Dark Paths

by Markus Heitz

  The offering bowl continued to fill, with the blood reaching the eye sockets.

  Sisaroth picked up the scythe-knife and sliced deliberately round the crown of the victim’s head. He took a silver axe from his belt and struck the head forcefully.

  The top of the älf’s head fell off, releasing brain liquid which ran down to collect in the same channel as the blood.

  There must be no mistakes made. Sisaroth’s red fingers retrieved the brain mass and placed it next to the burning heart.

  ‘Accept his mind. Take the mind that kept him alive so long. Accept it!’ he called out, raising his blood-covered arms. ‘Shëidogîs, reveal yourself in the blood of this älf! Reveal yourself to protect us all, to lead us all.’

  The relic was now submerged under the congealing fluids, which bubbled and hissed, sending up a whitish steam.

  A fountain of blood shot up out of the vessel. It squirted like a geyser and formed the silhouette of a bloodied älf with his dark mouth agape.

  Yes! Yes! My reward! The murky cloud of breath drifted across the victim’s body and infiltrated itself into Sisaroth through his nose and mouth, causing fury lines to erupt on his face and his eyes to become shadowy holes. His body cramped and his back spasmed as he gasped and choked, needing to steady himself by grasping the table edge. The effect is even stronger than before . . . He stretched out an arm for support.

  And Tirîgon was by his side, holding him fast.

  The blood silhouette crackled, ignited and turned to ash and smoke; the relic skull lay pristine in its dish, as if nothing had touched it.

  ‘Thank you,’ groaned Sisaroth. Absorbing the residual force was always a thorny problem. A cîanoi could be in shock for some time while the energy was redistributed. Sisaroth’s vision began to clear and he took in his surroundings again.

  Balodil and Tirîgon were with him in the largest of Marandëi’s secret chambers, standing by a chimney vent that prevented suffocation during these smoke-filled rituals. The stench of burning organs from the charred brains and heart of the victim was sucked up the ventilation shaft.

  The groundling had wanted to be present during the ceremony. This was now the fourth time. The tattoos on his skin made him sensitive to the spirit force. He had become a fervent worshipper.

  No mention of Vraccas or the Tark Draan divinities. Sisaroth was still gasping for breath as he nodded to Balodil. Tirîgon and I did a good job with his conversion. The potion he had created had overcome any mental resistance without the groundling noticing what was happening to him. The effect had been instantaneous and was, if anything, intensifying.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ Tirîgon gradually removed his supporting hands.

  ‘Yes.’ Sisaroth wiggled his fingers, which were sticky with the victim’s clotted blood. ‘I’ll be fine soon.’ He leaned on the sacrificial table. ‘Shëidogîs has been generous this time.’

  He watched as his brother carried the corpse with Balodil’s help over to the forge. The groundling activated the bellows. The heat increased to facilitate the cremation process.

  This had been the seventeenth sacrifice in total that had been offered to the unholy skull.

  They no longer searched the tunnels and caves for lost älfar; they took the ones who had arrived from Dsôn when it was not immediately clear whether or not they might be fakes.

  When these älfar did not return after their interrogation, their disappearance was read as a confession of guilt; the presence of a karderier. No questions were ever asked because the word of the Triplet Siblings was never doubted.

  Balodil enjoyed watching the flames do their work. The corpse shrank in the heat. ‘We still haven’t slit open a real karderier,’ he noted with a sinister laugh.

  ‘All the better,’ said Sisaroth. His veins were pulsing alternately hot and cold. Rubbing his arms free of the clotted blood he decided he needed a bath. ‘The Infamous One wants älfar. Only älfar.’

  Tirîgon lifted the dish with the relic and handed it to Sisaroth. ‘Do you think you are prepared for the task the Zhadar wants us to perform?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I feel strong enough for that.’ Marandëi would have been proud of me.

  ‘Excellent.’ Tirîgon waved away the cloud of stinking air that the vent was slow to remove. ‘But I do think we should wait until Firûsha gets back. I want to know what she thought she was doing, going off on her own with that Shucto.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that, surely?’ Balodil spoke up. ‘The Songbird’s sword skills are better than your own,’ he teased. ‘She’s just the one to explore our way out to Tark Draan.’

  Sisaroth smiled. The little mountain maggot thinks he’s one of us. Perhaps we overdid the dose?

  ‘Shucto is a barbarian. They can’t be trusted,’ Tirîgon complained.

  ‘Shucto is an exception. I’ve known him a long time. He would never dare set a trap for us. He knows exactly what will happen if Firûsha doesn’t come back. His family, his whole race will be wiped out.’ Balodil worked the bellows steadily, the muscles on his torso and arms swelling up like mountain ridges. ‘And there’s a service he wants from the Young Gods.’ He winked at them with his good right eye. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing home once more. To go back there with you. Who’s going to stop us?’

  Sisaroth noted Tirîgon’s broad smile. That’s true enough. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Who’s going to stop us, Balodil?’

  Tark Draan.

  Wearing full armour underwater, Firûsha stalked along the bottom of the pond through the murky black before kicking towards the lighter grey shimmer that must signify its surface. The moon, suspended high overhead, was an elliptical disc shining through the water.

  The leather pouch had proved a success and had survived the rough journey. She had enough extra air to travel underwater. Without it, though, I would have drowned. She calculated the submersion totalled eight hundred heartbeats.

  It had been a long time since she had last seen the moon and its glow lifted her soul. The world on this side was a thing of mystery: there were water lilies growing on the mirror-like surface above her head.

  The pond floor rose sharply near the bank and it was spongy in feel. She was an arm-length’s away from breaking through.

  Is it Tark Draan or is it another cave and I’ve been tricked? She took the leather air pouch out of her mouth and drew her dagger. She lifted her head slowly out of the water.

  She could hear the sounds of frogs and crickets. A soft breeze from the west brought the fragrance of warm grass, blossoms and ripe cherries. Someone was playing the lute and singing.

  O ye gods of infamy! Firûsha was overcome.

  Looking up into the night sky to see the moon and the stars in all their glory, she was overwhelmed by their sparkling beauty. She saw a shooting star ride through the sky with a fiery tail, while the cool waters of the pond lapped around her.

  She had been under such stress that the joy released a flood of tears. Shucto had told the truth.

  I am in Tark Draan. This is not just yet another cavern full of madness and idiosyncrasies and monsters. She made her way slowly forward, creating as little disturbance as possible. She glided up the bank, heading for the nearby wood in search of cover from enquiring eyes.

  It was vital that her arrival were not discovered. But in her elation she wanted to sing at the top of her voice, whirl and dance. She had been doubly fortunate in her escape: she had found the way out of Phondrasôn and out of Ishím Voróo.

  I wonder who our musician is on this balmy night? Firûsha followed the tones of the instrument, creeping round through the undergrowth until she reached a clearing.

  There she saw a pair of elf lovers. He was playing and the female raised her voice softly in song. Their garments were delicate and translucent and the two were lost in contemplation of each other.

  Firûsha stared at them. My mortal enemies. Within my grasp. They are unarmed and not encumbered with bags or equipment. That means their vil
lage cannot be far off.

  She didn’t intend to stay. Shucto had warned her about the stream reversal. The current would change direction soon. She was aware of the water lilies drifting towards the centre of the pond. As yet it was only a tiny movement, the leaves’ movement barely perceptible.

  Our attack on Tark Draan is imminent. Firûsha permitted the lovers to enjoy each other’s company a while longer. I shall soon be back. She studied the faces of her victims carefully and withdrew in silence.

  On her way back to the Moon Pond she relished the evening’s pleasures: the fragrances, the starlight.

  Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, she collected grass stems and flowers as evidence to show her brothers. There must be no doubt in anyone’s mind that she had truly set foot in Tark Draan and been in an elven grove. She even took down a rune-etched lantern to convince them of her story.

  Sitting on the bank, she stared down into the pond. This would be a good place to found our new Dsôn. We would be the Dsôn Aklán: the gods of Dsôn.

  She gave a nostalgic smile. There was much to be accomplished. A new beginning with neither father nor mother at her side. Her parents had waited for such a long time for the Inextinguishables to return. We will look after your legacy.

  There was a sound on her left.

  She drew her long sword and gathered the darkness around her, crouching in wait.

  A magnificent white horse stepped out of the wood and approached the pool five paces from where she hid. It lowered its head to the water to drink. Firûsha suddenly realised what the animal was.

  She had thought at first that it was a trick of the reflection on the ripples. There was a twisted horn as long as an arm jutting out from the creature’s forehead, with lines resembling the blood channels on a sword.

  A unicorn! Firûsha gulped. It is sure to attack me.

  Her next thought was daring in the extreme. The magical stallion was her opportunity to create her own night-mare.

  But this was not something that could be done in Tark Draan on elf territory. It had to be in the dark lands of Phondrasôn with her brothers’ help and the powers of the god of infamy. If I bring back a unicorn, they’ll all have to believe me.

  She had to work out how to get the animal to accompany her through the underwater passages. She could intimidate the creature and frighten it into the pond, but would the undertow be sufficiently powerful to drag the animal down? Could it possibly survive the long moments with no air to breathe? Or would it suffocate on the way?

  Who cares if it does drown? That would merely be one less unicorn to bother about. Firûsha circled the beast and approached it from behind.

  The magical creature had quenched its thirst unaware of the danger. It raised its broad head and uttered a loud whinny.

  Its call was answered from the outlying forest. There are more of them.

  The water lilies! They are drifting faster to the middle. Firûsha dropped the dark shadow and used her inborn gifts to weave a net of fear which she threw over the unicorn’s head.

  The animal bucked and reared and stumbled into the cold, dark waters.

  ‘Off with you!’ Firûsha whirled her sword above her head to intensify the terror the creature felt. She employed all her strength to drive the unicorn before her. Had she used the same amount of energy against a troll or a barbarian horde, her enemies would have collapsed with their hearts burst open. The stallion tolerated a far greater degree of evil.

  The unicorn galloped away into the depths of the pond, finally leaping and swimming when it could no longer feel the ground under its hooves.

  ‘That’s a nasty surprise, isn’t it, meeting an älf-woman?’ Firûsha set off after the unicorn, sheathing her sword and swiftly inflating the leather pouch. Well, you can be forgiven for being surprised. You will soon serve us. You will be ours. She quickly sank to the bottom from the weight of her armour and the surface closed over her dark head.

  In front of her she could see the pale body of the unicorn and the hooves kicking out wildly as it trod water dangerously close to her head. The undertow began to pull at her legs. The stream was changing direction.

  You shall accompany me or die with me! Firûsha put the mouthpiece to her lips and grabbed hold of the animal’s plunging back legs with both hands.

  The stallion increased its attempts to resist the pull of the current but the added weight and the increased drag gave it no hope of escape.

  Together, the älf-girl and unicorn rushed into the depths.

  Chapter III

  Moon Pond, Moon Pond!

  Flat as a mirror,

  dark as the night.

  We slip out unseen

  and emerge into the light

  Moon Pond, Moon Pond!

  May your secret lead us

  to the enemy’s elven heart.

  Let our fight be unceasing

  and let fame be our part.

  Excerpt from the epic poem Young Gods

  composed by Carmondai, master of word and image

  Phondrasôn.

  ‘She is back!’ His brother’s voice rang through into the laboratory Sisaroth had installed in what had been Tossàlor’s studio. Tirîgon put his head round the door. ‘Firûsha’s come back. And you’ll never guess what she’s brought us from Tark Draan!’

  Praise be to the gods of infamy! Wait, Tark Draan? Sisaroth put the distilling experiment to one side. He had been making a concoction for Balodil out of the concentrated essence of älfar resulting from the sacrificial offerings; the aim was to produce a substance that would stabilise the groundling’s mental capacities. ‘She got to Tark Draan? Up there?’ But Tirîgon had disappeared. ‘Tirîgon, come back! Tell me what . . .’ With a mild curse Sisaroth wiped his hands clean and rushed into the corridor.

  He raced along the passageways behind his brother, up and down staircases and through the halls, with an excited Carmondai and Crotàgon joining them on the way. Crotàgon hardly deigned to greet him, even fleetingly. The two of them had had their differences since the death of Tossàlor.

  He’d love to know where I keep Shëidogîs’ skull so he could destroy it. Sisaroth nodded to him.

  Even following the extinction of Marandëi’s death curse, everyone kept the peace. In fact, all the exiles and refugees were collaborating well. There had been no killings or feuds. Being surrounded by Phondrasôn’s dangers seemed to consolidate the little community.

  They reached the courtyard together and heard furious neighing from afar.

  Are my senses deceiving me? Or is it the vapours from the new potion affecting my brain?

  Sisaroth saw a tethered and blinkered unicorn fighting against its chains. The hooves struck the cobbles repeatedly but the creature could not get free. Straps from the leather bridle and halter were held fast by eight älfar. What a magnificent play of muscles!

  The horn, long enough to skewer two älfar at a time, whistled through the air like a sword every time the creature tossed its head.

  ‘Unbelievable! No question! It must have come from Tark Draan!’ Carmondai was opening his sketch book to record the wild movements and to write a few notes.

  Firûsha stood next to the groundling and one of the barbarians. She looked exhausted but triumphant. ‘Proof enough?’ she asked, reaching into a bag and taking out wet flowers, grass and twigs, tossing them merrily into the air. ‘My brothers! I have been to Tark Draan! I have seen the stars and stood in the moonlight and I found some elves just waiting for us to come and kill them.’ She threw herself into her brothers’ arms in turn. ‘We are going to leave Phondrasôn and we’re going to fulfil the destiny of our race . . .’

  ‘. . . and reign in Tark Draan!’ Tirîgon completed her sentence joyously. ‘You have brought us a unicorn!’

  Firûsha laughed. ‘I thought that would convince any älf still suspicious of my claim. The flowers and leaves I possibly could have obtained from another part of Phondrasôn, but there are no unicorns down here.’ She indicated t
he barbarian. ‘Shucto of the Shuctanide tribe in the Sojól cave showed me the way.’

  She told them quickly what had happened. She did not attempt to gloss over the fact that the journey had been fraught with danger. Travelling the river was not easy and she had nearly lost the magic stallion on the way. She did not forget to mention the agreement reached with the barbarian.

  Sisaroth and Tirîgon looked at one another. That directly clashes with the task the Zhadar’s given us. Sisaroth motioned Firûsha and Tirîgon to his side. ‘What’s to stop us going back to the waterfall without Shucto? We can swim through to the Moon Pond without his help, surely?’

  ‘He blindfolded me! I might be able to try to reconstruct the journey by the sounds I heard, but only Shucto understands the timing sequence by which the current goes into reverse. We can’t afford to trick him. Or at least, not yet, certainly,’ she stressed. ‘Why don’t we just do what he’s asking us to? We’re leaving anyway, so it doesn’t matter what happens after we kill the Zhadar’s officers.’

  ‘We can’t, because the Zhadar has told us to do the exact opposite,’ replied Tirîgon tersely. ‘We can’t risk it. You should have seen what he is capable of. Balodil warned us not to provoke his former master in any way unless we can kill him at the same time.’

  ‘Then we need a plan that will guarantee Shucto helps us and keep the Zhadar at bay long enough for us to get to Tark Draan through the Moon Pond,’ Sisaroth murmured. He could not take his eyes off the unicorn. I can turn it into a night-mare.

  He knew there was a ceremony that would transform this basically good-natured creature into a wild flesh-eating beast as swift as the wind. He did not know exactly what had to be done but he remembered his father Aïsolon saying Caphalor had created his stallion Sardaî from a unicorn.

  Shëidogîs will help me, I’m sure. In his mind’s eye he could already see the horrified expressions on the faces of the elves he would confront, riding his magnificent and malevolent night-mare. I will make Shëidogîs a sacrifice of the elves’ eternal life.