“No,” Tir grunted, shaking a limp right hand in Keltin’s direction. Keltin sighed and resumed guiding the nysks. The Vessel Guard raised his torso off of the cart floor, then his arms slipped out from beneath him. Thankfully, Tir landed back onto his left side, so the stick protruding through his right shoulder didn’t strike against anything. Tir tried again with the same result, and then again. He emitted a wordless sound of pure frustration that grew louder and louder as the cycle continued.
Keltin tried not to laugh at the spectacle, but he eventually had to look away. Tir is seriously hurt, he reminded himself, but at least his stubbornness is undamaged. When Tir finally reached a sitting position, he turned to lean on the front rail of the cart and peered over the edge at the horizon. Keltin was glad to see that the blood around the stick in Tir’s shoulder was at last dry and no longer flowing.
“Is that wall ahead Dism Slyde?” Keltin asked eagerly. Tir’s head swung from side to side. He lifted his uninjured arm and pointed to a spot on the horizon far to the left.
“Go,” Tir said emphatically, doing his best to point with one finger instead of his entire hand. Keltin picked out a spot in the wall ahead that matched Tir’s direction and turned the nysks accordingly. Tir slipped off of the railing and turned so he rested on his side once more. He lifted his head to look at Keltin and gave a wobbly nod of approval.
“Impressed,” Tir said with the beginnings of a smile, then he lowered his head and sank back into sleep. Keltin took pride in the compliment, even if Tir’s words were a bit sparse.
“We’ll be there soon,” Keltin said softly. Anticipation had stripped away his exhaustion and fear for now, so he was able to feel excitement about this adventure for the first time. Keltin was also able to recognize a thought that had been shouting in the back of his mind since meeting Tir and first learning of Dism Slyde. I hope Ryna and the others are already there, he prayed silently. If they were all to remain cast out, at least they could be together.
---
The wall in the distance grew larger with each passing hour, until Keltin could distinguish its true shape and scale. These were not stacked stones like those of Aldhagen, these were grand and towering natural formations. Mountains, he realized, remembering the description of such things from his lessons on the Old Kingdom. They formed what appeared to be a seamless barrier between this “Plateau Desert” and whatever lay beyond. Keltin saw no evidence of Dism Slyde along the face of stone.
“Tir,” Keltin said quietly. The Vessel Guard still slept. “Tir,” he said louder. Tir opened a bleary eye.
“What,” Tir said bluntly, his voice muffled by the red section of his robe that lay under his head and partially covered his mouth.
“Where do we go from here?” Keltin asked. Tir looked confused at first, then he sat up quickly and turned to look at the way ahead.
“There,” Tir said with certainty as he pointed. “Right there. Venerates be praised, we’ve made it!” Keltin followed Tir’s finger, and realized suddenly that one of the mountains was slightly closer than the others. There was a way through this natural wall, after all. Tir turned back to face Keltin again.
“In case the poison from this filthy Cynmeren arrow puts me to sleep again, I want you to know what must happen next,” Tir continued. “Follow my words exactly. Go around the right side of that hill, then follow the path down into the valley beyond. No matter what you see, do not change your course—not even slightly—once you start going downhill. And do not use the light directors or you’ll end up blinding yourself. If you can do all of that, we’ll arrive at the Gates of Contrition within the hour.” Keltin nodded in understanding, though nothing Tir said had made any real sense. The Vessel Guard lowered himself back to the floor of the cart, but kept his eyes open. Keltin smiled at him sympathetically.
“Oh, keep your pity to yourself. I’m not going back to sleep,” Tir said defensively. “I’m just too tired to stay upright for long. Besides, you’re the one that earned the name Sleeper, not me.” Keltin laughed, but said nothing to add to Tir’s agitation. When Keltin glanced down a short time later, the Vessel Guard’s eyes were already closed again.
Keltin drove the nysks onward to the base of the near mountain, curious to see what it hid from sight. The size of the mountains was unimaginable—they were many strides taller than the Hall of the Venerates, and appeared to each be almost as far across as the entirety of Aldhagen. When the cart reached the southern edge of the mountain’s base, Keltin could see sparse patches of tan, wiry grass growing amid the outcrops of stone. It was the first plant he had seen since leaving Aldhagen. Good, he thought. Where the plant grows, the water flows. Though Keltin had not truly enjoyed his work as a Fieldsman, it had brought certain pieces of knowledge with it that could prove useful, especially in a place as barren as the Plateau Desert.
Keltin’s thoughts were instantly silenced as the valley to Dism Slyde came into view. Its entrance began unremarkably, as nothing more than a flat patch of desert between two neighboring mountains, but after a gradual sloping decline the valley vanished abruptly into a dense layer of fog. The motionless grey cloud hung low against the foot of the mountains, resembling a vast and silent river with its winding course forever frozen between the peaks. Before Keltin had time to consider trying to wake Tir again, the cart was already brushing the nearest tendrils of fog.
Within five strides, Keltin felt the cart leaning increasingly forward and watched as the mountains grew hazy, then vanished from view. Swallowed by the fog, Keltin longed to spin the light directors into position so he could try to discern what lay ahead. As his hand reached for the lever, though, he remembered that part of Tir’s strange guidance had forbidden the use of the light directors. Instead, Keltin gripped the nysk control handles tightly, but with visibility this poor he would have no time to react if a boulder appeared in the path. Keltin’s attention was suddenly seized by an enormous stone overhang that looked close enough to brush the top of the cart. He heard a rush of wind as it passed overhead and noticed that the bank of cloud was beginning to rise.
Below the ceiling of fog, Keltin could now see a wide path bordered by steep cliffs. It continued ever-downward, twisting gently around the base of each mountain. In the absence of sunlight, the air was still and cool, and a light mist flowed across Keltin’s skin. His eyes struggled to adjust: opposed to the agonizing brightness of the Plateau Desert, everything in this valley was bathed in the muted hues of twilight. When he could see clearly, Keltin breathed in sharply to stifle a scream. Lining the walls of the valley were hundreds, thousands, of Cynmeren standing perfectly still. Keltin’s heart raced as he looked from the creatures to Tir. Where have you taken us? Keltin demanded silently. Then he noticed with a mixture of relief and horror that each Cynmeren was missing its head. They weren’t standing; these headless bodies were lashed to sharp poles in order to keep them upright.
“What happened here?” Keltin whispered, as more and more Cynmeren were added to the grim vigil with each new bend in the path. Since these creatures obviously weren’t a threat, Keltin was thankful to be able to look away without fear of attack. The scene was grotesque, yet strangely comforting. Seeing this many Cynmeren dead gave him hope that Dism Slyde might truly be a sanctuary in the midst of this unforgiving land. Just as he turned his head back to the path, Keltin spotted movement high up on the left wall of the valley. A face stared back at him from a small opening just below the layer of fog, then it vanished. Keltin was certain it hadn’t been his imagination, but how could a person simply appear inside a sheer face of stone? Before he could ponder the mystery further, a long, low tone blared throughout the valley. There was a pause as the echo faded, then the tone sounded again. Keltin couldn’t locate its source—the sound felt like it was being emitted everywhere at once.
As Keltin followed the ominous echo around another bend, the path abruptly ended at an enormous barricade less than thirty strides in front of him. Two stacked stone columns merged seaml
essly with the canyon walls and continued up into the layer of fog above. Between them rested a towering archway that was lined with openings just like the one Keltin thought he had seen before. This time, however, the faces that filled each opening did not flee. Keltin stared back at them with uncertainty until he was suddenly blinded by two light directors that shone down on him from either tower.
“Hold!” a booming voice commanded. Keltin pulled back on the nysk controls and slowed the cart to a stop. He squinted upward, trying to find the speaker, but the light directors forced his eyes shut again within seconds.
“You are not known to us,” the loud voice continued, “yet you guide one of our Vessel Carts. Who are you?”
“I am Keltin, a Fieldsman of Aldhagen,” Keltin shouted up at the archway blindly. “I was cast out, and rescued by a man called Tir.” There was a moment of silence.
“And where is Tir now?” the voice demanded.
“Here,” Tir replied gruffly from the floor of the cart. “I’m here.” Tir pulled himself up onto the front railing of the cart and waved a hand above his head.
“Tir!” Keltin whispered. “What is all of this?” Tir said nothing, instead shaking his head sharply.
“Lower the gate, Draeden,” Tir shouted tiredly at the bright lights. “It’s been a long enough journey.” After another short pause, the light directors extinguished and a low rumble began in the archway. Keltin blinked away the afterimage of the bright lights and watched as a seam formed in what he thought was a solid wall of stone behind the arch. A slab of rock, two strides thick at least, slowly bowed towards the ground. As this gate lowered, the chains supporting it clattered and scraped against some unseen mechanism within the walls of the archway. The gate at last struck the valley floor with a resounding thud, sending up a cloud of dust and leaving the support chains rattling.
“Any time you’re ready,” Tir said with thinly-veiled irritation, “The Gates of Contrition await.” Keltin coaxed the nysks into motion and guided the cart through the gate to Dism Slyde. He caught a brief glimpse of a tall grey spire farther down in the valley before the nysks suddenly turned right without Keltin’s guidance. He pushed left on the control sticks, but the creatures stayed their course and grunted in frustration.
“Hands off the guides, newcomer,” someone shouted from a small alcove a few strides ahead at the base of the cliff. Keltin reluctantly withdrew his hands as the nysks continued towards a man dressed much like Tir, except that a blue cloak was draped over his shoulders instead of the red that adorned Tir’s. The nysks slowed to a stop in front of this speaker, who walked forward carrying a large bucket that was obviously full by the strain in his step. With a splash, he poured a lumpy brown and beige liquid in front of each nysk and they hurriedly began to consume it. A wave of horrid smell struck Keltin with enough force that he almost fell out of the cart.
“What…in the Kingdom…is that?” Keltin asked, barely able to breathe from the stench.
“That is their reward for a long journey,” the man said. “Now step down; the Draeden is waiting for you.” Keltin turned to where the man pointed and found a group at least twenty strong had gathered on the main path sometime after the nysks changed course. That group was now within three strides of the cart, led by a man with a black cloak who had to be the Draeden. Keltin looked to Tir for guidance, but the Vessel Guard was asleep once again. Not knowing what else to do, Keltin stepped off of the cart.
“Remove your isen slowly, and drop it into the sand,” the Draeden commanded. Keltin hesitated, unsure what the man meant.
“The scythe at your waist,” the man with the blue cloak whispered behind Keltin’s shoulder. Keltin realized with alarm that the weapon still hung by his side. After escaping from the Cynmeren, he had retrieved the scythe from the floor of the cart and hung it on his hip to achieve some sense of security. With his exhaustion and the monotony of the trek across the sand, however, Keltin had completely forgotten the weapon was still there. He removed it, held it at arm’s length, and let the scythe fall to the valley floor. The Draeden waved two fingers on his left hand, and a group of four men in short black cloaks rushed past Keltin. They lifted Tir, who muttered from pain or annoyance or both, then they carried him away farther down the path. Another man ran forward and seized the isen from the sand by Keltin’s feet.
“Good,” the Draeden said with an approving nod, but his dark and unblinking eyes remained fixed on Keltin. His stern expression was suddenly replaced with a forced smile.
“I am Draeden Ansund, Chief Protector of the Penitent Faithful of Dism Slyde,” he said proudly. “I will be the first to start your testing. You said your name is Keltin, correct?”
“Yes,” Keltin replied slowly. What testing? he wondered nervously.
“Tell me, Keltin, what sin cast you from Aldhagen?” the Draeden asked with an intense stare. The man’s smile was much smaller now, and his eyes had a subtle hunger to them. Keltin’s uneasiness grew when he saw the Draeden and several of the men in the group quietly drawing isen of their own.
“The Venerates said I no longer had a purpose there,” Keltin admitted honestly. There was an uncomfortable silence until the Draeden squinted slightly and then sighed as he put away his isen.
“And, so, your testing will continue,” Draeden Ansund said, smiling again. “Welcome to Dism Slyde, Keltin.” Bewildered, Keltin nodded in thanks and offered the best smile he could muster. The Draeden gestured for Keltin to accompany him towards the city as the rest of the group returned to the Gates of Contrition.
“Tell me, what became of the other Vessel Guards who accompanied Tir?” the Draeden asked just as the mysterious tower came back into Keltin’s view.
“We were attacked by the Cynmeren in the night,” Keltin explained. “The other Guards… Tir and I were isolated and nearly overcome, so I don’t know if the others survived the night.”
“Though I hoped for a different answer, after I saw the arrow through Tir’s shoulder I assumed the worst,” Draeden Ansund said sadly. “No one else from that group has returned, so I fear they are all lost. The Cynmeren beasts caught us by surprise again.” The Draeden walked in pensive silence for several strides until he was able to shake away his thoughts.
“Now you will see the beauty that comes from diligent service to the Venerates,” the Draeden said proudly, motioning towards the spire ahead as they reached the edge of an overlook. The canyon walls extended outward and formed a steep bowl around a flat plain far below; in the center of that plain stood a solitary grey tower. Keltin had not been able to gauge the size of the spire earlier, but with its base now in view he was speechless. This structure was easily twice the height of the Hall of the Venerates, and it climbed beyond what he could see even farther up into the layer of fog. No other buildings stood in the plain, but Keltin saw pinpoints of light dotting the canyon walls and figures moving along corridors carved into the rock. Two rivers rushed out of the faces of stone, one on either side, and flowed gracefully around the base of the spire. Keltin’s eyes followed the winding courses of the rivers until they fanned out and merged into an enormous body of water far beyond the tower.
“It is called the Holy Spire,” the Draeden said. “From its heights, the will of the Venerates is conveyed to all the Penitent Faithful of Dism Slyde. We still practice Callings here, although you will find they are very different from what you are accustomed to in Aldhagen. But all of that will come as part of your testing later—for now I expect you simply desire food and rest.”
A wave of exhaustion hit Keltin and nearly pulled him to the ground. “Yes,” Keltin nodded. “That would be wonderful. What about Tir?”
“Ah, do not worry about the Vessel Guard,” Draeden Ansund said with a confident smile. “He has endured far worse than a Cynmeren arrow. Tir will be fully healed within a week’s time. Still, I will tell him of your concern. Though he will spit at the idea of sympathy for his pain, I know it will secretly mean a great deal to him.” The Draeden la
ughed as he spoke, then looked to a nearby opening in the left wall of the valley as two grey-robed figures approached.
“Now, these Servants will take you to the healing quarters and see that you are made comfortable,” the Draeden said. “When you are recovered, it will be time for your testing to continue.” With that, Draeden Ansund turned and began the walk back to the Gates of Contrition. Everything became a blur after Keltin staggered over to the Servants. He saw dozens of people in the long corridor, all dressed in Servant robes and whispering as he passed. Brief flashes of the Spire caught his attention occasionally from the right side of the passageway, until the two Servants finally stopped at one of the numerous doors that lined the left wall. Keltin nearly wept when his bed came into view, especially when he saw the water pitcher and plate of food sitting beside it. Where have you taken me, Tir? Keltin wondered happily as he collapsed onto the soft sheets.
9
Three days before Keltin arrived at Dism Slyde, Ryna thought of him with anger as she crawled to the edge of the muddy waters far below the Exile Door. She drew in another ragged breath as she lay still, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Her thoughts and memories were blurred, which only added to the depths of her confusion and nausea. In one instant Ryna had been lost in terrible darkness, in the next she was blinded by the mid-day sun. Then there was the plunge from an inconceivable height into a cold lake. Someone was shouting now, Ryna was certain of that, though the words were unclear. The ringing in her head continued to vibrate with what felt like a thousand times the force of the Calling chimes, but—thank the Kingdom—it was finally starting to diminish. She risked opening her eyes and immediately recoiled from a searing light that burned brighter than the heart of a welding fire. The stones of this place blazed white in the sunlight.
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