The Hall of Doors

by Phillip Locey

“Palomar can’t go,” she replied. “He said if there are Tanar-ri nearby, they will spot his Celestial aura and attack without question. Likewise, if they are plotting to destroy the Eladrin, having one show up might raise suspicions, so Thaelios is out. I would do it myself …” Saffron paused as she looked over her shoulder, “but the rest of them decided it was too dangerous for anyone to go alone.”

  “Won’t I have the same problem as Palomar?” Be’naj spread her wings for emphasis.

  Saffron shook her head. “He said that, since you were born on Elisahd, they would only see you as mortal. Sure, your appearance may create questions, but we came up with an idea to handle that.” She stood and, keeping hold of Be’naj’s hand, helped her to her feet as well.

  They walked over to rejoin the group. “Dyphina is good with enchantments, and she found one in Cauzel’s spellbook to alter your features enough that you might pass. Isn’t that right, Dyphina?” Saffron asked.

  “I – I think it’ll work. You’ll certainly be in disguise.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for this, Be’naj?” Palomar asked. “They’ll be using telepathy, so I won’t be able to block that out for you again.”

  Be’naj flooded with worry, but wasn’t about to let Saffron do this on her own. “I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to sound sure.

  “Given we can’t completely hide your wings, you’re going to pose as one of the Fallen – a corrupted Celestial. Chances are, this ‘Excaliana’ has never seen one, so given that you don’t have an aura, she just may buy it. Saffron and you will have to claim to be Planewalkers, wanderers looking for work and not bound to the Outer Planes. Ivaldi said that’s what she was looking for, so odds are, she needs someone who is free to travel back to Elisahd.”

  Saffron took over. “We’ll go along with whatever she needs, but ask enough questions to learn what we can about The Name of the Beast.” She handed her spear to Dyphina. “Trade with me for now? I need a sheathed weapon to hide the light.” Dyphina unfastened the short, curved sword from her belt and passed it to Saffron.

  “You know where we’re going?” Be’naj asked Saffron.

  She nodded. “I heard the directions the sage gave, so as long as he wasn’t lying …”

  Be’naj exhaled. “Then I guess Dyphina should cast her spell.”

  Everyone kept quiet as Dyphina flipped through Cauzel’s tome, looking for the dog-eared page. Using the light of Saffron’s spear, which she handed off to Thaelios, Dyphina began reciting the incantation.

  Be’naj couldn’t feel anything extraordinary, but watched as the skin on her arms changed. The veins carrying her blood turned black and stood out against her pale flesh, which tinted grey as if turning to stone. She stretched her arms, then glanced over her shoulder at her wings. Their white feathers had turned coal, reminding her of Cauzel’s raven familiar.

  “Your hair is dark, too,” Saffron commented, no doubt catching Be’naj’s reaction as Dyphina finished her spell. “Darker than mine.”

  “Yes, that should do nicely,” Thaelios said. “I mean, your skin looks really off-putting.”

  “Thanks?” Be’naj said. “How long will this last?” she asked Dyphina.

  The half-fey shrugged. “Maybe an hour, our time. I have no idea how many tremor-cycles that comes to.”

  “Let’s not waste any time, then,” Saffron said.

  “Yes, you should get going. Good luck to you both. Take care of each other, and we’ll be waiting for you back by the Rift.”

  Be’naj and Saffron exchanged quick hugs with the others, then Saffron lead them into the dimness. The pale torches of Anarchiapolis could just barely be seen in the distance to their left, imparting at least a minimal sense of orientation.

  “We’ll stay away from the locals for as long as possible,” Saffron stated after they’d left their friends far back in the haze.

  “Agreed.” Be’naj knew she’d have to try and cope with the inevitable itchiness once they encountered more fiends. She was supposed to a Fallen now, and didn’t imagine they had any such reactions to incarnate evil. “I’m not used to lying, Saffron. I hope I don’t ruin things for us.”

  “Don’t think of it like that,” Saffron said. “We’re not really lying, we’re just playing a part. We’re actors. Have you ever seen a drama performed on stage? My father took me and Dhania to watch a traveling troupe from Tarirtown, once. I liked the costumes, but I think the masks scared my sister.” Saffron let out a stilted laugh at the memory.

  “No, I’ve never seen anything like that,” Be’naj said, her concerns unalleviated.

  “Don’t worry. I have some experience with the cult and can do most of the talking, if you prefer.”

  “That may be for the best.”

  Saffron changed her angle to a little left of parallel from the settlement so they would eventually intersect. “If we’re supposed to be Plane-walkers, we should probably not act too surprised by any strangeness we see. No doubt there will be plenty in a place like this.”

  As the lights grew closer, Be’naj’s pulse quickened. You’re not you, she told herself. You’re not really you.

  Just as the flames of the nearest torches became distinguishable, Saffron shared a few last words. “Remember not to unsheathe your sword unless absolutely necessary. Its light will give us away. If we get split up, find your way back to the Rift. If you can’t, then reach the Three Branches if possible so we can find you.”

  No sooner had Saffron finished her sentence than the first Abyssal speech entered Be’naj’s head, “We’re going to gut those berks when we find them.” The words were startling in their suddenness, their tone suggesting the promise of violence was legitimate. Be’naj froze as a pair of walking shapes, squat but wide as bears, cut across their path close enough that she could see the front of their outlines clearly through the haze.

  Saffron took her hand and pulled her to the right at a jog, then forward again. Buildings came into view, and more voices started filling in the silence. Be’naj tried to block them out so she could think.

  “We’re looking for a huge set of steps leading downward,” Saffron said aloud, answering Be’naj’s unvoiced question. They slowed their pace, still pushing forward but keeping right when necessary to make their way around the crooked structures that sprung into view. A loud series of pops suddenly filled the air overhead, followed by cruel-sounding laughter in Be’naj’s mind. She looked up to make sure nothing was falling, but couldn’t see anything. The itching had returned and she raked her nails across the foreign, grey skin of her arms. It offered no reprieve.

  “Over there!” Saffron cried, pointing before once again pulling Be’naj along with her.

  A formidable, rectangular tower rose several stories into the air, though how far it continued was impossible to determine. To the right of its base, extending into the haze further than Be’naj could make out, were wide steps, each at least as long as she was tall, cutting downward into the darkness.

  Once they’d reached the top of the steps, she noticed that the haze did not descend with them, and she could see as far as they went. Perhaps forty paces back, the steps ended in a vertical wall of dark fog. The veil was more substantial than the general haze of the Doomwait, looking almost solid. She saw a disturbance in the wall, which became a large humanoid insect, twice her height, emerging from the fog. It carried a barbed spear and shield and started climbing the steps with long strides.

  “Do we have to go down there?” Be’naj asked, panic draining all the moisture from her mouth. She couldn’t believe what she’d gotten herself into. What she’d gotten Saffron into.

  “No,” Saffron answered. “The stairway leads to the Abyss itself. This is just our landmark. Come on.” She took Be’naj’s hand again, following the line of the top step across the width of the great stairway. A dozen paces later she released it so they could pick up speed, jogging to cut ahead of the creature ascending the steps.

  Finally, a second tower came into view, ma
rking the far end of the stairway. They leaned against its cold surface to catch their breath. “The assembly grounds are just beyond,” Saffron said. “Are you ready?”

  Be’naj nodded. For the moment, at least, her mind was devoid of fiendish voices. She stood straight, stretched her arms, and wriggled her fingers. Time to get into character.

  Saffron scooped her long hair over her shoulders and exhaled, then proceed forward with a rigid gait. A tall pavilion came into view, and to the left of it, a tiered depression in the ground, heading out beyond the edge of sight. Saffron lead them under the pavilion, where rows of table-like protrusions rose from the otherwise featureless floor, and stopped. Several rows inward, at a table marked by a stone-grey banner, a pair of strange creatures appeared absorbed in telepathic conversation.

  The banner was emblazoned with the pattern of a black clawed hand, encircled by unfamiliar runes. One of the creatures had feminine, almost human features to go along with scaled, green skin, pointed ears, and two pairs of arms. Each set acted independently of one another: one hand pointed at the parchment rolled out between the creatures while another held the owner’s chin. The second pair signaled impatience: one hand fidgeting with the belt around the creature’s waist while the other tapped its fingers on the edge of the tabletop.

  The creature she was talking to was similar in height, but with the expected number of appendages. Its skin, however, was black, armor-like. It leaned on a polearm, butted against the floor. Its head looked hollow, with a flame set inside that showed red through its mouth and eye holes. Neither of them had looked up, so Saffron advanced with slow steps and Be’naj followed suit, staying just within arm’s reach.

  Finally, the four-armed creature looked up. “And what do you berks want that’s important enough to interrupt me?” The fire-mouth seemed to give his attention as well, though it was difficult to tell.

  “Are you Excaliana?” Saffron asked, her voice remarkably steady. “The one recruiting for a job?”

  All four of the woman’s arms shifted simultaneously, which Be’naj found eminently distracting. “I am,” she said. “And where does such a mismatched pair of Plane-walkers come from, eh?”

  “Where we come from doesn’t matter nearly as much as where we’re going, does it?” Saffron replied. “I’m Tanaz. What kind of payment are we talking about?”

  “The payment will depend upon your degree of success … but what about this one?” Excaliana peered over Saffron’s shoulder at Be’naj. “Are you some sort of defective Erinyes? My skin’s itching, but you don’t look quite like any Celestial I’ve encountered. What’s the story with those wings?”

  Panic flashed through Be’naj and she nearly turned to run. Why hadn’t she considered the itching? She thought back to her brief encounter at the Circle of Twelve’s mansion and the tiefling who’d casually mentioned it. It never sank in that it may work both ways. Saffron had turned to face her – they didn’t know anything yet. All she had to do was stick with their story.

  “I used to be a Celestial, but denounced my heritage.” She made sure to speak in Illanese and not Eladrin. “Couldn’t stand suffering all those rules.”

  Excaliana stared hard like she was deliberating. “What’s your name?” she finally asked.

  Saffron hadn’t used her own so Be’naj didn’t want to, either, but she hadn’t invented one. All she could think of was how her wings reminded her of Cauzel’s familiar … “Nokia,” she said, hoping she hadn’t taken too long to respond.

  “So, Nokia and Tanaz, what sort of skills do you possess that might make you useful?”

  “All sorts of things might be useful, depending on the circumstances,” Saffron countered. “Why don’t you tell us what the job is, and we can tell you how our talents would benefit your cause?”

  Two of Excaliana’s hands rubbed together while the other arms folded behind her. She glanced at the creature standing beside her, who remained silent as far as Be’naj could tell, though he could have been communicating with only his partner. “Well, obviously, the reason I need Plane-walkers is because the job takes place on one of the Primes, and it’s too complicated trying to send fiends back and forth. I will be joining my brother there shortly—”

  “Your brother?” Saffron interrupted.

  “Yes, my twin,” Excaliana continued, boring her unsettling golden eyes into Saffron. “Izefet awaits my arrival at a place called Rinn-Rhulian, but some of his allies on the Prime have proven … unreliable. The job is to assist him in bringing those allies back into line, and if necessary, helping to eliminate anyone that may try to stop him from entering the site.”

  “And where will you be during this endeavor?” Saffron asked.

  “I must finish serving our matron here before I can travel to the Prime. Fear not – if you do well, you may get to see me again.” Excaliana raised her upper lip in a broken smile.

  Saffron shrugged. “That sounds like something we can handle. What awaits us at this ‘Rinn-Rhulian?’ I’d like to know what we might be up against before deciding to sign on.”

  “It is where the Spawn of Raug are trapped, if you must know, but you would only be facing other mortals. Before I tell you what Plane the job is on, however, I’m going to need a demonstration of your competence,” Excaliana exchanged a glance with flame-face, “and a guarantee of your loyalty.”

  “I am a fire-singer,” Saffron offered more quickly than Be’naj would’ve expected. “I can summon flame to ravage my enemies. And Nokia, here, is great at extracting information – enjoys finding just the right amount of pain to get what she wants without leaving them useless.”

  “Hmm, is that so?” Excaliana looked Be’naj up and down. “Neither of those would go very far in a place like this, of course, but mortals seem to be susceptible to both. Very well,” she looked back to Saffron, “show me your fire.”

  Saffron exhaled, and Be’naj was just as relieved that the request for verification had fallen on her. Singing in Begnari, Saffron extended her arm and a small blossom of red-orange fire began growing in her palm. While all eyes were on the conjuration, a huge creature emerged from the assembly grounds at the edge of the pavilion.

  Saffron was just about to release her fire bloom when the creature stepped forward and snapped one of the poles holding up whatever passed for canvas in the Doomwait. The monstrous figure was taller than the bottom lip of the pavilion and hadn’t ducked far enough, catching the material on its swollen body and nearly causing it to collapse. All the humanoids underneath jumped back at the commotion, and Be’naj could see that Excaliana was seething at the intrusion.

  “What in the name of the Lord of Lies are you doing, you, you … Hezrou?” she screamed, drawing a black blade from its scabbard.

  “There are mortal souls here to devour, and I claim them as a True Tanar-ri!” the giant replied. The terrifying creature was not only a dozen feet tall, but almost just as wide. Though standing on two legs with massive arms that reached almost to the ground, it also carried a tortoise-like shell on its back, covered with knots and spines. Its face reminded Be’naj of a horny toad, but with rows of serrated teeth filling its wide mouth. A stench, reminiscent of the ghast she slayed in the desert, seethed almost palpably from its body.

  Be’naj saw Saffron’s hand go to the hilt of her blade and she did the same, though they stopped short of drawing their weapons.

  “You cannot claim them, I’m on official Abyssal business, and these are my new associates!”

  “Stand aside, bastard-fiend,” the Hezrou commanded in its deep voice, “or your soul shall perish first!”

  Excaliana didn’t budge, which Be’naj found singularly impressive. “My Matron is the Marilith Yugrina, The Lady of Anguish, and if you don’t return to the Great Stair this instant, you shall not know another moment in your immortal life unkissed by torment!”

  Be’naj flashed wide eyes at Saffron. Neither of these individuals seemed like wise ones to cross, and she was wondering how they could
extract themselves as quickly as possible without gaining the eternal enmity of either.

  “Raaawrr,” the gigantic Hezrou howled aloud in defiance, though it didn’t advance. It flexed its tremendous arms in a show of strength, possibly deciding whether the significantly smaller fiend in front of it was bluffing. Excaliana unsheathed a second blade to bolster her threat.

  “Draw in defense of your new mistress,” came a raspy voice that Be’naj could only assume belonged to the black-armored fiend. He was working around the table to their side, lowering his polearm to further discourage the Hezrou from violence. Instead, Be’naj took slow steps backward, hoping the fiends’ attention would remain focused on their stand-off.

  The fire-faced demon, however, took notice. “Where are you going, coward?” He turned, wheeling his weapon around to threaten Be’naj.

  “You do not have the authority to command me, whelp. I am a True Tanar-ri!” the Hezrou wailed.

  “As is my Matron!” Excaliana countered, her back still to Be’naj.

  “I thought it better not to get involved,” Be’naj answered the fiend who accused her.

  Saffron, however, gave her own answer. She grabbed the shaft of the fire-faced demon’s weapon and yanked it down, creating leverage as she unsheathed her curved blade and sliced through the neck of the fiend in one movement. The Celestial weapon hummed with satisfaction at fulfilling its purpose, and its light flashed bright white as red flame spurted from the mouth-hole of the surprised demon.

  “Run!” Saffron yelled and Be’naj turned quickly to flee, her thoughts already prepared for the action. She looked over her shoulder briefly as she cut out from under the pavilion, making sure Saffron was following. She glimpsed the body of the black-armored fiend slumping to the ground and the expression of rage on Excaliana’s face as she turned to witness the betrayal.

  Be’naj wanted to give the Great Stair a wide berth, but wasn’t sure whether cutting through Anarchiapolis would help them hide or only attract more attention. Not wanting to risk drawing more enemies, she opted toward the vast emptiness of the Doomwait, hoping they could outrun any pursuers to the Rift – assuming she could find it.