by Aaron Bunce
Herja opened the door next to the fireplace, and stepped into the darkness beyond. Henri wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to follow her, and for a number of reasons.
First, the adjoining chamber was dark, cold, and strange…so unlike the feast hall to his back. And second, he had no idea what she was talking about, or where she was leading him. But he pushed past the apprehension and followed her through, for his kids.
The door slammed shut behind him, swinging back of its own accord. Henri spun around, startled by the noise, but turned back and almost ran into Herja.
“Your daughter has slipped beyond the reach of J’ohaven’s light. She has been overtaken by a dark power,” Herja said, resting one hand on her hip, and the other on the pommel of her sword.
“What do you mean beyond the reach of his light? I thought he was the elder god?” Henri asked.
Herja’s expression hardened and something glinted in her eye. Henri flinched and instinctually took a step back.
“He brought you here, into his hall!” Herja said, a deathly edge to her voice, but the harsh look in her eyes faded a moment later. “J’ohaven is the eldest. He was there at creation and burns as the fire of life, but there are dark forces that oppose him. These forces seek to supplant chaos where there is order, and darkness where there is light.”
“So if she is beyond your reach, what can I do?” Henri asked.
“You will need Luca’s help,” Herja said, and set off again through the massive stone columns.
Henri followed, his spirits stuck in a wretched game of tug of war. His beautiful, independent, and fiery daughter was in some kind of trouble. And yet, he would be able to see Luca again. He was going to see his baby boy!
“So how will you get me back to Shale, to see Luca? How long can I stay there?” Henri asked.
Herja approached the end of the cavernous chamber, its back wall darker than any other part of the room. She stopped before an ancient looking door. The stone lip of the doorframe was chipped and crumbled, while time had hardened the door itself into something beyond wood. It almost looked light stone.
“Once a soul is removed from the realm of the living, it cannot return. The river of souls flows with death, not against it. There is but one path left that will allow you to see Luca again, and it is through this door,” Herja said, motioning towards the closed portal.
Henri’s face scrunched up, and he reached up to scratch his head. “This door will lead me to Luca?” he asked.
Herja nodded, and pulled the door open, the hinges popped and screeched, dust erupting into the air before him. A gust of wind blew in from the passage beyond. Dark strands of a dark and stringy substance billowed into the chamber. They pulsed and coursed like living tentacles of pure darkness.
“What is that? Where does this really lead?” Henri cried out, jumping back and shying away from the strange strands.
“The only way for you to get back to your son is by taking the phantom road. It lies between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead. If you take this path, you will become a shade,” Herja said, looking at him appraisingly.
“A shade…you mean like a ghost?” Henri asked, a sour bubble forming in his gut.
“Yes. The phantom road is woven into both realms, so you will be able to see both,” Herja said, eyeing the dark tunnel. “You will be able to see your son, and daughter, but they will not be able to see you.”
Herja’s words crashed over him like cold water. The hope and cheer warming his insides at the idea of seeing Luca again, at holding him again, was gone.
Henri shook his head, frustration and anger welling up inside. But he fought against his instinct. The old Henri would have stomped his foot, cursed, and looked for something to throw, but things had changed.
“And after?” he asked.
“You will move on, just like Hunter before you,” Herja said.
Henri nodded. For Luca and Eisa!
“How will I know where to go?” he asked.
“There are many branches of the phantom road, but only one is open to you and tied to Luca. I will guide you to your road, but once there, I must leave you to your task,” she said, a rare smile wrinkling her cheeks.
Henri took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, preparing himself. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Herja nodded and stepped into the dark tunnel. Henri waited a moment, but then followed her through. He felt the dark tendrils worming against him, slithering and coiling around his waist, legs, and arms. They wrenched and pulled, leaving a horrible slimy cold sensation wherever they touched. It felt like pushing through a snarled thicket of angry snakes.
Henri shoved forward, breaking free from the wriggling tentacles and stepped into a dark clearing. Herja stood several paces ahead of him, her outline afire in a haunting orange glow.
“Welcome to the phantom road,” she said.
Chapter 24
Human Clay
DaeGeroth stood before the window of the farm and watched the snow drift by. He felt a gentle tug deep inside, pulling at him. He ignored it.
The pull weakened before getting stronger again, this time accompanied by a host of voices. He remembered a time when he would have given anything to hear them again, to hear his kind calling out to him. But that was before their world was torn apart, and he was left for dead.
A grunt sounded in the next room, followed by a crash and a pained, feral scream. Something bumped against the wall.
The pain will pass, my child. You will be better for it, he thought, stepping back.
DaeGeroth crossed the tidy bedroom and stepped into the hall. He paused before the bedroom door, listening, savoring the tension in the air. He reached down and unlocked the door, before gently pushing it open.
Furniture lay haphazardly, broken and strewn all about. The shadows danced back and forth as the single lantern swung crazily from its hook on the ceiling.
A girl emerged from a shadowy corner, staggering into the open. She crumbled in a heap, her head twitching violently from side to side. The girl pounded her fists against the ground and rolled over onto her back, the thick curls of brown hair falling away to expose her face.
DaeGeroth watched her writhe, her mouth opening and closing as she gasped for air. He stepped lightly into the room and knelt down at her side, brushing a few stubborn strands of hair out of her face.
“Don’t fight the change, Alina, just let it happen. There will be less pain,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The girl’s eyes flashed open and locked onto him, a moan vibrating deep in her throat. The muscles in her jaw bunched up and her lips went tight, until they almost disappeared. A single tear slid down her cheek.
She has tied complicated emotions to this face, he thought, contemplating the body he had stolen. She loves and hates the man that raised her. It makes her strong, hard to break.
“Child, accept the gift. Let it strip away your frailty. Let it remake you…” he said, running a large, pale hand over her soft hair.
The girl’s arms curled up, contracting into her body as her muscles bound and constricted. Her legs followed next, until her back started to curve. She wound in on herself like a tightening knot. Bones would break. Delicate vessels and organs would rupture. She would die, but only if she continued to fight.
“Alina. You need to let go,” he said, deciding to use the girl’s name to slip past her defenses.
Her neck straightened, a look of agony drawing at her features. She peeled her eyes open once again and looked at him.
“Breathe deeply. Don’t push back, but invite it in. It will only last a moment. Take the power I am trying to give you, so that you will rise stronger. Then use it to strike down the ones who took your mother from you,” DaeGeroth purred, sorting through Garon’s memories for keys.
A light flashed in the girl’s eyes, if only for a moment, and her face relaxed. Her arms and legs slumped towards the ground and her back straightened.
“That’s
it,” he whispered.
Alina’s eyes closed and her mouth opened, her breath coming in short, rapid gasps. DaeGeroth watched a ripple course through her body, her fingers and toes twitching. He could feel the energy surging inside her, altering her body and mind.
Bones, muscles, flesh, and hair started to grow, soaking in the vital energy and absorbing its greater purpose. Her entire body shook as bones grew longer and thicker. He held her close to him while the change wracked her, his embrace loving and delicate. He would be the father she never had. The father she deserved.
Alina finally stopped shaking, her breathing slowing. She laid there, her arms wrapped around him, the warmth of her body radiating into the cold air.
Her thoughts jumbled together in a hectic swirl as she tried to rationalize the changes. He used his influence to still her mind, supplanting ideas with his own truths. But they were small, delicate designs.
He learned long ago that a gentle touch was needed when suckling the young. Force too much change at one time and risk severing the mind from the body. Alter too many aspects of the mind at one time, and risk violent madness. He would learn from the errors that doomed them. This time, this one would be perfect, and he would be justly rewarded with a perfect offspring.
Alina opened her eyes and released her grip on him. DaeGeroth pushed off from the ground and stood. The girl pulled the hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ears, before putting both palms against the floor and standing.
She straightened. The dressing gown which had previously reached her ankles now barely covered her knees. She ran her hands over her arms, opening and flexing her fingers as if seeing them for the first time.
“My beautiful nightflower blossoms,” he said, watching her explore the changes to her body. The little girl was gone, and with only a few short feedings.
“Thank you, Father,” she said, locking her eyes upon him.
A gust of wind buffeted the house, breaking the catch on the window and sending it rattling open. The starchy breeze caught the soot-covered lantern and knocked it from its hook overhead. DaeGeroth watched as the young woman’s arm snapped out, catching the lantern out of midair before it could hit the ground.
Her large brown eyes snapped to the lantern, a look of joyful amazement on her face.
“This is just the beginning,” he said, watching her turn the small table upright and deposit the lantern atop it.
Soon, she would discover that her changes went beyond the shape, speed, and strength of her body. Soon, she would realize the gifts of her mind as well.
Just a few more feedings and she will be ready. She will be perfect! he thought.
“Fetch your brothers, my child,” he said. “There is a task I need them to help me perform.”
“Let me do it for you, Father. Please!” Alina said, her mind not plagued by the childish doubts that hampered her before.
DaeGeroth shook his head, relishing the strange body language. It had taken him a while to get used to his new body. But the more time he spent plundering Garon’s mind, the more at home he became. He wasn’t just wearing the man’s skin, but he was absorbing every detail of his life. It was intoxicating.
“I’m afraid this is a task better suited to your brothers,” he said, turning and walking out of the room. “Better to save the trivial matters to the mindless. Your energies are best spent elsewhere.”
He heard her follow, her bare feet padding quietly against the farmhouse’s smooth floor. He could feel her thoughts. She was eager, and restless.
“Soon, my child, soon!” he said, answering her unanswered question as he mounted the stairs.
* * * *
Roman clutched to the candle, the ratty blanket stretched to cover as much of his body as possible. It wasn’t enough to fight off the cold of the cell. Not even close. How could he ever sleep in a place like this?
He paced forward until the chains snapped tight. He hung there, staring into the horrible darkness of the cell. He knew the door was before him, and the hallway beyond that, but it was all lost to the darkness.
“Hello?!” he yelled, the dark stealing his voice almost as soon as it left his mouth. “Can I get another blanket? Or a flame for this candle? Please!?”
The steady drip of water was his only response. Roman turned, kicking the darkness and shaking the chains in frustration. If he had to live in the wretched darkness, it was going to drive him mad, very quickly.
He froze, the candle still clutched tightly in his palm. A frightening idea popped into his head. He fought against the idea for a few moments, but a violent series of shivers wracked his body, and he was left clutching at the foul smelling blanket.
Roman dropped to his knees and held the candle before him. He pulled his right hand away from the blanket, reluctantly, and focused all of his concentration inward. He focused on the knot in his belly, but extended deeper, to the frightening dark hole inside, where the monster slumbered.
Give it flesh, he thought, repeating his mother’s words when he envisioned her on the lakeshore. The Ifrit stirred, sensing his attention. It uncoiled, pushing against the boundaries he put in place around it.
“A little flame, just enough to light this candle,” he whispered, desperate for the small amount of comfort a single candle could provide.
The Ifrit’s volatile will washed up inside him, filling him with monstrous thoughts of fire and heat. He stifled them as best he could, without forcing them away completely.
I’m not letting you out, dammit. I just need a little bit of your fire, to light…this…candle, he thought, wrestling against the fiery spirit, but it fought him. It would not be controlled, or used.
The knot inside him opened up and he felt the Ifrit expand, billowing inside him like a massive, hot cloud of angst. His arms and legs started to shake, but he took a deep breath and mastered himself.
“Just a candle,” he whispered, extending his index finger out, beneath what he hoped was the candlewick.
He focused, forcing the hot energy up his arm and into his hand. The Ifrit battered his mind with sharp, angry jabs. He could feel its rage and desperation. It didn’t want him in control, and worse, it hated the idea of him using its power. Familiar images flashed through his mind, of a fire-scorched plane. His nostrils were stung by the smell of acrid ash and smoke.
Roman stilled his mind against the fire spirit’s bombardment, using his calm and steady thoughts as armor. It hated him, a soft, burnable creature beneath it, but it needed him, and he still held the upper hand. He was in control.
A reflexive snap broke free from the combustive spirit, drawn forth by a simple desire born in Roman’s mind. He manipulated it within his body, controlling how it moved, guiding it up his arm. His hand started to glow, the cuff bolted to his wrist swelling and warming against his skin.
Fire, he thought, giving the energy building in his hand meaning. His index finger glowed bright, a strange, haunting mist bleeding out of his skin.
Metal rattled in the darkness beyond his door, and a heartbeat later he heard a door swing open. Roman panicked and clenched his hand, willing the Ifrit’s energy back down inside, but the haunting glow under his skin would not dim.
He held his hands behind his back as a torch appeared in the barred window, the stubby candle rattling away somewhere in the darkness. Minos leered at him, his flabby, sallow cheeks pulled into a gleeful smile.
“G’evening, friend!” he said, tapping the heavy ring of keys against the bars, taunting him.
Roman felt the Ifrit surge, pushing outwards in an attempt to break free. It wanted to burn the door, and the man standing behind it. He sagged forward, the Ifrit’s will scattering his mind and wrenching him inside.
He felt the energy bleeding up his arm and into his hand increase. He had allowed himself a small window with which to channel the creature’s energy, and now it wouldn’t let him close it again. It wriggled and clawed, fighting to be free. The shackled continued to swell, pinching and str
angling his wrist.
“You taking kindly to your accommodations? Nice aren’t they?” Minos asked, taking a bite from a large chunk of bread and chewing it noisily.
Roman groaned, fighting and slowly losing his battle to force the Ifrit back into its cage deep inside.
“You’re a rude little runt. I speak to you, and you respond,” Minos said, banging the keys against the bars again.
“It’s c-c-cold. I could use another b-b-blanket,” Roman stammered, his whole body shaking from his effort.
“Blankets are a luxury, an’ luxuries cost coin, runt. Be happy you’ve got one, along with the tasty food I let Rat bring you. Tell you what, next time he’s down here why don’t you grab him and snuggle up close. Boy’s nice and warm, an’ he costs me less than a blanket! Got ‘bout a dozen of em his age, just waiting to take his place!”
Roman nodded, closing his eyes and trying to quiet his mind. “Thank you,” he stammered, thoroughly disgusted by the foul man. He valued Rat less than a shabby blanket.
“That’s more like it!” Minos said mockingly. “I make the rounds down here every night. Check the doors…’specially the one down there at the end of the hall. It leads to the hungry dark. Sometimes, oops, it just comes open all on its own. Best take care if it does. I like to throw food scraps down there, too. It’s easier than hauling it all back up the stairs. Ain’t saying it doesn’t happen, but the little beasties might scamper out.”
Roman nodded, unable to speak. He wasn’t entirely sure what the man was talking about. Minos laughed and walked away, the darkness flooding back into his cell.
The Ifrit surged again, but Roman was ready and forced it back. The energy bleeding into his hand started to subside, but the creature broke loose again and staggered him.
“Damn you…get back in your cage,” Roman growled under his breath.
The light of Minos’s torch splashed into his cell once again as the jailer walked by. But then Roman heard keys jingle, and the telltale grinding noise of a corroded key sliding into a lock. His cell door clicked loudly.
