"Your punishment, outsider: The weapons you stole and defiled will lay with your trapped soul forever. You are outside of Kaduulshai. Separated for eternity from the circle. Your soul will remain within this cage, forced to dwell for the rest of time on the shame of your failures."
The elder stepped back and the chant started again. The cage grew around him, painfully slow. Darkness overcame him as the metal limbs joined and merged. The chanting of the elders was cut off as soon as the cage was finished. The darkness was as complete as the silence. Then there was only the feeling of the cold metal floor underneath him, and his memories. He screamed, and realised he couldn't hear it. He screamed louder, until his lungs and throat were aching. Silence pressed in, final and merciless. But for the chaos of his thoughts, he might as well have been dead already.
Atillus
The moment the sun rose, Atillus formed a small group to take with him. The man who spoke about the forge, Photios, was the first to report to his tent at dawn. He was pleased, and couldn't help but offer a genuine smile when he saw the warrior waiting for him when he emerged from his tent. Photios smiled back, though he still looked nervous.
They left the great hall shortly after sunrise, and Photios, with a few fellow warriors from his former tribe, led the way easily and without hesitation. They travelled up countless narrow streets, pressed in on either side by impassable walls covered in spear slits. The Thearans who'd lived in the city for years talked comfortably, and Atillus could see the relief on the faces of his warriors. They were unnerved by the heavy silence of the dead city when they first arrived. Atillus couldn't blame them; he grew up in Omatus, and other than the Royal Library and his bedchamber, was constantly surrounded by people. Hearing utter silence in what used to be a massive city was disturbing.
Eventually, they left the streets and entered a massive temple-like building. Photios didn't know what the building's purpose was, or what it was called, but he knew the layout perfectly. They walked through the vast, echoing rooms, and while Photios and his fellows paid no attention to the intricate carvings and paintings that lined the roof and walls, Atillus' own warriors were staring all around them in fascination.
There were hundreds of carvings of flickering flame, so detailed they seemed almost to move. There were faded paintings of ancient Thearan warriors, wearing the full body armour they were famous for wearing before they became nomads. On the roof, an enormous carving of Sithares presided over the room, grinning down at them with malevolent greed as the fires consumed everything below. At Sithares' right hand, a demon made of fire flew, its long, curling tail ending in a black spear-tip. Atillus' heart leapt into his throat as he saw it. The demon's description was written in the fire-bound book, and it was said to be the actual son of Sithares, but its name wasn’t written anywhere he could find.
Surrounding the Fire God and its demon son were ten giant birds wreathed in flame. They were at least as tall as a man, and Atillus knew these to be the Phenixes; Royal Guards of Sithares and born from the fires of Sitharkos. The Phenix was an arch-demon, and immortal. Stuck in Pandeia and unable to join Sithares in the fiery kingdom of its domain on the surface of the sun, they were said to be the harbingers of death and destruction in the mortal world. Whenever they were seen in ancient times, Sithares itself had followed soon after. They lived a thousand years, then returned to the volcano from whence they came and threw themselves into the pit. They died and burst into a destructive whirlwind of intense flame, searing the desert for miles in every direction. Another thousand years would pass, after which there would be another massive explosion and they would rise from the fires again to serve Sithares. Unlike the Son of Sithares, who was a full demon, the Phenixes could feel pain and suffering. Every time they died, their piercing screams could be heard for miles. Or so the legends said. No records suggested the sighting of a Phenix or hearing its screams since Theara was abandoned, at least three thousand years ago.
They passed the room and moved into a low but wide corridor. Soon after, they reached a room with many branching corridors and several staircases heading up and down. Without pausing, Photios guided them to the only staircase leading down, and they followed without comment. Anticipation gnawed at Atillus' mind. He felt his heart racing as the warriors of Theara led him deeper underground.
The stairs descended without pause for miles. They followed a long, gradual curve in the same direction, and Atillus was sure if he saw a map of the building, the staircase would be a massive circle; But the curve was so gentle it was impossible to tell how long they would have to walk to travel one entire rotation. Eventually they stopped for a break, sitting on the cold black steps and eating strips of dried meat. They started talking again, cheerful now they were out of Sithares' intense gaze. Atillus remained silent, thinking about the massive image of the Fire God and its minions.
After what he estimated to be eight hours of walking down the same staircase, Atillus finally reached flat ground again. A vast chamber opened from the foot of the stairs; so tall and wide they couldn't see the roof, or the opposite wall. It simply disappeared into shadow. A wide stone bridge without rails led into the abyss, and on an island in the distance stood the Forge of Sithares.
They could see the glow of the fire from where they stood, and Atillus was certain he would feel its heat long before he set foot on that island. He told the warriors to wait where they were and ventured out onto the bridge. He walked for almost an hour. As he predicted, the heat from the forge hit him well before he reached it. The island was larger than he had first thought. It held the forge itself, along with a huge stone tub full of Thearan steel ingots, and on the opposite side to the forge was a small stone cabin. He went inside and found a bench with a bedroll and pillow, a small water basin, and a cupboard.
He returned to the forge, and took note of the other tools and materials neatly stored on hooks and brackets nearby. He stood for a while with his eyes closed, picturing again what he had come to make. It remained nameless in the ancient book that taught how to build it. He read the detailed instructions years ago, and knew he could build it himself. Smiling, he began to work.
Photios
Photios sat, staring into the distant darkness of the gigantic cave, trying to see what their leader was doing. He'd been gone for hours, and the group that accompanied him were growing restless. As well as having to wait for possibly days, they knew another long walk awaited them, back up the endless staircase and through the city once again.
They started arguing amongst themselves. A small group of the warriors, angry and fed up with waiting, wanted to leave the mysterious leader to his business. A much larger group maintained they would wait however long their God-like leader needed them to. Photios finally screamed at them all to be quiet.
"I will go to the forge, and ask the leader myself," he said, "if you want to get up and leave, do it. But I wouldn't be surprised if the Son of Sithares punished those who left without being granted permission."
The argument stopped in its tracks. Photios wasn't sure if they were silenced more by his offer to approach the dangerous warlord, or by the idea that the man at the forge might somehow know who left and who stayed without being present. Either way, the argument was over. Now there was the matter of crossing the bridge and talking to the terrifying Son of Sithares alone, unbidden. He took a few quiet breaths, and stepped onto the bridge.
Aella
The warriors swarmed in on her, holding her in place by her arms and legs. She felt cold sharp blades press against her throat, back and calves. They were taking no chances. They held her as securely as they could; she couldn't move an inch. The two warriors carrying Erasmus dragged him back towards her, until they were barely a metre apart. They were facing each other, and Aella could see the fear and hope in Erasmus' eyes.
One of the warriors holding him down, who Aella recognised as Nomiki, drew a bright white sword and smiled. Aella stopped struggling. She'd never seen a blade like it before. Not even h
er own Fire Blades looked so filled with magic. Nomiki hefted the sword in one hand, admiring it from different angles. Even in the darkness of the corridor, it shone as if the midday sun was reflecting off its surface. She stared at Aella, a terrifying smile still on her face.
"This is a soul blade," she said softly. Her voice was low and raspy, forcing images of some panther-like predator lurking in the shadows into Aella's mind.
"-Kerberos asked them to be made as part of his deal with Sithares. These are the only weapons that can kill us now. They were forged by Sithares itself, in the fires of the sun."
"Why are you doing this?" Aella screamed at her. She didn't expect an answer; but she needed time to think, time to try to stop this.
"We are taking Omatus for Kerberos and the glory of Sithares." Nomiki spoke as if Aella was a silly child who was asking what colour the Omasi desert sand was.
"But this, I am doing for my own satisfaction." She added her other hand to the sword's grip, and swept the shining blade down into Erasmus' neck. It cut through easily, and Nomiki swung so hard that it buried itself in the smooth black stone floor. Erasmus' blood sprayed Aella's face. She gasped silently, blinking, unable to scream.
Nomiki pulled the bright sword out of the stone. It seemed to slip out with no effort. She admired it again, ignoring Aella's silent shock. There was no blood on the blade. Satisfied, she sheathed the weapon and motioned to the warriors holding Aella without looking. She was already walking away.
"Take her to him. Up the main street, across the bridge. He wants to watch her come."
Aella was completely numb as Kerberos' warriors dragged her back through the corridor. All she could see was Erasmus' eyes at the moment the sword took his life. They changed from wide and terrified to cold and distant in an instant. But after that...
For a split second, she could have sworn she saw endless fires raging and swirling in those dead, tortured eyes. An ocean of flame, roaring and pulsing and destroying everything. Everything but the souls of the Thearan warriors Kerberos had sold. She could see them now, helpless and burning forever. Erasmus, her mother, Dakesh, Athanasius, even herself. An army of tortured souls, conscious without being alive, burning without being burned.
All for Kerberos. All to give him this giant, terrible city. Kerberos' face swam into her nightmare, and she saw his predatory grin, and finally the screams came.
The dark corridor disappeared, and that endless white field replaced it. She could see the warriors who were dragging her, but everything else was gone. She was numb again, but for her fury, there was an intense clarity that came with the rage. The warriors dragging her were terrified, she could see them wanting to let her go but fighting to keep hold. She twisted, twirling out of their grip and landing lightly on her feet.
One of them reached for his sword; she reached up and pulled his throat out in one smooth motion, marvelling at how easy it was. He was still standing as she turned and rammed her fist into another warrior's face. It exploded, but incredibly slowly, and it was only while watching chunks of bone and droplets of blood spreading slowly through the air that she realised how fast she was moving. She watched the pieces of the warrior's head slowly float away, transfixed even through her rage.
A third warrior managed to get her sword out of its sheath and started swinging at Aella's neck. She turned, saw the blade creeping gradually towards her, and simply walked around it. She grabbed the warrior's hand, twisted the sword out of her grip, and swept the blade through the woman's neck while her arm still slowly continued its arc towards where Aella's neck had been.
She started running, and at first each step seemed to take her ten metres down the long corridor. She used the dead warrior's sword to kill and maim every enemy she could reach as she ran. Then her steps became shorter. The enemy warriors started moving faster, and the stark white field faded to grey and then to black. Then suddenly, a few metres from the steps that led up to Omatus, whatever magic she'd been using ran out and she collapsed.
A tidal wave of sound crashed down on her; the clashing of swords, the thump of bodies hitting stone, the echoes and shouts reverberating through the long corridor. Her physical strength was as depleted as her magic, and she couldn't move at first. Her rage disappeared too, leaving her with grief and shock. She lay on the cold stone floor, staring up into the sunlight above the steps, lost and overwhelmed.
The sun shone over the grey Omasi desert. Aella felt its heat on her skin as she leapt lightly over Athan's wooden practice sword. She was ten years old. She didn't have her Fire Blades yet; that was a few months away. The day was clear and clean, and Aella worried about nothing but fighting. She twirled around Athanasius, jumping and twisting and ducking. He was sweating. He grunted in frustration, finally sick of her showing off. He turned and made as if to leave, heading back towards camp. Aella started running after him, and he spun on his heel and smashed his sword into the side of her head.
Everything went white for a moment, and Aella couldn't see anything. She felt dizzy, but she knew she was still standing up and she didn't think she would fall. The world stayed white for a moment, and she waited until it cleared, blinking and trying to breathe evenly. A small sound pierced the silence, almost too quiet to hear. It was jagged and high pitched, and as Aella strained to hear it, it grew until it was suddenly far too loud. The white disappeared and she saw the desert again, saw Athan. He was curled up on the sand, screaming and clutching his stomach. She rushed to him, terrified.
"Are you okay?" she asked. As she reached him, he scrambled away from her in the sand, looking at her like she was a sand panther. She tried to approach him again, confused, and this time he pulled himself to his feet and ran back to camp, leaving his wooden practice sword in the sand.
The sun shone over Omatus. Aella felt its heat on her skin as she lay on the cold stone floor. She felt its energy, and felt the magic born of that energy slowly trickle into her body. There wasn't much of it. She focused on the heat she felt on her skin, and on the burning red circle the sun imprinted on her eyelids. She pictured the sun up close; a whole kingdom of never ending fire, raging and burning for all time. She opened herself up to it, praying for it to enter her and fill her with its brutal magic.
Slowly, slowly, she felt it grow inside her. She could see it in her mind's eye; the place where her soul should have been, replaced with a burning sphere of magic, destroying her and giving her unimaginable strength at the same time. She recited the healing prayer again, and this time she felt some strength return to her body. The cut in her stomach and arm still didn’t heal, but she felt strong enough to move.
She stood, slowly at first and shaking. The magic she'd gleaned from the sun was minimal; the small amount of strength and energy she gained depleted it again. She looked down the corridor. The warriors filling it were either dead or far too injured to pursue her. The sword she took from one of them was on the floor near her. Picking it up, she started up the stairs. She had no magic, little strength, and her swords were missing.
She walked into the sunlight, and looked over at the royal palace. The top half was visible from all of Omatus, and at the far end of the throne room was a wide balcony which overlooked the city. The throne itself couldn’t be seen from this far, but Aella could see the balcony and the entrance into the throne room. Knowing that Kerberos was within that room, and most likely sitting on the throne, pushed all other thoughts from her mind. She walked towards the palace.
Photios
Atillus was working furiously, sweating and breathing hard, when he heard a shout behind him. He turned to see Photios standing at the edge of the bridge, terrified at having disturbed him. He gestured with his head for the man to join him at the forge, and turned back to his work.
Photios approached slowly and stood a few metres away from him, flinching each time he brought the hammer down onto the thick Thearan steel.
"My lord," he said, only just loud enough to be heard, "a few of the warriors were wondering-"
/>
"They can leave."
Photios was silent for a moment, blinking. His threat to the group earlier was invented, but perhaps this mysterious man could actually tell what they were saying from a distance. Or maybe he can read our minds. The thought was sudden and terrifying. He stared at the huge man hammering glowing steel, overcome by the feeling he was standing before Sithares itself.
"Will – will they be punished, my lord?" An audible gulp followed the question.
"No. I have work to do. Leave some food in the cabin behind me and tell the group they can head back to the Great Hall. They will wait there until I return."
Photios nodded quickly, eager to please, although the Warleader never so much as glanced at him during the exchange. He scurried away, heading back to the relative safety of the group of Thearans on the other side of the bridge.
Atillus
Atillus was visited once more by Photios, who dropped a sack of dried meat and a large skin of water in the cabin and left without saying a word. After that, he was alone until his task was completed. It took several days of constant work. When he was finally done, he held the weapon up in the glow of the forge and admired it. It looked exactly as it did in the ancient book he read all those years ago.
Suddenly, the image of the Demon at Sithares' right hand leapt into his mind, and he smiled as he realised why seeing the massive carving gave him such a jolt. The weapon he made was a faithful replica of the Fire Demon's tail. It felt good in his hands; it felt right. The fact that his tribe had taken to calling him the Son of Sithares felt right also. The voice of Sithares slipped into his mind again. Standing next to an ancient artefact of the God's own creation, and holding a weapon such as the one he made, Atillus felt truly connected to Sithares in a way he never had before.
Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Page 27
