took his hand, guiding him forward. As they moved across the portal’s threshold into Death’s Passage, the world flickered. Kyel stumbled, feeling suddenly unstable on his feet. He could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck standing upright. No matter how many times he entered, he never grew accustomed to the Catacombs.

  The light was different, surreal. Low-lying fog swirled around their feet, retreating from their footsteps. The air seemed different: thin, stretched. There was a distinctive odor to the place, like the smell of an old tomb.

  The wheeled bier they had lain Sareen upon was still resting where they’d left it, pushed back into a dark recess of the passage. They hadn’t moved her since arriving in Glen Farquist. The corpse lay draped with its thin shroud, features only visible in silhouette.

  Naia moved to the handle of the cart, motioning Kyel toward the rear.

  He gave a good push, putting his back into it. At first the wheels didn’t want to give. With another shove, the cart lurched forward, Naia tugging at the long wooden handle. The wheels creaked, the cart shuddering. Kyel pushed as, together, they escorted Sareen’s bier out of the Catacombs and back to the shrine.

  Reality shivered as they crossed back over the threshold into the world of life. This time, Kyel was ready for the transition. He pushed on the cart, keeping his feet moving until they were on the other side of the room. He was grateful for the return of the shrine’s golden light and for the scent of uncorrupted air.

  Naia set the cart’s handle down on the floor and moved to Sareen’s side. She peered down at the corpse’s shrouded form, her expression soft and reflective. Kyel took up position on the other side of the bier, watching as Naia lifted the edge of the fabric and folded it back, turning it down to expose the face beneath.

&nb
sp; The corpse still looked fresh.

  Kyel was mildly shocked. Sareen had been dead for almost a month, and nothing had been done to preserve her body. Nevertheless, the corpse looked as though only hours had passed since the heart had stopped beating. Thus was the nature of the Catacombs: beyond the Veil of Death, time and distance had little meaning. But it was one thing to acknowledge such power, quite another to actually experience its effects.

  “She’s beautiful,” he commented in wonder.

  Naia raised her eyebrows. “She’s dangerous,” she corrected him.

  Kyel nodded. He had no trouble remembering Arden Hannah and the evils that woman was capable of despite her feral allure. He tore his eyes away from Sareen’s perfect face.

  “How do we do this?”

  Naia crossed her arms in front of her, suddenly pragmatic. “We need to heal her body. Give her spirit a place to return to.”

  Kyel frowned. “How do you heal death?”

  “Death cannot be healed. All we can do is try to heal the flesh itself. I can’t part the Veil of Death. Only the goddess can do that … or Xerys, if he is so inclined.”

  That did bother Kyel. The lines of his forehead creased. “So, now we’re aiding Xerys?”

  “We are not aiding Xerys,” Naia insisted with a toss of her head. “We are simply helping Xerys help us.”

  Kyel didn’t like the sound of that. He took a moment, muddling her logic in his mind. “There’s a distinction?”

  Somehow, he doubted that there was.

  “We have to begin before my father returns,” Naia changed the subject. She offered one hand out to Kyel. The other, she placed on Sareen’s chest. “I’m going to probe her. Come. I want you to feel her through me.”

  Kyel reached over the corpse, accepting Naia’s offered hand. He closed his eyes, opening himself up to the magic field. Immediately, he felt the warmth of the currents moving through him, through Naia, penetrating Sareen’s lifeless body. The image that was returned painted a dismal picture of the cadaver’s state. The body was lifeless, breathless, its fluids clotted and pooled, collected in the depths of the cavities. Every muscle was lax, devoid of tension. Deep within, there was only a constant, echoing stillness. There was nothing at all that spoke of life or vitality.

  Worse, the body had deteriorated more than he’d expected, far more than it appeared on the surface. Through Naia’s probe, Kyel could feel the breakdown of tissues, the collapse of capillaries, the destruction of nerves and fibers and connections.

  Kyel looked up, feeling the retreat of hope.

  “Did you get a sense of what we’re dealing with?” Naia asked.

  Kyel gazed down at the corpse. “I think so. There’s nothing to be done, is there?”

  To his surprise, Naia shook her head. She was animated, vibrant. It took Kyel a moment of disorientation to realize that she was very much in her element. This was death itself they faced, and to Naia, death was no adversary. Far from it; it was her area of specialty.

  “There are two types of damage we’ll be working through,” Naia lectured, pacing away. “There’s the wound that was the cause of death. Then there’s the natural changes that occur as soon as the heart stops beating. Both types of damage will need to be overcome.”

  “I’ll heal the wound,” Kyel offered. Out of everything he had sensed through Naia’s probe, that seemed by far the simplest task they would be performing. “You’re more familiar with the other … things. The changes.”

  Naia smiled, pacing back toward the bier. She reached out her hand and caressed a lock of hair back from Sareen’s face. “It’s not going to be that straightforward. We’ll need to go about this systematically if we’re going to have any chance at all.” She turned, pacing away again. “First, we must reverse any decomposition that’s already begun. Then we can start worrying about other things: stability of the veins, fluid distribution, things like that. We’ll save the biggest challenges for last.”

  “Which are…?” To Kyel, it all sounded quite impossible.

  “Healing the brain enough to carry out basic functions. Maintaining body temperature, pulse, respiration. We’ll have to watch her closely for a while to make certain the organs function properly.”

  Kyel shook his head, staggered by the enormity of the task ahead of them. “I wouldn’t have thought of any of that. Are you certain this is even possible?”

  “I’m not,” Naia admitted, almost physically deflating. “As far as I’m aware, this has never been attempted before. At least, not for centuries.”

  She squeezed his hand. Kyel cast a doubtful look her way.

  “The wound itself is going to be one of the last things we worry about,” Naia continued. She placed her hand over Sareen’s chest, where the ghastly rent had been sewn together and bandaged.

  “And then … what?” Kyel demanded, gesturing with his hands. “Do we just wait and see if she wakes up?”

  “That’s all we can really do,” Naia confirmed with a shrug. She was gazing down into Sareen’s face with a whimsical expression. She fussed with another wayward curl, smoothing it back.

  “Are you ready?” she asked softly.

  Kyel knew he was not. Nowhere near ready, not for any of this. For anything like this. The vicars of the temples were right: he needed to intensify his studies. Quickly, while there was still yet time.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Naia nodded, gripping his hand in reassurance. She positioned herself over the corpse, a look of determination in her eyes. “This is what we’ll do: I’ll initiate the healing. The more I heal, the more other things are going to start falling apart. Your job is going to be more about damage control than anything else.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Right now the system is in balance,” Naia indicated the body. “The moment I start healing, things are going to go out of balance very quickly. I’ll make the changes. You stabilize.”

  Kyel swallowed, for the first time feeling tangible fear. He wasn’t sure why; they couldn’t make this corpse any more dead than it was already.

  “Very well. Here I go.” Naia placed her hand on Sareen’s forehead, closing her eyes.

  He wasn’t ready. But Naia started anyway.

  Kyel could feel her tug powerfully on the magic field, sending waves of healing out away from her fingers, spreading throughout the cadaver. He could feel it almost personally, as if he were doing the work himself. He could visualize exactly what Naia was attempting very clearly in his mind. Through the link they shared, he watched the slow changes she was making unfold.

  She started with the tissues, reversing the process of decomposition, adding structure where structure had already broken down. She moved on next to the capillaries, restoring collapsed and disintegrated vessels, driving fluids back into the system.

  Almost immediately, Kyel felt things starting to go wrong, just as she’d warned. Freshly repaired tissues, reawakening, screamed for blood, gasping for air. Sareen’s body seemed to be dying again just as quickly as Naia was resurrecting it. Kyel scrambled, doing what he could, which amounted to frenetic scurrying, a continuous propping up of what was already falling back apart. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he concentrated, forcing himself to work faster, trying to keep up with the momentum of the healing. He strove to anticipate what was going to go wrong next, to get ahead of it.

  Naia moved on to the congealed blood, thinning the clots, redistributing the fluids throughout the tissues. Saturating it with air. Kyel couldn’t keep track of all she was attempting—it was too much, all at once. He could hardly keep up with his own struggle. It was all he could do to prioritize, react, and contain.

  Gradually, he realized something was happening. What Naia was doing was having some type of effect. He paused just long enough to probe the corpse.

  And was shocked by what he found.

  The body was no longer still, silent and cold. Organs were stirring, reawakening. Heat bloomed in the depths of t
he body’s core. Within her chest, Sareen’s heart quivered for the first time in weeks, eager in its desire to start beating.

  “Now, Kyel. The wound!”

  Kyel reacted, mending the torn tissues, repairing damaged membranes, shoring up the rent walls of organs. Beneath his fingers, Sareen’s body shuddered. Her heart spasmed, lurching back to life. Blood, long stalled, rushed to fill waiting ventricles, coursing through long-emptied veins.

  With a gasp, Sareen’s lungs filled with their first breath of air since death.

  Kyel looked up, startled, his eyes wide, mouth hanging aghast. His stare met Naia’s, equally alarmed, equally frightened. Through his hands, he felt the body draw another, shuddering breath.

  “What do we do now?” Kyel whispered, feeling a sharp pang of excitement mingled with a terrible sense of foreboding.

  Naia looked down at Sareen’s face, her eyes set in grim determination.

  “Now, we wait. The rest is up to Xerys.”

  19

  Transgressions

  Darien flinched at the sound of a distant, startled scream. An icy sweat broke out all over his body, prickling his flesh. He gazed out into the roving fog, eyes scouring the shadows. A shiver traced down his spine, caressing the small of his back like the lightest brush of fingertips. He ran forward two brisk strides then stopped.

  He brought his hand up and whistled, a piercing sound that cleaved right through the mist.

  Then he waited, the speed of his thoughts far outpacing the speed of his pulse. He stared with dread into the murky haze, disoriented, unsure which direction he was even facing. After moments, he heard a swift, pattering sound. A moving shadow burst through the blanket of fog, careening toward him and hurling into his legs, almost knocking him over. The demon-dog yipped as it pressed its muzzle into Darien’s hand, tail thrumming against his thigh. A slobbering wet tongue slicked the palm of his hand. The smell of the beast was like mold and old decay.