“This is a problem,” Evetner said.
Haliden extended his hand to the oldest boy. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”
The boy reluctantly accepted it and climbed out.
Evetner lifted the other boy and sat him down in the cart.
Haliden handed each of them a water skin, which they guzzled down in one breath.
“Who did this?” Evetner asked.
The oldest child lowered his skin and wiped his face. “Our m-mom,” he gasped. “She said it was the only way.”
Haliden’s heart sank. He remembered them now; both had been at the feast with their mother. The same desperate woman who had begged him to take them to the Block.
And I turned her away, he thought. By the gods, I condemned them.
“Your name is Jonathan, is it not?” Evetner asked. “Your mother is Kilumn Freud?”
The boy nodded.
“She came to me the night of the feast,” Haliden whispered. “She wanted me to take them with us.”
“Well, she got her wish.”
The youngest child clutched his brother’s arm and wept.
“What’s his name?” Haliden whispered.
“Brandon,” the older boy replied.
Haliden sat down beside Brandon and smiled. “You know where we’re going?”
Brandon shook his head.
“Pelimen’s Block. It’s where runners go. Do you know what that means?
The boy shook his head.
“You’ll be safe there. Both of you.”
Brandon nodded.
“We should keep moving,” Evetner said.
Haliden knelt down and placed his hands on the child’s shoulder. “No harm will come to you. On my honor.”
Evetner stood. “It’s time, artist.”
Haliden smiled. “Come, little man, and sit with me. We have a long road ahead.”
The boy rubbed his nose and slowly nodded.
They camped that night in an abandoned mill. Moss and ivy held together what remained of its roof and mice droppings dotted the rotten floorboards. But it was dry and provided shelter from the constant shower of ash outside.
Haliden sighed as Evetner struck a flint stone into the fireplace. Wood had been neatly stacked in a corner, along with kindling and moldering hay. Within seconds, flames danced and crackled up the chimney.
Haliden lay back against a bale of hay, his mind wandering as the flames tickled the chimney’s ancient flue. The smell reminded him of nights huddled by the fire with Milane, how she would curl her arm around his waist as the fire popped and snapped before them.
Don’t do this to yourself, he thought. But he couldn’t help it. He missed her. He missed the warmth and sense of security she had always given him. But they’re gone now, he told himself. Milane, the house, his brushes and bleached canvases. Every worldly possession aside from Instar, lost. And nothing would bring them back.
Evetner dropped a stack of firewood beside the fireplace and sat down with a sigh. He was still wearing his father’s armor, but he had kept the helm tucked away somewhere inside the wagon.
“You were good with them,” he whispered. “You didn’t have to be. Most wouldn’t have been.”
“They’re just boys,” Haliden said. “They’ve no family anymore, no home. I know a bit about that.”
“You have children?”
Haliden watched as a burning branch drooped and disintegrated into the fire. “No,” he said. “My wife wished it, but my work didn’t allow… “ He hesitated, his chest tightening.
I didn’t allow it, he thought.
“I was a selfish fool,” he said.
Evetner turned to the boys. They looked like ghosts in the dim firelight, pale and frightened as they huddled close to the flames. “Well, you were good with them. Better than I could’ve been. Perhaps you would have made a good father after all.”
Haliden tossed a pebble into the fire. “Perhaps. We’ll never know now, though, will we?”
“You shouldn’t speak so. I’ve no plans to end my life before the fire and nor should you.”
Haliden huffed. “You still think we have a chance?”
“There’s always a chance,” Evetner replied. “You just have to want it bad enough.”
Haliden picked up a stick and prodded the fire. Sparks spiraled up the chimney like souls released from the hells. I should have been a better man. A better husband, he thought. I deserved to lose you.
“What I want no longer wants me,” Haliden finally said. “So what else is there?”
Evetner looked at the boys. “The future.”
Haliden raised his hands above the flames. The heat dug into his flesh, whispering of the pain to come. “What if the future no longer wants us?”
Evetner tossed another log into the fire. “Just drive your horse hard, artist. It’s about them now.” He pointed at the brothers. “The future.”
Haliden nodded. “The future.”
Instar thundered across the countryside as ash rained down around them.
She had grown bolder since leaving Moss Town, fierce. No longer did she bray at the countless bears, coons, and lyra cats fleeing beside them in the distance.
We’re all equals now, Haliden thought as he gripped her reins. Fleeing from the same hunter.
The air became warmer and unsettled the farther south they ran. Behind them, dense clouds of ash choked off the sky, cutting all ties to the outside world.
Alimane is alone now, Haliden thought. Amputated from the other realms like a rotting limb. There would be no help. No last turn rescue. A death sentence had been cast, and only those willing to run stood a chance now.
Instar began to wheeze as she ran. Her mane was covered in sweat and ash, and white froth drooled from her mouth. We’re riding her too hard, Haliden thought. But there was no other way. Death was at their heels.
“Come on, girl!” he cried. “Ride like the fires of the hells!”
The two brothers sat silent beside the venermin, their eyes fixed south at the Breath’s approaching glow.
“You see that horse?” Haliden said, gesturing to Instar. The oldest boy sat up and nodded. “She’s a garron strider. A gift from the Red Bartle of Way. No beast is faster or more prized in all of Alimane. Your mother knew that and that’s why she put you here.”
Evetner looked up from his sword and shook his head at Haliden. But the artist went on.
“She loved you very much, boys. That’s why she trusted no other to get you to safety.”
Jonathan nodded. But Brandon remained transfixed on the burning horizon.
“Does she have a spirit word?” the older brother asked to their surprise.
Haliden nodded. “I’ll make a deal with you. Show me a smile and I’ll tell you what the word is.”
The boy slowly sat up, a dim smile materializing across his face.
Haliden grinned. “Very well. Come here.”
Jonathan sat down beside him.
“Now this word is important. It requires much responsibility. Can you handle it?”
Jonathan nodded.
“Be careful with such knowledge,” Evetner said as Haliden whispered in his ear. “A spirit word is a powerful thing. You’ll be forever bound to whatever beast hears it.”
Haliden sat back and nodded. “It’s true. Never speak it near any other animal. It belongs to Instar… and you now. No other.”
Jonathan stared at the garron as she nibbled on some hay.
“Was that wise?” Evetner whispered as the boy returned to his brother’s side.
Haliden gestured to the two, who were now whispering amongst themselves by the fire. When they were done, the younger brother smiled.
Haliden nodded. “Wisest thing I’ve done all day.”
14
The ancient city of Marigel stood high atop Brener’s Horn, a distant and miniature silhouette barely clinging to reality.
But it is real, Haliden thought. And they would have to pass through
its gates if they were to outrun the fire.
The safest route was Wiseman’s Road, which stretched east and west around the base of the Horn. But that would take at least a day.
Time we no longer have.
Haliden stared at the forbidding city. Countless stories surrounded it: plague had turned its people into cannibals; it had been cursed by the Circle for failure to repay debts; and there was even a rumor it had become a prison of sorts, its occupants sealed in with black Circle magic.
“You believe the stories?” Evetner asked.
Haliden nodded. “If enough people say there’s smoke, there’s bound to be a fire.”
A cluster of six massive towers stood at the city’s center, surrounded by a labyrinthine sprawl of interconnecting streets and honeycombed structures. There were no walls or moats, no archer stations or ramparts. The Horn was far too steep to climb in number and not even a Tritan catapult could reach the top. The only way in was down the Throat. A league-long, switchbacking tunnel lined with hundreds of ancient lodgings, taverns, merchant stalls, and outposts. A veritable city beneath a city.
And if tales of the Rot are true, it will be the hells incarnate, Haliden thought.
Witnesses claimed the disease had spread like wildfire throughout the city several turns ago. A flesh-eating plague that killed twenty thousand souls in one month alone.
But neither the Circle nor Tritan, the two main governing houses of the nine kingdoms, lifted a finger until it began spreading into the countryside. Alimane was a major supplier of wood and steel to both lands, and it would only take one infected ship to cross the Acid and wipe them out.
Haliden swallowed as he recounted the tale in his head. Four hundred chargers and Tritanese engineers had been dispatched to Alimane, all with one order: contain the plague and anyone left alive in the city.
“How many do you think were sealed in?” Haliden asked as they drew closer to the Horn.
“No one knows for sure,” Evetner replied. “The Tritanese engineers who sealed the city were executed before they could leave our shores. And the chargers disbanded into the countryside for fear of the same fate.”
Haliden’s heart quickened as the mountain loomed over them. Two massive, meridium infused doors had been secured to the Throat, barred and welded shut by Tritanese smiths and engineers. The Sinners Gate some called it, an impregnable barrier only the most skilled Tritanese artisans could open.
But as they approached the entrance, it was clear the Tritanese artisans weren’t the only masters of their craft.
The tunnel now stood wide open, the steel gates lying twisted and broken before it like so much scrap.
“Who could have done this?” Haliden asked as he stared at the rent steel.
“Who knows,” Evetner replied. “Tritanese scrappers… or perhaps a charger in the employ of Alimane treasure hunters.”
Remains of a recent barricade still clung to the sides of the entrance, wood boarding and scrap metal welded together into a flimsy barrier.
The gods only know what awaits us in there, Haliden thought as he stared into the darkness. Stories abound of explorers entering the Horn. But few ever told of anyone leaving.
“I never imagined I’d see this place,” Evetner said as Instar halted beside one of the shattered doors.
The brothers stood in the back of the wagon, staring into the Throat’s gaping maw. “We have to go in there?” Jon asked, his voice trembling.
Haliden climbed down from the wagon and approached the fallen door. It was bent outward, with two great puncture marks at its center. Rust and moss covered its surface, a sign it had been lying this way for quite some time.
“You’re sure this is the only way?” Haliden asked.
Evetner tightened his chest plate. “This is it, artist.”
Brandon began crying as his older brother hugged him tight. “I don’t want to go in there,” he whimpered.
Haliden sighed. He didn’t either. But they had no other choice now.
Cautiously, he approached the entrance. Bones lay scattered across the ground, a vast golgotha piled just inside the entranceway.
“That’s strange,” Haliden said.
“What?”
“The bones… they stop right here at the threshold.”
Evetner shrugged. “Probably people or animals trapped before the gate came down. But whatever the reason, we should get moving. There’s still three leagues of tunnel stretching before us.”
“Do we have enough supplies to make torches?” Haliden asked.
“We’ll use the blankets and one of the crates in back,” Evetner replied. “And there’s also a cask of oil up front.”
Haliden knelt before the brothers. “It won’t be so bad. We’ll move fast and quiet. Like shadows in the night, okay?”
Jon’s eyes widened. “What about the stories?”
Evetner tightened his leggings and huffed. “It’s just hogwash meant to scare you.”
Jon wiped his eyes and nodded. “We’ll have torches, though, right?”
“More than we’ll need,” Evetner replied.
Haliden went to the back and grabbed one of the crates. He was about to dismantle it, when he noticed what was inside: a painting.
His painting.
His first, in fact: a simple landscape he’d painted outside of Moss Town twenty-five turns ago.
He grabbed the frame and snapped it over his knee. He then tore the canvas off and wrapped it around one of the splintered sides. You’ll serve us far better this way, friend, he thought.
When he was finished, he dunked the canvas into a cask of oil and watched as the liquid dripped down the handle onto his hand. So much resides on a few pieces of wood and cloth now, he thought. He suddenly laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
Haliden shook his head. “All my life, I’ve relied on canvas and brush to light my way. I just never thought it would, literally.”
Evetner nodded. “Just pray your work burns bright, artist. We have leagues to travel yet.”
Haliden touched the canvas to one of the torches they had already lit. The oil-soaked fabric instantly ignited, the flames rippling across it’s surface like fiery waves.
Guide our way, old friend, Haliden thought as the paint popped and crackled beneath the flames.
Guide our way.
Marigel was a city of the dead. Not a sound permeated the darkness, save for Instar’s footfalls and the wagon’s groaning wheels. Shadows danced beside them, shifting and morphing as torchlight played across the many abandoned stalls and black doorways lining the tunnel.
Haliden’s heart quickened the higher they went. Corpses littered the ground, many nothing more than bone held together with tattered cloth and cobwebs. But some still sat slumped in their stalls, their skeletal hands clutching at dusty arrow shafts or empty glass vials.
I can only imagine the horror that swept through here, he thought as they passed a charred heap of bone.
The air was pungent and musty, filled with the stagnant stench of entombed death. Behind one stall, trapped in a large steel cage, were dozens of dead, mummified dogs; in another, a human skeleton lay in a fetal position, clutching the remains of a child.
But what bothered Haliden most were the fresher bodies he had seen in the shadows. For unlike the other mummified and skeletal remains, their skin was white as goat’s milk and untouched by decomposition.
They look almost… preserved, he thought as one drifted past.
His torch crackled and snapped, illuminating a ten yard swath around them. Garbage lay everywhere: broken furniture, torn clothing, pots, pans. Personal effects abandoned and ransacked during some wild flight. They even passed a few makeshift barricades long since toppled and destroyed.
“It must have been awful,” Evetner whispered.
Haliden nodded. “I can only imagine.”
Jonathan crept between them. “Is anyone still here?”
“Doubtfully,” Haliden repli
ed. “The city has been sealed for many turns now.”
Since entering the tunnel, the brothers had kept close, clinging to their sides like suckling pigs. They are our responsibility now, he thought. Here, in the darkest dark of the hells. The thought frightened him almost as much as the Breath itself.
His heart quickened as he watched Brandon cling to his brother. How can there be gods when these two have seen what they’ve seen?
In just a few months, darkness had swept across the lands, the gates of the hells unleashing blind fury across the continent. What would remain for them if they made it to the Block? Would these boys ever find innocence again? Or had that been stolen away like everything else?
Haliden shook his head. I should never have stayed here. I should have left months ago. The thought had occurred to him many times over the past turn. After all, money was no object; his work had made him a wealthy man, wealthier than many of his clients. He could go almost anywhere and his name would be known and respected. So why remain here? What was worth burning for?
Instar suddenly halted.
A figure stood in the center of the tunnel just at the edge of their torchlight.
Evetner drew his sword. “Who goes there?”
The figure stepped closer, wavering in and out of the light. His clothes were nothing more than torn rags and his flesh was emaciated and yellow. “You should not have come here,” he said.
He’s been hiding down here all this time, Haliden marveled. Hiding in the dark like a rat. But how he managed to survive without food or water was anyone’s guess.
“It wasn’t our first choice,” Evetner replied.
Something crashed in the distance, followed by a sharp scream.
“Are there others?” Evetner asked.
The stranger slowly stepped into the torchlight. He was old and haggard, but appeared untouched by the Rot. “Many. Too many to count,” the man replied.
He’s been hiding down here all this time, Haliden marveled. Hiding in the dark like a rat. But how he managed to survive without food or water was anyone’s guess.
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