“Vermin.”
Silencio shook its head in frustration and ran its long claw down the edge of the wound. It tapped at the dry flap of skin as though it were a piece of leather upon a tanning rack. Deep within, Iaculous could see the ruined innards of the monster. For the briefest of terrifying moments, he despaired that the eternal beast might be invulnerable. Then it fell to one of its knees and roared out in pain.
He felt a flood of thoughts surging through his mind that could easily sway a man towards mercy, and Iaculous sensed the fear behind the desperate suggestions. Being so close to freedom from an eternal cage was a pain far greater than never nearing freedom at all.
“I gave you my mind, dirty human.” The demon willed Iaculous to experience shame and sorrow. Far away, he felt the pain of Heygar and the rat. Their lured souls were waiting for salvation.
“Yield their souls,” he said coldly.
“You think yourself capable of slaying one of my kind?” the demon snarled. It attacked once more, but Iaculous matched each strike recklessly. The demon’s attacks laboured as it fought its own nature and bloodlust, all in a glorious cause, until Iaculous struck it down a second time.
“Yield their souls or die.”
“I have walked this prison for many thousands of years, dirty human. How can you possibly think yourself capable of matching my stride?” it gasped before circling once more and striking as before.
Again, Iaculous countered and sent his sword through its shoulder, then withdrew from the beaten thing of nightmares. “I am man and capable of many things a demon like you can never understand.”
Silencio spat in disgust. “Do not use such an unimaginative term, human,” it said in that terrible voice as it broke their melee.
With a tired, torn claw, it evoked the source. Iaculous felt a barrier form around them. Within a pulse, they were both encased in a sphere of dark energy as black and bubbling as a drum of burning oil. He struck at the edge of the cage and felt the effect of draining.
He felt the invasion of a foreign mind as Silencio attempted to take control of his will. Like cold water streaming through his mind, he felt it enter his thoughts but he held it at bay, he denied it control, he denied it understanding of his motives. The beast launched an attack once more, and with less space to manoeuvre, Iaculous struggled under the beast’s dual assault. They fought within the small cage until time became nothing more than a flickered notion shared by men of lesser stations. It may have been a pulse or a day. He couldn’t say, for there was no cessation to the attacks, and exhaustion in the source was different to that of the world of the living. It was a weakness of the soul and a fight against despair itself.
Eventually, they separated. Both stood at the edge of the cage, only a handful of feet apart. The hazy world beyond the black wall had disappeared completely. Iaculous wondered if he did kill Silencio, would he receive true vision to this realm and its secrets, or would the demon’s brothers and sisters slay him a breath after he walked clear?
“For a dirty human, you have a will.” Silencio glanced down upon the multitude of strikes upon its body. Any man would have bled themselves dry from so many cuts, but he was unburdened with such human things as a beating heart or the fluid to drive its mighty machine. The injuries suffered by Iaculous were insignificant.
“You have given me your mind without taking from me. Let me do the same,” Iaculous said and opened his mind to allow the demon see his true desires. Let it know man and what he was capable of. If the demon was unturned, then so be it. They would fight for eternity until one of them yielded.
Silencio was still and ceased its attempts at overcoming the weaver’s mind. It fell back to its knees once more, allowing the full exhaustion to show upon its ruptured body. Iaculous fell to his own knees and gasped for air, which he did not need. Though the demon had given its mind to Iaculous willingly, it had never felt the compulsion to understand what workings stirred in a lesser being. Perhaps they could have had this shared conversation sooner. It had taken a Venistrian blade to earn the demon a moment of deference.
“We think alike,” the demon growled after a time and released the hold on Iaculous’s mind completely.
“Give your word, and we will meet again in war, in the world of the living,” Iaculous said and threw his blade down at Silencio’s feet. Their march was not done, but he was no pawn. Silencio knew this now.
Around them, the cage pulsed brightly and faded to nothing. Iaculous felt the pull of the world of the living once more but also the pull of the two lured souls. The demon held out its clawed hand and produced two floating spheres. Iaculous felt the tormented souls screaming their madness as the demon released them to him.
For a flicker of a moment, Iaculous saw the world as it was, and shudders ran down his spine. But as swiftly as the vision appeared, the world returned to its haziness, and he immediately forgot what dazzling beauty there lay within. The last image to fade was a great city of impossible light, and he knew there was no soul from this world capable of walking the great distance to it. He thought this was no tragedy. And then there was nothing.
“I will wait for you,” Silencio whispered and faded into the mist, leaving Iaculous alone with those he had begun this dreadful mission with.
“It is time we march into battle, my friends,” Iaculous said as each beautiful soul faded into the stones upon his bandoleer.
47
Day Seven The Last Day
Iaculous emerged from the source feeling elated for his success but also from the infusion of energy from the two shimmering rocks upon the bandoleer. Around him, the beasts marched obliviously. Iaculous realised he had only taken a dozen steps in all the time he had battled the demon. It did not appreciate being referred to by such a title, he reminded himself, and he deigned never to refer to it as anything but.
The path was barely worn, and the hills were wild on either side of him. This place was not a place used by many Venistrians, yet Iaculous sensed Mallum near. The music still played in the darkened distance, and he thought it beautiful, tragic, memorable, and fitting for his triumphant arrival.
At his feet were the dried tracks of a wandering troupe, and he wondered if they were from Mallum and his acolytes as they’d carted their prised treasure to his domain. He passed over a few fallen trees and recognised their innocent appearance as a way to slow any trespassers. Mallum expected an army to come find him, and instead, he would meet just one man.
Above his head hung the healthiest weeping oaks of this land. His fingers reached out and took hold of a few hanging leaves as he walked. He tore them free and brought them to his nose. Fresh, vibrant and far from the ashy grey he knew well since their arrival. He left the leaves to fall away in the wind and embraced the feeling of five fallen souls surrounding him. He would need their strength for what was to happen.
He reached the top of the hill, and his eyes widened at what lay before him. Secluded from the rest of the world, it was a fine place for a monster to hide away from greater monsters. The valley spread out for a mile across, with a great lake in its middle. The moon and a hundred stars lit it up, and he thought it peculiar that there was such beauty found in this wretched place.
At the centre of the lake was an island that housed a small grey castle, only four floors in height and as much across. There was one large entrance and one large tower from which nervous eyes likely looked out, eager to see little disturbances. Somewhere within this unimpressive stronghold lay a devious cur.
The distance between the island and lake edge was far enough that a man would need to paddle across on one of the small rowboats hitched to the docks. It was the edge of the lake, which interested him most, however, for along its edge, he counted at least a hundred tents and half as many flimsy shacks clustered tightly together. Mallum, it would appear, had gained a little army all to himself.
“They won’t save you though, will they?”
Among the transient hovels, Iaculous heard the music m
uch clearer now. People of all sorts and ages sat in front of little cooking fires or stood among comrades, talking happily of pleasant things. The more enthused were singing, dancing, or laughing along with the cheerful mood, rising above the awfulness of their miserable encampment. Children played, ate, and chased each other through the many alleys of old sheets, pegs, and rope. Others were down by the edge of the lake, engaging in a heated competition of skimming stones into the dark water.
Iaculous hated them all, for they were under his quarry’s rule. A little itinerant group of refugees all huddled together, making what they could out of what they were given.
He eyed the settlement for any soldiers and saw few standing watch. There were only half a dozen; their complacency would be their downfall. He felt the ground beneath him change, and he looked to find his feet had touched upon freshly tilled land. The entire valley was tilled all the way across, unlike the many other regions tainted by blight and the deathly grey.
They are a beaten people, he heard in his mind, where the stirrings of souls protested their loudest, and he wondered, as he grew stronger, did the souls grow stronger too? He hushed them to silence with a touch of his resolve. His five fallen comrades tasted the death in the air. So could he. They rebelled, yet their fight was done. His tasks were only beginning.
“I must do it. There is no other way.”
Iaculous looked upon the group of Venandi surrounding him. They sensed the taste of man in the air. They drooled at hearing the squeals of children at play and women conversing with husbands and comrades. The beasts were poised and needed his release.
“Leave none alive. Then you may feed,” he said aloud and into their minds. The peoples’ sins were Mallum’s, and their penance was eternal. He waved his hand, and the beasts charged as one.
At first, he’d struggled to even bring the Venandi all together. Each of them were fighting spirits of primal anger. That night, when they had fallen upon Cherrie, had been the turning point of their subservience. He delivered flesh of man, ripe and with a fight to it, and he would deliver it again. He felt her unrivalled hatred, and he patted her to silence.
Hush, Cherrie. It made me stronger, did it not?
“Is that not what you wanted?” he whispered aloud, and she ceased her wailing.
There was no howling to announce their way, no primal snarling or growling, for he willed them to silence until they did the deed. He felt the land rumble slightly as they fled from him down the slope, towards a noiseless massacre.
He felt screaming in his mind from the soul called Denan. It raged and begged for mercy, and he ignored the pleading. Some things were part of this life. Some things were as natural as birth and death. Perhaps it was that Denan recognised his kin among the wretches, through Iaculous’s eyes.
“They made their choice,” Iaculous whispered and patted the stone to silence.
The song still played through. In the dimness, he saw his beauties spread out along the outskirts of the camp, surrounding it in a soundless line of death. He recognised that song, and he was no great fan.
“I have come for you.” His voice carried through the valley, across the water, into Mallum’s mind. He touched his consciousness and felt a strange kinship to the brute for a moment before severing his thoughts from the man.
The music stopped, replaced with the panic of two hundred voices in unison as they fell under the assault. The beasts were fierce, and with Iaculous’s instructions, they were unstoppable. In a few desperate moments, he had eliminated Mallum’s followers. Without the desire to feed upon those they had slain, the night hunters bit once and moved to the next target, leaving death or the dying in their wake.
Iaculous watched without prejudice the slaughter of all around him. His ears were deaf to the high-pitched cries of dying children. His mind was cold to the vision of their distraught mothers attempting to hold the flood of death. Demented fathers who attempted vengeance upon the hunters tested his nerve. Only a brave man could undertake such a task.
The beasts ripped through the camp, leaving utter devastation in their wake. Iaculous felt a collective desire to feed upon the dead or dying, but instead, he willed them to circle back and finish all who still stood with blade in hand. Deep within, he felt the pleading from the entrapped souls to allow mercy. He ignored this too as he followed his beauties down the valley, towards the ruined army’s base.
By the time he reached the camp, the cries of the doomed had fallen still, and Iaculous thought these hunters worthy of his praise. He sensed only a few of his pack had fallen to hastily and inevitably doomed resistance, and this pleased him greatly. Each of his magnificent hounds sat among the dead but did not move. Instead, they watched and waited for their master, and as any good master would, he rewarded them.
“You have done all that I asked, and we have only just begun. Take what you want, my little ones. I will be along soon,” he said, and they fell upon the dead ravenously. The delighted growls of sating filled the air, along with the crunching of bones and the tearing of flesh.
Iaculous shut his mind off to their delirium, for he had no further taste for it. He walked through the ruined camp and came to a stop at the water’s edge. Beyond, he felt the lamenting mind of Mallum and her delicate soul. Fury surged through him.
He walked on, and the rocks at the bottom of the lake answered his will. Each one large enough to fill the size of his boot rose to meet him a foot above the still surface. Every step took a little of his will to maintain. The shrewder move would have been weaving a solitary stone large enough to fit him and carry him all the way across, but after such a long journey, he would not be carried. He would march right up to the thurken gates.
The souls at his chest had fallen quiet, for they knew the importance of these next few moments. They were silent in melancholy, and he thought it amusing they lamented the evils, yet fell silent when it suited them. Killing Mallum suited them down to the water-covered ground. Even in their form, they were still mercenaries. Whatever they felt with his actions, they still infused him with incredible power.
It was colder out on the island. The wind ruffled his cloak, and a deathly silence hung around him. The castle had sturdier walls than he presumed and an imposing portcullis to keep wandering weavers from getting in. He opened his mind and felt over a dozen minds within. Something terrified them, and he licked his lips like a night hunter would before the kill. They knew death was at the gate.
He pushed further from their minds and focused upon that of his prey. He discovered it open and deeply intertwined with Arielle’s mind. A terrible fury overcame him in his anguish, and flame erupted from his hands, darker than ever, darker than the black fire from Mallum’s own hand. He had seen its colour once before, in the cage he had shared with the demon.
He was getting stronger.
“Open the gate and only Mallum falls,” he said aloud, and his voice echoed through the courtyard. A few breaths before he shattered the gate with fire, he heard the cranking of chain and, suddenly, the rising of their last defence against him.
48
Life
Iaculous half expected the gates to drop suddenly as he passed underneath, but they did not. He stepped across the threshold, into the enemy’s domain. He found himself in a small, barren courtyard beneath a set of steps leading to the keep and thought it a fine place to set up an ambush.
The sound of footsteps reaffirmed his suspicions as a dozen of Mallum’s acolytes emerged from the keep’s main door and from a passageway behind him. Each of them were warrior weavers, and they carried both sword and shield in hand. They marched in unison and within moments had spread out in a circle, surrounding him. They had come for war despite inviting him in so readily.
Even closer, he sensed their terrible fear. It permeated off them like the stench of death in the Entombed Graves of Elvea in warmer seasons. He saw it in their faces, for fear was the hardest emotion to conceal. They were alone. Without their leader to lead them, they appear
ed as lost children. Unlike Iaculous, who had grown in the face of terrible things, they had faltered. Mallum had sent them to their doom, and they knew it.
“I have come for your master,” he growled and felt his fingers twitch with anticipation. He was not the waif from the tavern anymore. He had come so far in the world of the living in that short time since then. Wonderfully outnumbered, he never felt more in control.
Eventually, one acolyte stepped forward. Though dressed in similar attire to the others, his dark grey cloak held a black sash running down along his chest. Perhaps his grovelling was better than the rest, Iaculous mused. He removed his grey hood, and Iaculous saw he was a young man no older that he. A child among giants. He was pale, and his lips quivered, yet he attempted to address him with deference.
“Our master will treat with you, if you lay down all weapons and intent.”
Iaculous despised the wretchedness in his voice. How dare Mallum send him cowards to broker peace while he locked himself in a stone keep? Was this what Arielle had truly desired? A man who hid away when facing unwelcomed odds? Unlike his quarry, Iaculous was unafraid to present himself exactly as he was.
“Where is your master, so I may slay him?”
“Please, Dark One, you must listen to reason,” the acolyte pleaded and fell to his knees in subservience.
Dark One? He walked among the darkness. He desired to know the other realm in all its beauty, power, and darkness. So be it.
Iaculous fired a volley of flame at the kneeling man. There was a deafening scream, but it fell silent in a pulse. In the time it took Iaculous to take a breath, the acolyte’s skin had burned away to bone and, within another breath, from bone to ashes. Far away, Iaculous felt the torment from Mallum, who felt his passing.
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