Kreed’s head fell back, swaying like an underwater plant as his grin of broken teeth stretched wider. A sound rose from Kreed’s chest, whooshing and howling out of his cracked smile. The sound had no business in the world of the living. Fear in its purest form filled every corner of the ruddy workshop, sucking every hint of light and warmth as it swelled. Decreath had ignited.
The Fear stripped Talin of everything he was; his physical pain, his memories, his desires, his very identity. The anticipation of limitless dread filled him, became him. After what felt like an entire lifetime, the cloud lifted and the horror receded. Talin was first aware of the cold, then the pain. It was almost a relief to find himself back in the workshop.
Florien unraveled his finger from his chest. Disoriented, he clutched from pocket to pocket, pulling out a tiny glass ampule. He cracked it open and huffed it as if his life depended on it. His pupils widened until they filled the whites of his eyes. His trembling ceased immediately. He found the Underkin on the floor beside him, cowering and rambling. Florien dropped to a knee and flipped the Underkin by his royal blue wrappings. “Habbad, breathe this in, now.”
A few seconds later Habbad was on his feet, wiping tears from his black eyes.
Kreed was no longer standing, but straddling the Weeping Man with his lips tight around the hole that the tool had just vacated. His cheeks shone bright, as if he had a candle in his mouth. He shuddered with a muffled cough as the Weeping Man’s chest sank and the light went out. Pulling himself upright, Kreed gasped with perverse delight as he stared up through the ceiling, running a bloody hand through his slick hair. He stood, making a halfhearted effort to wipe the red from the front of his snowy suit.
Clearing his throat, Kreed twisted his head from side to side as he adjusted his tie. “Well Habbad, looks like we’ll be stopping by the cleaner’s before our next appointment. I wanted to swing by that part of town anyway; my friends at the Alinite courts promised me tickets for tonight’s show.” Kreed stepped over the Weeping Man’s lifeless body, rounding on Talin once more. He drew a silken towel from his jacket and dabbed the corners of his mouth before speaking: “Don’t you worry, Warrior of The Sill. You’ll be whole once more. Florien is the best there is at this sort of medicine.”
From the furthest reaches of Talin’s subself, his treasure chest glowed, lending him the strength he needed. When he was first captured he’d resolved to never say a word while he was prisoner. He would be mute until his final breath. Now though seemed a perfect time to break his rule. Florien’s anesthetics and his missing cheek made speech difficult, but he ignored the fuzzy pain and pulled the words together. “You will get nothing from me, Father Liar. Take my soul now, I promise it will make a more fitting meal than that pustule of a man.” He tilted his head towards the Weeping Man’s corpse.
“Oh my!” Kreed’s face lit from under the blood-stained scarf as he rapidly clapped his hands together. “The fire still burns! You are quite right warrior, your soul has some solid substance to it. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I find myself nearly overwhelmed with envy. It’s all I can do to stop myself from taking it from you. But that would be an awful waste of your talents, wouldn’t you agree?”
Talin mustered what was left of his Wisdom and Passion, and buried his treasure chest so far beneath himself that he knew he would never find it again. He stared into the sunken depressions where Kreed’s eyes ought to be and attempted speech once more. “Let’s get started then.”
“Remarkable!” Kreed said, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers as he bounced on his heels. “Such a display of Wisdom and Passion, even in the gallows. Habbad, did you pick up on that? Did you see what he did there? He just partitioned a portion of his mind!”
“Yes, Father Kreed,” Habbad said reluctantly.
“Come here then, son,” Kreed said, putting a gentle hand on Habbad’s shoulder. “I promised you a practical lesson today, and here it is. He’s not going to make it easy for you, but I want you to reach in there and find something for me. Find his shame. You know what magic he used to hide it, so use the Dread Father’s magic to counter it. Follow Decreath’s trail in the halls of his mind, but do it quickly.”
Habbad’s eyes fell to the grime on the floor, perhaps studying the shapes and contents like Talin currently was. He shook his head, looking as though he had just made up his mind.
“Go on, Habbad,” Kreed said, his voice soft and sweet. “I’m so proud of you, son.”
Talin sneered inwardly behind his broken face. If there was one thing he was adept at, it was the subtle art of modifying memories. There was no one at The Sill, save for Chiron, that was his equal. He had already prepared a decoy repository of seemingly important memories for such an occasion. He would feign a struggle and reveal some useless snippet from his life, but only after making them work for it. Talin’s lip twitched as he stifled the tiniest of grins. There wasn’t the slightest possibility that a child, let alone an Underkin child, could navigate his way through Talin’s consciousness.
The Underkin’s eyes came up, a dark smile playing across his wrinkled face.
Talin broke from his distracting rituals, drawn by morbid curiosity into the Underkin’s ominous visage. Talin felt the Underkin’s unwholesome, foreign presence worming its way through the back alleys of his mind. He isolated the alien force, tempting it towards his decoy treasure chest, throwing up barriers and creating false doors and trap stairs all the while. The Underkin darted along, falling for every trick thrown at him. Talin could feel the growing ire in the child’s mind. He added to it, kindling it like a little fire with tripping thoughts. Through the Underkin’s growing fury, Talin was able to sneak a tendril of thought of his own into the child’s mind, tearing secrets away for himself and locking them away. Talin’s laughter echoed through the halls of his mind, letting the child know he didn’t stand a chance. If need be, he could easily manage another dozen Underkin before he would have to resort to direct mental combat. Talin emphasized his superiority by stabbing the knowledge through the layers of rising emotions.
After a quarter hour, the Underkin’s endurance started to wane. Talin could take the child’s mind now and have his way with it. However, he brought the chase to a halt so as not to discourage him entirely. Feigning his own exhaustion, Talin allowed himself to be cornered. He left his decoy chest only partially revealed, yet easy enough for a Hungry mind to spot. The Underkin’s awareness took in the glinting corner of the chest and without hesitation, dove right for it. Just before the chest opened, suspicion leaked from the Underkin and he paused, looking instead into Talin’s focused thoughts. The Underkin’s mind went quiet, almost dissipating entirely.
Talin’s heart stopped, stumbling for just one beat as a freezing hand of terror pinched at his insides. No, it was impossible. Not even Talin knew where it was. He felt himself free-falling. His treasure chest, the real one, cracked open and one gleaming jewel came rushing out.
Habbad took a long breath, his eyes flashing wide with Talin’s ambient Fear. “I have it. I have it all. It’s his family, he’s bonded to a woman and child. A wife and daughter.”
Talin cried out, his Rage tearing through the Fear and pain. If his hands and feet still worked they would have exploded into munisica. It was impossible, but the Underkin took it from him. His most precious memories. The little insect had them all now. He had been laid bare by mere livestock. A simple Underkin.
“That was beautiful, Habbad,” Kreed said, rubbing Habbad’s shoulders. “It was just as we thought. Florien, go on upstairs and prep the operating room. Habbad, run off to the waiting room if you want. I’m afraid I’m going to be awhile with the boy.”
Florien set off at once, disappearing through the squeaky double doors without a backwards glance.
“No, Father Kreed,” Habbad said, giving Kreed a stern look and standing as tall as he could. “I will stay with you.”
“Thank you very much, son. It’s embarrassing, but the surgery rather scare
s me. Your presence will be comforting.” Kreed patted Habbad on the shoulder and then moved behind Talin’s table. “Our warrior here will have a practical lesson in the operating room as well. The lesson will be a bit serious, but I believe you’re mature enough to witness it. The process is important for your education. We are going to make our warrior into something that has not been seen on Aeneria for an age.”
There was a loud clack and the table fell flat, bringing Kreed’s upside-down face into Talin’s view. Talin roared and thrashed with what was left of his body as he felt the table rumble over the uneven floor. “Curse you, traitor!” Talin spat through his torn mouth. “Rip me to pieces, you’ll find nothing! I’ve nothing left to give.”
Kreed raised his voice over the rattling of the table as he pushed Talin through the double doors: “As you are you have nothing left to offer. You’ll need to change. After your lessons you’ll be quite useful, however. You won’t recognize yourself. By the time I’m through with you, the person waiting for you in the operating room won’t recognize you either.”
Talin’s breath caught, halting a steady stream of curses as the cold hand of Fear tickled his heart once more.
Kreed smiled. “And there’s the delicious Fear. You know who’s up there waiting for you, don’t you? Do you know why the Fear torments you so?”
Kreed waited, nodding at Talin’s silence. “Of course you don’t. Your teachers don’t cover that school of magic. You are soaked with Fear, which at this very moment is spreading through your veins and coating your mind. The Fear affects you because you have something, something of a weakness. It’s not your fault, it’s inherent. We all have it to some degree.”
Kreed slowed the table to a silent halt, bringing his mouth to Talin’s ear. His voice was a husky whisper. “You have hope. You hope that there is still value to your life. You hope that the person waiting in the operating room is not who you think it is. You hope that there will eventually be an end to it all. Your hope is your bane.”
Kreed gently slapped Talin on the good side of his face before leaning into the table and resuming their stroll.
“Don’t worry yourself overmuch, my boy. There is a way to cure you of your hope. The person that your hope weeps for is indeed in the operating room, but she’s not alone. Florien is there, and so are a few of the hospital guards. You and your wife are each going to give me an eye. I can make do without mine, but it makes things rather awkward at dinner parties, so yours will do. It’s the least you can do for me after attempting to sabotage my Devotion.”
For the first time since his capture, Talin began to sob, becoming his own Weeping Man. He truly had nothing left to give.
“Oh hush now,” Kreed said in a patronizing tone. “You haven’t even heard the best part. The surgery hasn’t a bit to do with your training. You see, in order to truly break a man down, you must first destroy everything he cherishes, utterly and completely. That is crucial and can’t be glossed over. The guards upstairs are not there for anyone’s protection as the two of you are hardly any threat. While you still have both of your eyes, you’re going to watch as the guards fuck her. They don’t get out much, so they likely won’t last long, but that’s why I had four of them brought down. After they finish we’ll start the surgery.” Kreed shuddered, suddenly stricken. “I really am terrified of going under the knife, but Florien is the best there is and he just did one of these a few weeks ago. It will be nice to have Habbad there with us.”
Kreed rambled on, but Talin couldn’t hear him. His Fear choked him as an elevator took them up a level. He wished he were back in the workshop with the Weeping Man. He wished he had never taken the assignment at The Sill. He wished he were dead. He wished his wife were dead. Talin raised his head as high as he could as the foot of the table reached another set of double doors. The doors glided open, blinding him as he entered the operating room.
Chapter 5
Beneath the Clouds
After Cole and Lileth used their combined Wisdom to lift a struggling Goran into King Auger’s ship, the two jumped in and joined the rest of their unit. Cole had to lull Goran with his Passion before the mirak would calm down and stop pulling planks from the upper deck. Goran hated not having all four feet on the ground. Sitra helped, nearly putting him asleep by gently raking her munisica through the white tuft of hair on his scalp.
“Forgetting someone?” Lileth asked, inclining her head overboard where someone hollered for Cole.
“Shoot, yeah. I’m not used to having a prisoner,” Cole said, running to the side of the ship. “Stay still, or I’ll drop you!”
As tired as he was, he could barely wield the necessary Wisdom to lift Milette. Lileth or Eliza could have lifted her in an instant, but Milette was Cole’s burden to bear. He hoped when they got to Morthain they could figure out something to do with her. Burden indeed.
After Cole set her down, Milette wandered about the main deck, remarking at the shabbiness and disrepair. Seeing Cole following her like a shadow, Milette turned around and snapped, “Don’t worry Master, I’m not about to run off. I can’t exactly swim away, can I?” She offered her stumps to Cole, pushing them under his nose.
Cole slapped her wrists away. They still smelled horribly like burnt food. “Just don’t cause any trouble.”
Roth hopped up after King Auger, who had been hoisted up with a small platform on pulleys. A few sailors went to the front of the ship, and used long pikes with glass tips to break apart the hardened sand as other members of the crew cut the sails into favorable winds. Within a minute they were back out on open powder, gliding as smoothly as if they were on a cloud. Oberon watched over them, painting the sails with lavender and magentas while Dunhaven’s starscape swarmed above.
King Auger hobbled over to a barrel at the main mast and took a seat. He gave each of them a measuring look before speaking to Roth. “So the Bonebreaker returns to his Kingdom at last. Funny timing I’d say. Funny timing indeed. Up until two months ago the barrier used to run right through these sands. There were rumors that the soul flies had returned as well. Wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see the rivers with my own eyes. We may have been on the light side of the barrier, but we never saw hide nor hair of The Three. Now with the barrier down and the soul flies returned, so it seems has the war. Our architects had to break into the old libraries to figure out how to bring Morthain below the sands and out of the Domina’s reach.” The King raised a wizened eyebrow at Cole. “And someone’s been Traveling again. What’s this one, Terra? He’s certainly not of this world.”
The others shifted uncomfortably. Valen opened his mouth to respond but a halting glare from Roth froze him solid. “I’m surprised your eyes still work through all those wrinkles and whiskers. He’s from Terra. Human. I won’t tell you more than that unless you want me to lie to you, but then I’d be thrown in prison for lying to the King, wouldn’t I? And then of course I’d have to go through the trouble of killing your guards and breaking your prison. Then who knows, my lust for blood might not be satisfied until I earned myself a new nickname. Bonebreaker’s been getting old. Perhaps Worldshaker, or Chaosweaver…or maybe Kingslayer.” Roth scratched his chin with a bladed finger.
One of King Auger’s guards tightened the grip on his glass sword, unsure if Roth was joking or not. Cole plopped himself on the deck and leaned up against Goran with Lileth and Eliza, who stroked his brindle fur and jowls. Goran’s eyes were rolling with pleasure, and a thick rope of drool bounced from his sweeping canines.
King Auger hefted his hammer-munisica. It was almost too fast for Cole to see. The King’s hammer jabbed into Roth’s stomach with a solid thump. Roth staggered back, a toothy grin on his face.
The King chuckled. “How about Backbiter, or Fairydancer?” King Auger looked down his broad nose at Cole once more. His mouth opened, a question forming on his lips before he swallowed it back. “I know better than to meddle with you fickle Sill folk. Still, the question burns a hole in this old man’s tong
ue.” He gave his head a little shake and addressed Roth: “Maybe when all this is over you and I will once again lock hammer and claw, but for now I’d settle for you getting me caught up on the goings on of the world. Oberon Temple sent envoys our way, no doubt searching for us, but we ducked them as we always have. You scoundrels at The Sill always had at least a scrap of common sense. Come Rothael, join me in my cabin and tell me a tale.”
“Of course, King Auger. But in exchange you must feed and water my warriors here. The whelps are ready to drop. They could do with some of the King’s hospitality.” Roth ran his tongue across his teeth. “And I could use something a little stronger to wash the sand from my throat.”
The King waved his bony hand dismissively and nodded to one of his guards, sending him below deck. “You don’t have to ask, you know these men are yours. And stop calling me ‘King, it makes no damned sense. No sense at all.”
“I just like seeing you dole out orders. You’ve been giving some tall ones it seems; Morthain was above the sands last time I was here,” Roth said, following King Auger through a glass-paned door. He threw out a hand, stopping Valen and Sitra. “You all wait up here.”
Valen stopped and silently acknowledged his Master, throwing a hand over Sitra’s mouth before she could talk back. Roth thankfully ignored her hisses and huffing, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m starving!” Sitra snapped at Valen. “The last thing I ate was half a scrawny bird on the back of that lazy baileen. If they don’t bring food up in the next five minutes I’m going to eat one of the King’s guards.” Her long braid whipped over her shoulder as she spun away from Valen, clenching the handrail with her munisica.
“Calm yourself, Sitra,” Valen said, his voice steady and soothing. “This is no worse than anything you’ve been through in training. Think it another trial if you must. Besides, drawing your munisica and devoting energy to your Rage will only increase your body’s demand for food. You know this. Master Roth-”
Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers Page 8
