by Paul Yoder
“Kaith never stepped foot close enough to find out. Those who fell in battle were taken there. Men as well. None fared worse than the praven though. Of all the praven who entered from the Spire of Hope, none returned. All were taken. The Fallen Towers were their tomb, more so than any other kin of Una.”
“That perhaps explains the origin of the greyoldors. We saw they live here still, and after tens of thousands of years in this hell...,” Lanereth wheezed, hunched over, holding onto Malagar’s arm as the three beheld the silent towers.
“What a horrible fate,” she whispered as they all reflected on the long, painful history of the place.
Wyld flinched suddenly, and Malagar could see Seam scars widen along Wyld’s face, cutting jaggedly into her flesh right before their eyes.
A sharp crack of thunder sounded behind them, and in the distance, they began to hear rainfall, though, through the ash, they still couldn’t see it.
“We need shelter,” Lanereth said franticly, the trauma fresh upon her patchy scalp and skin sending a wave of fear and anxiety throughout her shaky frame.
Wyld had already taken off, bolting for one of the tall towers closest to them.
“Come on,” Malagar said, pulling Lanereth forward, holding her close as they stumbled along through the ash, the dampening roar of rain rushing quickly towards them.
The massive spike of a tower in front of them promised them both safety, and doom, the pocked shear walls rising high into the sky, a forty-foot open doorway at the base of the building leading into darkness beyond.
They were close; not but a few hundred feet from the entrance now, but as Malagar glanced behind them at the now deafening wall of rain that cut into the ash cloud they had been trekking through, he could see they would be overtaken within moments. He spurred forward frantically, practically dragging Lanereth with him.
“Run, Lanereth, damn it!” he yelled, but as much as she struggled to keep up, the continued exhaustion from her healing threatened to drown her in the dark of unconsciousness, her eyes fluttering, trying to stay functioning as long as she possibly could.
Malagar dug deep within for the strength they needed just then. He snatched Lanereth up and hoisted her over his shoulder, taking off in a dead sprint towards Wyld who was just making it to the archway of the ash-bleached tower.
He could hear nothing but the flood of acid rain behind him now—not even his own breath or his pounding heart. The stinging mist stung his nostrils as he heaved breath after breath of acid vapor.
The shadow of the archway shrouded them just as the sheet of rainfall sliced down behind them like a guillotine, angrily hissing on their heels as Malagar slowed within the cover of the dark tower to collapse atop Lanereth who had fallen unconscious.
He heaved, trying to recover, but he had pushed too hard.
Darkness overcame him.
24
The Forgotten Nightmares
Malagar startled awake, breathing in deep as his eyes shot open.
“That’s not Wyld,” were the first words he heard Lanereth whisper to him as he sat up, looking to a lone figure further in the chamber entrance to the tower.
Malagar held Lanereth’s hand. She was cold, and shivering still, but seemingly in better shape than last he had looked upon her. She was deeply concerned though with the figure that stood facing them, just far enough in the shadows to be out of sight to get a clear understanding for what might be watching them.
“How—long has it been there?” he asked, struggling to jog his brain back into consciousness from slumber.
“I don’t know. I just woke up a minute ago,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the figure.
The thing took a step forward, and another, slowly, stalking forward with intent.
Malagar scrambled to his feet, pulling his gauntlets tight along his forearms, ready for the thing to get close enough to strike.
Out of the many rills along the corridor’s walls bolted Wyld, slamming into the creature, ferociously ripping into the thing’s chest with her claws as she clamped down on its neck, snapping its spine quickly, the fight leaving it at once.
She stood there, hunched over what looked like a greyoldor’s corpse, looking ferally at the two who watched in startled hesitance, not knowing if they were going to be next in the kaith’s sights as she tossed the lifeless body to the side and looked down the dark tunnels that weaved deep into the lightless towers.
“Eat,” they heard her call back to them over her shoulder as she disappeared into the shadows once more.
They waited to see if she would return for a minute before staring disgustingly at the mutilated creature further in the hallway, the sight of it churning their stomachs, and turned to consider the rain outside. It was coming down hard as ever, and luckily, or by design, the entrance was sloped to keep the acidic runoff flowing out around its base, keeping them elevated and dry.
“The water,” Malagar softly said, motioning to the flask of water they had saved from the cistern. “Let’s have a drink and fill it up while there’s rain.”
Lanereth sluggishly flipped open the pouch and complied, drinking from the flask as ordered, handing it over after she had drank half, Malagar finishing off the remainder before stepping cautiously up to the entrance of the tower and carefully collected runoff from the side of a rock that acted as a spigot, quickly refilling the flask.
“The stones,” Malagar gestured, holding a hand out for Lanereth to hand him the black and white stones they had collected earlier that they hoped would act as water purifiers.
He plopped them both into the container and set it aside for the time being, taking a seat next to Lanereth, who already had sat down, leaning against the tower’s arch for support, looking horribly ragged.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, Lanereth not even bothering to answer, breathing lightly, resting against the wall as the thunderous rain poured down just outside of their reach.
She winced in pain slightly, the constant discomfort of the environment they were in slowly eating away at her ability to ward off despair.
He picked her hand up, squeezing it lightly to let her know he was there for her, and the sign did seem to comfort her slightly, her features relaxing a bit.
“Where are we running to?” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Malagar considered the question. They had seen the light of day off in the distance. For him, that was sign enough to investigate. They had no other leads, so other than laying down to die, what else could they do?
“We may yet find hope at daybreak,” he said, squeezing her hand once more, then getting up to search the shadows for Wyld.
Lanereth rested, slumbering for the first time since their arrival, and her sleep was deep. They had no indicator of time there, but Malagar knew their visit had spanned days at that point. Exhaustion was setting in for all of them.
Malagar searched the corridor for an hour while the rain continued to pour down outside, drowning out all other sounds. The patterned channels within the walls cast shadows so black that he feared to search them, so he kept mostly to the center of the hallways, fearing any moment something might materialize just within the cloak of darkness that surrounded him on all sides.
He found no signs of Wyld, nor of anything else. Perhaps the kaith was seeing to it that nothing else bothered them.
After a fruitless surveillance, he returned to the entryway, finding Lanereth in deep sleep where he had left her, joining her in sleep by her side.
All was black, and he slumbered without dream or notion.
The flap of wings and a horrendous screech roused them, sending them scurrying back to an inlet along the walls further in the tower’s entrance, seeking a hiding place as they listened for the flying creature as it swooped closer, filling the tower’s archway with a forceful gust of ashen wind.
It landed above them in the tower, the ground and walls trembling slightly as the beast stomped down on a ledge many floors above them.
They stayed glued to the rivulet in the wall, not moving, listening for the creature’s path and direction high above them.
After a time, it seemed to settle, and the two eased up slightly, but as Lanereth was about to speak, Malagar held his hand to her mouth.
Large human-like figures, completely hairless and grey with sunken steel-blue eyes that glinted in the shadow of the tower, slunk in through the archway, silently searching the interior as they entered.
The two froze. They were in one of the shadow places Malagar had avoided, and he did not know how far the crack in the wall went back, or if anything was maliciously stalking them from behind. His only hope was that the creatures could not see them now in the veil of darkness.
Thirteen in all, they skulked in, passing the two by, the lead grey man coming across the greyoldor Wyld had slain.
The thirteen moved eerily silent. If Malagar and Lanereth had closed their eyes, they would have no idea a small troop shared the room with them.
The lead grey man picked up the greyoldor’s corpse, tilting its head in thought for a moment. It opened its mouth, showing its jagged teeth as it bit into the limp thing’s neck, causing the weight of the head to snap off its unsupported spine, making a sickening thud as it smacked into the floor.
Another grey man picked up the discarded head, slowly munching into its face as the others continued on into the darkness of the corridor, not as interested in the find as the first two were. They slowly followed as their pack began to leave them behind, silently slipping into the shadows.
Minutes went by before Malagar dared to move, grabbing Lanereth’s hand, leading them to the archway. Snatching up their water flask, they scanned the perimeter outside.
The rains had washed away much of the haze that had accumulated throughout the day before, and the ash had cleared in the wake of the storm. They could see the glimmer of light they had beheld earlier that had acted as their destination. It shown faintly now, flickering oddly, but its golden rays continued to flirt with their hopes regardless.
They had been close to other structures, smaller than the tower they were in. The tent-like formations stretched around out of their view behind the tower.
The two looked back into the dark hall, wondering what Wyld’s fate would be, but knowing they could not help her even if they dared enter further in to look for her. Stepping out onto the ash plains once more, they followed the tower’s perimeter to get a better look at the strange structures that had been just out of sight.
A network of cave-like stone structures stretched on along the endless plateau, paths weaving through the chaos, and they could make out small figures moving through the streets. It was some type of city, and though they were too far away for Lanereth to clearly make out what creatures were residing within its limits, Malagar’s keen eyes showed him the truth of the matter.
“What do you see down there?” Lanereth asked, knowing he had the better eyesight.
“Nothing good,” he answered, watching a moment longer before adding, “That creature we first saw, the large horned one that you burned. Many of those, and other beasts. Skinless oxen, or something like it. Things with large heads, scorched black. Much of it in shadow. It’s too far for me to make out.”
He studied the masses closer, looking at forming patterns of creatures moving in one direction. “Looks like they’re forming up. Many are headed towards the light.”
The account did not put Lanereth’s mind at ease.
“We should stay far away from that city. It is damned,” he whispered, eyes looking fixedly upon the torment and depraved acts unfolding before his eyes that were blind to his companion.
“What place isn’t damned in this hell?” she replied, but agreed silently, having no desire to go anywhere near the stretch of hell hovels.
“The light is beyond though,” he puzzled, looking to the flickering golden light at the top of a rise at the end of the plateau miles away.
“You can’t make out what that light is?” Lanereth asked, hoping that he had some insight as to what the odd glimmer was in the distance before they placed any more hope in its destination.
“No,” he answered somewhat frustrated by the beacon’s obscurity, rubbing his eyes, “it’s too blinding. Nothing about it is clear. In fact, everything directly around it seems stuck in some sort of warp. We’ll have to get closer.”
Lanereth looked to the fringes of the city where the ash fields became too uneven to be built upon. Pointing to the network of crags along its borders, she said, “If we can’t go through the city, then we must go around. See the cracks in the ash shelf over there along the city’s edge? That may keep us out of sight of any pit spawn. It circles around to the side of it all. It might make the trek to the light more difficult, but I am not going anywhere near that camp of defiled.”
Malagar looked closely at the trench she had indicated. He could see that they would be well hidden from any eyes of the city, but what dwelled in the trench could be just as frightening as what was above it.
“That may work. It does seem to lead roughly to the light. Perhaps there will even be some overhangs or caves in there in case another rain comes. If a downpour like the one that just passed by caught us in the open…there’d be nothing left of us within a minute of exposure.”
He looked back to the direction they had come from, wondering if Wyld would be able to find her way out and catch up with them at some point. She had a predator’s nose and was the best tracker he knew. If she were still alive within the tower’s dark walls, he didn’t doubt that she could find them if she wished to, but she had made him uneasy the last few days with the Seam scar clearly jostling her attachment to reality.
Looking to the sky, trying to determine if the clouds rolling in were rain or ash clouds, he stepped out of the shadow of the tower looming over them. Lanereth watched the same clouds and gave a short prayer to Sareth that if it was rain, they might have a swift end in a downpour, and not a drawn-out erosion of flesh from a constant, light sprinkle as there was no refuge for the next mile or two of their journey.
25
Eyes Along the Wall
The horses had remained at camp, though slightly agitated by the long neglect and lack of water, but once they had been fed and watered, the group had made quick goodbyes, Fin heading off east to the Plainstate, and Yozo, Alva, Jezebel, and Revna trotting off west to the fort that stood many miles down the dusty trail.
They had followed Fin’s instructions, and the road had made the path simple enough. They had seen no sign of any other travelers along the highway that whole day, but towards evening, on the horizon they had seen the early glow of a structure, signs of activity present as they rode closer to it as the night came on.
The four trotted up to the front gate, its walls reaching twenty-foot-high, portholes and parapets allowing the occasional gate guard to peek down on the approaching gang.
They waited at the gate of the large fort for a minute before the small side door unlocked and an armed soldier stepped out.
“Few come from Dolinger Crags these days,” the older man gruffed, eyeing the four closer, adding, “Fewer still be foreigners. What’s yer business here? This ain’t no tourist destination.”
“This is a military fort, is it not?” Revna asked.
The man looked to the woman high on her horse, offering a simple, “Yeah.”
“Do you patrol the countryside? Have your scouts reported signs of invading armies?” she asked.
The man gave her a sideways look, not liking where his gate shift was headed already.
“Say what you got to say, miss. Who are you four and why are you talking about invading armies?”
Revna looked to the fort where quite a few soldiers had begun to peak over the wall to gaze at the group, particularly interested in three platinum blonde women who were idling at the gate.
“We are sarens from the Jeenyre monastery far to the north. We came hunting an army of arisen that w
as headed for the Tarigannie region. They’re here now, and we just suffered a defeat. We came to give warning. You may be Tarigannie’s only hope in stopping them now.”
The man closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, unsure of what he just heard. Waving to a man up on the wall, he waved for the gate door to be opened.
Yozo moved closer to Revna, eyeing all those watching them from the wall.
“I don’t like this. We gave them the warning. We don’t need to enter those gates,” he whispered, seeing the same callous, dead eyes in the soldiers that he had become accustomed to throughout the region whenever he strolled into any given town.
Revna looked to Yozo, unaware until then how uncomfortable the man had gotten with the situation, offhandedly replying, “We can’t just tell a gate guard and go. We need to speak with the captain if anything is to actually be done.”
“You don’t see how those men on the walls or in the portholes look upon us? Upon you?” Yozo pressed, the doors finally opening as the gate guard waved them forward.
“This is our task, Yozo,” she said, exasperated with the man, ending the sudden debate, leading the other in through the small gate to enter the open court, two stable boys coming out of the stalls to handle their mounts as they dismounted.
“If what yer saying is true, Cap Durmont will be wanting to speak with ya personally. Follow me if you will,” the old gate guard said, leading them past a well and awning into the shade of a set of rooms and narrow hallways deep within the large fort’s interior.
The stairway lined with torches blackened the walls they passed through, leading to a waiting room, a somewhat more elaborate set of double doors on the far wall with a few simpler, smaller doors flanking it.
The old guard knocked on the large door, cocking his head close to listen for a reply.