What luck, my new friend knows Sarn and the Foundlings. Apparently, this man had fetched Sarn from their abode more than once over the years. The Adversary would have smiled at his good fortune, but in his current guise, that would be too out of character and might alienate his newfound friend.
“Tell me all about these ‘Foundlings.’”
Before the man could answer, a half dozen tentacles reared up and swiveled around seeking prey. They brushed against piles of debris in their search and sent loose stones clattering along the uneven ground. Jersten stopped and stared until the Adversary overrode the frantic messages the fool's hind brain kept sending him. Staying still might increase the guy’s odds of survival, but time was marching on, and the Adversary had things to do before those horrid bells rang again.
“Pay no attention to the monster. It's not important.”
His assurance failed to reassure Jersten, nor would the man budge. He kept staring at those tentacles until the Adversary drew on his power to cloud Jersten's mind and cast a modified version of a seven league boots' spell, so his passenger could travel through solid rock without suffocating.
“Tell me where the Foundlings live.”
Jersten did as the spell rendered him temporarily incorporeal. The Foundlings lived in a hidden cave in a hard-to-reach cul-de-sac on the other side of the Lower Quarters, but there was a trick to finding the place. A trick the Adversary now knew.
As Jersten talked, he staggered through the black mist rolling over a sea of writhing tentacles but didn’t see them thanks to the spell. Beside him, the Adversary grimaced as that mist nibbled at his spell and started breaking it down. Gray motes peeled off from the Adversary as they waded through the tentacles searching for them. Those motes would wind their way through the Lower Quarters and finally into the pit where the black lumir crystal would consume them.
I just need to find a tentacle-free cavern, so I can cement this new partnership. I may have need of him again sometime.
But the next cavern they passed into by way of the wall was just as choked with the Ægeldar's many arms. How many of those annoying appendages does that thing have? Too many it seemed because the next cavern had more of the same and keeping the spell active was draining him. It wasn't in the Adversary’s nature to save people.
The fourth cavern was better but still not an option. It featured two types of tentacles. Some were as wide as a man's waist and ended in sucker-covered spade-shaped tips. The others were much thinner and completely covered in suckers. While the thicker ones pounded against the walls, determined to reach whatever lay beyond, the others felt about for prey. But there was no one left alive here except Jersten, and he was just passing through.
“I have a job for you. Don't worry. It's something you want to do.”
“What is it?”
Even though his mind was clouded, Jersten was already thinking about the vague plan the Ægeldar had interrupted, and the object he'd wanted to show Sarn.
“You should show it to him. I’m very interested in his answer.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye captured Jersten’s attention, but the Adversary whispered into his ear, diverting him.
“Come, round that bend. Climb over that rubble. Ignore the arms weakly waving, and the life slowly ebbing from under that heap of broken stones. They belong to Death now, and I'll be there waiting for him to claim them.”
In fact, Death should have shown up by now. The energy released by so many people's untimely demises should have called that entity forth already unless the black lumir crystal had eaten all the energy discharged at death. But it shouldn't have because energy wasn’t magic until it was transmuted by a mage. So where are you Death? What’s keeping you?
Jersten resisted when the Adversary steered him around a dying man crushed under a pile of rocks. The spell was too draining to keep going, so the Adversary had let it go. None of the tentacles in this gallery were paying them any mind anyway. They were too intent on breaching that wall.
Jersten paused when they past a twitching hand sticking out from under a collapsed stalactite. He pointed at that hand, and the hypocrisy of his misplaced mercy almost dragged a laugh out of the Adversary.
“Why stop now for them when you’ve walked by these same people many times in life never seeing their need nor acknowledging their presence.”
The Adversary pulled images of the worst off—dirty, reeking skeletal things with wild eyes and jittery hands. Their fractured minds soared through other worlds leaving their desiccated husks behind.
“And you walked by them everyday never offering a sip of water or a kind word to those who thirsted for it because there’s nothing to gain by it. You didn't help them then when you could have, so why bother helping them now when you can’t? They're dead. They just don't know it yet.”
His newest pawn winced at the truth, and let the Adversary lead him away until the echoes of many voices sounded from somewhere ahead. They heartened Jersten.
“But they're not dead yet, so there’s still a chance they could live.”
That said, Jersten dodged several falling rocks and hurried around another bend in the direction of those voices and freedom. Well, we can't have that. I'm not ready to part with you yet.
The Adversary recast the seven leagues' boots spell and whisked his new friend through the Lower Quarters until they encountered running water and an invisible barrier. A black mist curled away from the subterranean river's bank where the Adversary deposited his latest pawn.
A true ghost can't cross running water, and that unfortunately held true for the Adversary's spectral form as well. They weren’t far enough away from the Ægeldar, but this would have to do.
Jersten stared at the river. The Ægeldar hadn’t yet reached this gallery. Perhaps it wouldn't. That creature must be rapidly nearing the limit of its reach. Then what would it do?
“What is your endgame, beast?”
Did the Ægeldar even have one anymore? Or had its plans disintegrated with its sanity? The Ægeldar had seemed lucid enough when they'd last traded barbs, but that was many hours ago. Before I deprived you of those sacrifices when the Queen of All Trees’ barrier fell. Perhaps that denial had snapped the frayed thread of its sanity. It hardly mattered since there was nothing the Ægeldar could do to his plans.
“Is it safe here?” Jersten asked as he sank down on a rock and scooped up handfuls of water from the river coursing through this cavern.
“For now.”
The Adversary drifted along its bank searching for landmarks to orient himself. It was past time he met those Foundlings. But first, he needed to find a bridge because of course, the Foundlings lived on the other side of the river.
“Wait. What about me?” Jersten called after him, and those words were music to his ears.
“Indeed, what about you? Would you serve me and forsake all others?”
“What do I gain if I agree? Protection?”
Jersten rose unsteadily to his feet. All the lumir crystals had extinguished hours ago leaving only pinpricks of light floating here and there in the white water. They were a remnant of the power once locked away in these stones. Somehow the black lumir crystal and its magic-nullifying mist had missed them. But the Adversary didn't need light to see.
Jersten shifted his weight from foot to foot while he waited for an answer.
“That depends. What would you give for such a boon? Your life, your mind, my service for thine, commend your spirit to me for all time. With this gift, what you wish will be thine.”
“Yes, I commend it to you. Protect me from that monster.” Jersten shuddered.
Jersten’s acquiescence set the spell. It was a simple binding but effective nonetheless. The fool had no idea what he was promising, more’s the pity for him. They just don't make mortals like they used to.
As Jersten acknowledged the shadow dwelling in his soul, his eyes glazed over and darkened, not so much that a regular person would notice, but anything conn
ected to the Divine would sense that corruption.
There would be plenty of time to fashion him into a proper wraith later, after I've exhausted all the perks of a living servant who can’t deny me anything.
Speaking of wraiths, where were Gore and Ragnes? Why hadn’t they reported in yet? When the Adversary extended his senses, he found no trace of Ragnes, but Gore was another story. There you are. Right where I intend to go.
Pain needled the Adversary’s brow as he let that contact go before his minion sensed the intrusion. Gore was with the same Foundlings he would soon meet and overshadow.
“Wherever you go, Sarn, I’ll be there waiting for you, peering out of the eyes of your dearest friends and acquaintances. You can't escape me.”
A laugh escaped the Adversary, but the river’s chatter drowned out his mirth. As he stretched out his thoughts again, pain lit up the Adversary, and he groaned. Those accursed bells! Their hourly assault had taken quite a toll on him. Oh well, he'd just have to search the old-fashioned way.
A set of wings boiled out of his back. They were blackened and still smoking from his long ago crash-landing in the lake of fire, but they worked just fine as a focus for his will. He couldn't take a fully physical form since he was only here in the spirit, and not all of him had made it here.
But taking even part of his true form relieved some of the pain inflicted by those infernal bells because this facsimile of a body was close to his true form. He was a fallen angel after all, and he'd once been soul-bound to the God of Truth. Those damned bells had reminded him of that.
Technically, he didn't need wings to fly since he was a specter but moving physically through the mountain would allow some more of his power to regenerate and tip the odds further in his favor, and this form might offer some protection from those bells when next they rang. After all, he was an angel too.
“Toll for me little bells. Toll for the prodigal angel. Call me back to my Sire, the God who threw me into a lake of fire,” he sang as he took wing and flew.
How Can You Fly Without Wings?
Papa! Ran clung to the statue, but it was rocking, and the ground under it was breaking up. Auntie Sovvan’s feather tickled his cheek. It was an inch wide and a foot long, and it stuck out of his pocket right in his face. A glowing cross flew out of the pit, and in its light, the white feather shimmered, inviting Ran to make a wish. Maybe I can summon her.
“Auntie Sovvan, please help me!”
“Bong,” said the bells.
Ran fumbled the feather out of his pocket as the ground cracked and fell away. His hand tingled as a flash lit the feather from shaft to tip, making the soft barbs shine.
“Auntie Sovvan!”
“Bong,” answered the bells.
Maybe she can't hear me over the bells. He called her name again and again as a dragon-sized hole in the floor below loomed large in his vision.
“Bong.”
“Be quiet. I'm trying to call for help. Auntie Sovvan!”
A crackling sound startled Ran. A light streaked by then he collided with something hard and unyielding. Arms enfolded him, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Auntie Sovvan must have materialized out of that light.
“I've got you baby. You just hold on, okay? Everything will be all right.”
Ran nodded. When they kept falling, he opened his eyes and stared at the spot where a pair of snowy wings should be. Maybe they’re invisible. He freed a hand and patted the back of Auntie Sovvan’s shoulders, but there was still no sign of her wings.
“You don’t have any wings? What happened to them?” I saw them before, didn’t I? Or had he imagined them?
“Well, actually, I do have wings, but they’re bound for reasons I can’t go into right now. I'm working on unlocking them.”
“But how can you fly without wings?”
Auntie Sovvan shrugged. “I can't.”
Nor did that revelation seem to bother her. She must share Papa’s love of heights. Ran liked them too, but not when the ground was rising at an alarming rate to meet them.
“But we'll get hurt if we keep falling. It’s a long way down.”
“You just hold tight, and let me worry about that, okay? I'm hard to damage. At least, I hope I am.”
That last part Auntie Sovvan muttered under her breath. Ran wasn't supposed to hear that, but he did, and it scared him. He shivered and hunkered down in her arms hoping she knew what she was doing. She was the adult here, so she must.
A dark blur shot past them as Auntie Sovvan twisted to alter her trajectory. More sucker-covered arms stabbed at something above them, knocking down more rocks. Auntie Sovvan somehow dodged them too, and he felt the brush of her wings. She might not be able to fly with them, but she could still use them to steer clear of obstacles. Too bad the ground wasn’t something she could avoid.
A stone hand struck her as the statues followed them down, and Auntie Sovvan cried out in pain. They’d cracked off their pedestals. She firmed her grip despite the tear rolling down her cheek. Ran wiped it away then rubbed the spot where the statue had hit her.
As they hurtled toward the ground far, far below, Ran squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his face into her shoulder. His tummy rose into his mouth. Or maybe that was those sausages. He'd had more than the two Papa had okayed. Maybe that had been a bad idea.
Water splashed him, but his boots were waterproof so only the hem of his trousers got wet then they were rising. Ran opened his eyes as Auntie Sovvan bounded from rock to rock. She bent and disentangled him when they reached shore.
“Stay here,” she said then Auntie Sovvan dove into the water before he could ask why.
“Papa, where are you?”
Ran turned in a circle. Where was Papa? There were tall, broken things made of stone. He thought they were called columns, and lots of water. But there was no sign of Papa. High above, black tentacles ripped the ceiling apart and dropped chunks that kicked up waves, but they weren't near enough to sense him.
I hope they can’t see me. I don’t want to fight monsters anymore, not without Papa and his magic. Ran wiped tears from his eyes onto the back of his hand.
Something sparkled in the water. It was the only light here save for the lumir crystals glowing high above in the ceiling of the place he'd just fallen from. Bear! Ran reached for his furry companion, and it flew into his outstretched arms. He squeezed Bear and cried into the soft nap of his head. Another glow glimmered in the depths—it was Papa’s pendant. Ran reached for that too, but it didn't fly to his hand. A moment later, he saw why.
Auntie Sovvan burst out of the water dragging Papa behind her. She hauled him onto the shore and knelt beside him. He was so still, and so pale. He hardly seemed to breathe. The sight cut Ran’s legs out from under him. He sat down hard and crawled, dragging a sopping-wet Bear behind him. He laid his head on Papa's shoulder. Don’t leave me like Mama did. I need you.
“Is Papa okay?”
“I don't know.”
Auntie Sovvan poked, prodded and pressed until Papa coughed and vomited water. She rolled him onto his side and pounded his back. Papa kept coughing up water for a few minutes then lay as still as the debris surrounding them.
“What happened to Papa’s face?”
There were cuts and bruises, and one of Papa’s eyes was swollen shut. At least he wasn’t shaking. That had to be a good sign.
When Auntie Sovvan didn’t answer, he turned to face her, but she raised both hands in a warding gesture. White light ate her, and she was gone without so much as a goodbye or an explanation. I didn’t even get a chance to thank her for saving us. That was a bad habit she had of appearing and disappearing without warning—a habit Bear shared.
Ran hugged his toy. It wasn't fair. I wish Papa and I could come and go so easily. But they were going nowhere until Papa woke up again, and that didn’t seem likely any time soon.
In need of a hug, Ran crawled close to Papa, but Papa didn’t embrace him. He doesn’t know I’m here be
cause his magic isn’t here to tell him, or he’s hurt too badly to sense me. Either way was bad.
Ran wiped another tear away. Except for his chest, which kept rising and falling in a comforting rhythm, Papa remained inert. Ran pressed his ear to Papa’s heart and heard its reassuring beat. That was good. It meant Papa was mostly okay. How do I make all of you okay?
The question puzzled Ran as he surveyed their surroundings. They lay on the rocky shore of an underground river. He frowned at it wondering if it was the same one he and Papa had crossed many times before. It was hard to tell because everything under the mountain—with a couple of exceptions—looked the same to him.
Many arms extended through the really big hole in the ceiling. Some were tubular with spade-shaped tips like big fingerless, sucker-covered hands that probed the levels above. Some were triangular with suckers along the bottom of their arms. All were creepy, and he shuddered at the sight of them and their unnaturalness.
So far, the monster hadn’t noticed him or Papa, nor was it interested in anything down here. Was the man Papa had talked to still up there? I hope the monster isn't chasing him. He seemed like an important person.
Movement out of the corner of his eye made Ran turn his head. He stared into the dimming crystal eyes of a bodiless statue. The head must have broken off when it’d fallen. Indeed, other marble body parts littered the narrow shore, and the sight was a creepy reminder that it could have been Papa lying broken like that. Chunks of flagstones and the jagged pieces of what had been the floor broke up his sightlines making it hard to pinpoint what had caught his attention.
The cart and all its goodies were gone either smashed to bits under the rubble, or it had sunk into the swift-moving river. At least I got something to eat before that happened.
A man summited a big rubble pile. He moved in an odd jerky manner that reminded Ran of a puppet.
“Promise me you'll hide from strangers,” Papa had said, and that promise pulled Ran, levering him up even though he wanted to stay curled up close to Papa where he could listen to his heart beat and make sure it kept beating.
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