by Rob J. Hayes
"Not yet," I said, shrugging free from Hardt's gentle hand.
"Eska, you need to rest as well as the rest of us."
"Not yet," I spat. "Not while one of us is still in danger."
Chapter 5
Each step closer to Horralain was like wading through a miasma. Each limping lurch made the world recede around me a little further. Every inch closer I crept brought on a new, heady rush of pleasure. His fear was like nothing I had ever felt before. A city, any city, is full of fear. It flows through the streets and alleys like the wind. It cares not for the boundaries of house or home. Fear rises from the inhabitants, one and all. Little fears, blinding terror, niggling anxieties. It is a constant meal for a horror such as Ssserakis, and just as that monster drank it in, growing fat and strong on the power of it, I benefited too. The Pit was like a city in that regard. Fear was everywhere, all the time, making me strong and lending me power. Ro'shan was no different, nor the Polasian capital. Even Do'shan was veined with streaks of fear waiting to be mined, although much of that was fear of me thanks to my murder of so many of the feral pahht. Horralain was different. This was no inexhaustible supply of dread slowing suffusing the world, he had become a furnace of fear, burning hotter than any person has cause to. It couldn't last. I knew it. Ssserakis knew it. Sooner or later, the terror would become too much, the stress and strain on his body too great. Sooner, rather than later, Horralain would fall, killed by a prison of fear he did not know how to escape from.
The world around me blurred as I struggled closer, feeling as though I was pushing my way towards an inferno, pushed back by a cyclone. Somewhere close by, I heard Hardt say my name, but I waved a lazy hand in his direction, hoping he took the hint. By the time I was standing just a few paces from Horralain, I could barely breathe. The pleasure of it was so intense I felt myself growing hot and tingling all over. The giant thug rocked back and forth on his knees, oblivious of both the cold, and me.
"What can we do?" I asked. I probably looked strange to the others around me, braced as though struggling against a powerful wind, and talking to myself.
Do? Bask in it. Revel in the feeling and the strength. Drink in as much as we are able. I used to inspire this sort of fear in my minions every day. The strength it gave me… Even Norvet Meruun didn't dare challenge me.
"What?"
Norvet Meruun is one of the lords of Sevoari. You would call it an Abomination, a pulsing mass of flesh, tentacle, and bile, throbbing beneath the surface of my home.
"How does that help me free Horralain?"
Ssserakis laughed in my head. It doesn't.
"Help me, Ssserakis, or I will make you hurt."
For a few moments there was nothing inside. Then I felt the horror grow curious. How?
"I'll open up another portal. And another. And another. I'll keep opening them up until that thing on the other side takes notice again, and I will step through. And this time I won't let you hide inside of me." Something strange happened then. I felt a new fear. Not Horralain's. Not my own. I felt Ssserakis' fear. Whatever lay on the other side of the portals had taken an interest in the horror, and only our link, and my desperate searching, had allowed Ssserakis to return to me.
Your minion is trapped inside a construct. Form a link, and I will carry us both across the bond.
"What?"
Reach out and touch the fool.
The world lurched around me. The frozen amphitheatre was gone. My friends were gone. The ashen remains of Silva were gone. I found myself in a luscious great hall, decorated in golds and reds so deep they looked bloody. Pillars surrounded me, extending into a thick darkness like tar high above. The hall extended into forever in every direction, so many pillars it seemed impossible. Hundreds of people clustered in front of me, each one wearing fanciful clothing that I had only heard the likes of in stories. They wore all the colours I could imagine, from dainty yellows, to rich browns, to white so bright it hurt to look at. And each one of the people was talking, voices raised in a cacophony of sound that echoed about the hall to repeat upon itself, layering noise over more noise.
"What is this place?" I could barely hear my own voice over the shouting of the men and women in front of me.
A construct. You would call it a dream. I was born in one, pulled together from a thousand different experiences. You've been in one before, when we first met.
"Down in the Pit. You trapped me in a darkness and cut me."
My shadow laughed at me. There was light in the great hall, but no source, yet my shadow extended out to my left and up onto one of the pillars. As I watched, my shadow detached from the pillar and stepped closer to me, free of any surface. It was blacker than deep night and held my shape too consistently. Ssserakis watched me from the shining pits of green light that were my shadow's eyes.
"You have form here?"
The rules here are different. I can take any form I wish.
I glanced down. "As long as we're still connected? You can't separate from me."
My shadow laughed, green light spilling out around the jagged edges of its mouth. Of course not. You know so little of possession. I cannot leave you, Eskara. We are stuck together until you die.
"What? That seems like something you should have told me before I agreed to carry you." The horror was right, I knew little about possession. Almost nothing, actually. It never once occurred to me that I had no idea how to remove Ssserakis. Worse still, I realised that to fulfil my promise and send the ancient horror home to the Other World, I would have to die. Of course, I still had no idea how to go about such a thing anyway.
You didn't ask. You offered yourself up as a vessel before you knew all the facts. That is hardly my fault.
"What about in the portal? That thing separated us."
No, it didn't. We were still connected. That is how I found my way back once you opened a portal.
It was a lot to consider. Too much, given I was there to rescue Horralain, not debate with the horror inside of me as to the definition of separation, and the eventual terminus of our relationship. I turned away from Ssserakis and started towards the throng of people. They were packed in tight. Some were waving arms, others making rude gestures, and all were shouting.
"I don't have enough workers to tend my fields."
"Taxes are higher in my village than his."
"Thieves took three sheep from one of my farmer's flock."
I tried my best to ignore the inane chatter and pushed into the crowd. Memories of the Pit came flooding back to me, of standing in line near the Trough, pushing my way around the other scabs to get a slop of gruel. Frustration blossomed inside, and with it came anger. I was not that girl anymore, powerless and weak. I would no longer suffer being lost in a crushing crowd. With a shout, I drew on my Pyromancy Source and set my hands on fire… Well, I tried. Nothing happened inside the construct.
Ssserakis' mocking laugh reached me despite the noise surrounding me. The rules are different here, Eskara. You have no magic. You are simply one of the actors in this play, and the rules apply to you as much as any of these images.
"But they don't apply to you?" I shouted at the horror.
The rules never apply to the puppet master. Only those with strings to pull.
"Does that mean you're in control here?" I asked as I pushed my way between another group of shouting people.
No. Your Iron Legion created this construct, but he learned how from me.
One of the crowd jostled me and I will admit I lost all composure. I have never been one for great patience and I was exhausted. Odd, that my exhaustion crossed over to the construct, yet my injuries did not. I lashed out, striking the nearest of the crowd in the face with a punch that would have made Hardt proud. I pushed at the woman on the other side of me and elbowed the man behind me in the face. For a few brief moments space opened around me and I could breathe. Then the crowd closed on me once more, even more tightly than before. Those I had struck paid me no mind and bore no injuries; th
ey only went back to shouting at something in front of us all. A curse of being quite short, is that I have never been able to see over a crowd. I sometimes envy those blessed with height, until I see them smack their heads on low roofs and doorways.
By the time I reached the front of the crowd, I was clutching my chest and panting in exhaustion. Ssserakis stepped beside me, my shadow passing through the throng as though it was not there. I longed to turn about and lay into the crowd. They might not feel my attacks, nor even be inconvenienced by them, but throwing some punches would make me feel better.
Before the crowd, I found Horralain. The giant thug huddled on a grand, golden throne that would have looked overly ostentatious had I found a god sitting upon it. Tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his beard, and he wore a large crown on his head. Horralain's gaze passed over the crowd standing before him, his eyes roving from face to face. He passed me by and there was no recognition there, only blind panic and tears.
I rushed forward and grabbed Horralain by the shoulder. A part of me hoped that would be it, once I had found him, we would both be dragged out of the dream. Of course, things are rarely so simple. The big man didn't even seem to notice my hand on his shoulder.
"Horralain, come on. We have to go." I tugged at him, but he remained rooted to his throne, and moving a man that size is never an easy task.
I stepped in front of Horralain then and slapped him hard in the face. His eyes continued their endless, terrified circuit of the shouting faces.
"Horralain," I shouted his name over the noise of the crowd. "Snap out of it. Help me fight through them. We'll find a way out."
The big man's eyes washed over me, not even realizing I was there.
My shadow moved in front of me, peering down at Horralain. Impressive. I'd be proud if I wasn't too busy hating him for dragging me from my home. Ssserakis turned to look at me through gleaming green holes in the face of my own shadow. The construct is built. The rules are set. You have neither the power, nor the knowledge to break them, Eskara. So how do you win when you can't cheat?
I thought back to my time in the Pit once more. To my time at the gaming tables, hours upon hours of gambling what meagre possessions I could scrounge up. The snuff pouch at my belt, the one I hid my Sources in was a memento from those days, one of the very first things I ever won. You couldn't cheat at the gaming tables, there were too many eyes watching. Too much of a crowd. You had to play within the rules if you wanted to win, but that didn't mean you had to play fairly.
"Why is this Horralain's greatest fear?" The truth was already coming to me. "What is there to fear here?"
Not all fears are monsters and pain. Yours aren't. Your greatest fear is…
"Shut up! We're not fucking talking about me. What is there here to fear? People. Wide open spaces."
You're thinking too literal, Eskara. Fears are not things. They are thoughts. You do not fear the knife, so much as what it might do.
"Decisions!" It all seemed so obvious once I had the answer. Every person in the gathered crowd wasn't just shouting, they were asking questions, requesting aid, demanding a decision. Horralain wasn't scared of the crowd, he feared the responsibility of being in charge.
I stepped in front of Horralain, blocking his hulking form as best I could, and turned to face the gathered crowd. I had to raise my voice to a shout to be heard. "My name is Eskara Helsene." A thought occurred to me; I had to play within the rules of the game. "Chancellor Eskara Helsene. I'm here to make decisions on behalf of…" I glanced back to the big thug cowering on his throne. "King Horralain?"
The crowd kept up their shouting, pointing and waving for attention. I singled one of them out, a tall man with a forked beard and a yellow silken robe. "What's your issue?"
"Two of my ships were lost at sea during a storm. I need money to rebuild or I'm done for."
Why that would be an affair of the crown, I had no idea, but I could only guess these issues were of Horralain's own imagining. "The treasury will provide you coin to rebuild one ship; a loan you repay once you have earned enough to build a second."
The man bowed his head. "Thank you, wise king." And then he faded away.
I pointed at another member of the crowd, an ancient woman with more wrinkles than hair. "What do you have to bring before the king?" I could not keep the derision from my voice, but Horralain's demons didn't seem to notice.
"My husband is dead and left behind only daughters, and the daughters of daughters. The magistrate says my home should go to my husband's brother."
I scoffed at that. "The home is yours. It belongs to you and whoever you leave it to."
"Thank you. Thank you." The ancient woman sketched an awkward curtsy and faded away, just as the man before her had.
Have you ever wondered just how long it takes for a compassionate ruler to mete out decisions upon their subjects? Horralain's fear conjured less than two hundred of these clamouring demons, and I dealt with every single one. I was beyond bored and struggling to stand by the end of the first ten. By the time the last of the crowd faded away, I felt like leaving Horralain there to rot. Still, I think I acquitted myself quite well. Despite the imaginary kingdom he had constructed, I made the decisions based upon what I thought was fair, and what I thought was believable enough to be accepted. If only my own rule had been so well received. Or maybe if only I had kept a level head more often in such discussions.
Once the last of the beggars had faded away, I turned to Horralain. His head was in his hands, tears squeezing out between fingers. "They're gone, Horralain," I said. "Listen? Do you hear the silence?"
Fingers shifted and Horralain peered out between his hands with a single eye that darted this way and that. Then he lowered his hands and raised his head. "They're gone," he said in that slow voice of his, as though he needed to consider each word carefully before it left his lips.
I nodded. "All of them. I dealt with all of them." I took a step towards the pretend king and my back twanged in pain. When had pain started to seep into the construct? "Can we go now? There's nothing left to fear here."
"Thank you." Horralain's voice cracked on those words.
"You're welcome. Now stand up and let's go. Ssserakis, how do we get out."
Simple. Just make that first step of progress.
I let out a groan. "Horralain. Stand up and step away from the throne."
The big man levered himself to his feet, took one step forward, and faded away. I remained.
"Ssserakis? Why am I still here?"
I could actually feel the horror's confusion. You appear to have made his construct your own. Do you really desire torture so?
I glanced at my shadow to find green light spilling around its grinning mouth. It's an unnerving thing seeing your shadow move independently of you, even when you know how it is happening.
"Progress, huh?" I took two steps forward, turned, and lowered myself onto the throne.
And then I was back in the frozen amphitheatre. My friends gathered around me. Hardt had draped a cloak over my shoulders and Tamura was laughing and drawing something in the sand with a stick. Worst of all though, was the awestruck eyes of Horralain, staring at me.
Chapter 6
I have long since discovered that I have a strange ability, something unique and both wondrous and mortifying. I think it is a facet of my innate Necromancy, that magic the Iron Legion forced upon me. I can absorb the memories of the dead. Not all of them, only fragments, rarely enough to form anything but a brief glimpse into another's life. But sometimes a brief glimpse is all you need.
These are not my memories. They are Josef's.
Josef skids to a halt on the floor, but it's too late. Already too late. The portal snaps shut, and with it goes the light. He lays there in the dark, heart pounding, breath coming in short sharp gasps. He wants to move, tries to move. Can't. The darkness is everywhere, everything. It blankets him, smothers him, reduces the world to nothing but monsters stalking through the black.
Stalking. Stalking him. He hates the dark. He's always hated the dark. Down in the Pit, there was never anything but darkness. He would have done anything to get out. He did do everything to get out. He did the one thing he had never wanted to do.
He curls up into a ball. Makes himself small, quiet. Hiding from the creatures in the dark. Hiding from fear. Hiding from his own thoughts. It doesn't work. It can't. His heartbeat is thunder in his ears. His thoughts echo in his mind. So loud. So unwelcome.
How was he still alive? Again. How was he still alive? Eska! She knew. She'd seen him. She knew! The Iron Legion, Loran Orran. What had he done? It was him. It was all him. It was always him.
Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap. A new noise. Not one of his. One of the monsters come to get him. He curls tighter, blind in the dark, heartbeat booming inside, outside, everywhere.
A mumble of words, something sharp sounding like a curse. He doesn't recognise the language, but words have a weight to them, a sound that is unmistakably language. There is no magic to them, but words possess a magic all of their own. The right words can cast a spell, manipulate emotions as surely as any Empamancy. And words can break spells. His fear recedes. There is no monster in this darkness, but there is something. Someone.
"Hello?" His voice is croaky. The words scratch his throat. How long has it been since he used his voice? How long has it been since Yorin slid the knife across his skin, blade biting into flesh, cutting through his life, leaving him to bleed out in the dark that he fears so much.
