War of Men

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “The Dom Nohzi do not hide,” Teryngal said.

  “Mmmmm, this looks and sounds a lot like hiding,” Whitney said.

  “We must seek the Lords’ wisdom on this matter,” Kazimir said. “I have put off this visit only long enough to allow my brothers and sisters to be present. I warn you, however, they will not be happy for the presence of mortals.” Then he looked at Lucindur. “Especially you, Lightmancer.”

  “It won’t be the first time I’m unwanted at a party,” she said.

  “The question still remains,” Teryngal said. “What if Nesilia already got to them? What if we get down there and the wianu have already been won to her side?”

  “It is always a risk we take that we are on the wrong side of time,” Kazimir said, pointing back in the general direction from which they’d come. “But this place is a fortress protected by the Lords themselves. Even I would be surprised if she’d breached its walls without us knowing.”

  Aquira flapped her wings hard and shrieked.

  “Can you quiet that thing?” Sigrid hissed.

  “That thing has a name,” Whitney said. “What is it, Aquira?”

  She screeched again.

  “We should be moving,” Kazimir said, and then followed his own advice.

  Each step was slippery, wet with condensation and mildew. Making it more difficult was the lack of lighting. Kazimir carried that same small, glowing orb which gave off just enough blue light for Whitney and the others to see, but still, Whitney slipped or stumbled more times than he could count.

  Finally, the staircase leveled out to flat stone. Somewhere ahead, there was the slow rumble, echoing off the damp tunnel walls.

  “Is that… an ocean? Inside a mountain?” Whitney asked.

  “The Citadel has many wonders,” Kazimir responded. “Now, keep up. We are running out of time.”

  “Who is it now that sounds like a mortal?” Teryngal jested.

  They reached the end of the tunnels. Stepping through metal doors which the other upyr had already opened, out into what Kazimir called the lower Sanctum, the place where his Lords supposedly dwelled in their ethereal form, cold air hit them like a giant’s fist. Wind… wind inside the mountain… burned his face like hot coals.

  Just as it had outside in the snow-laden mountain pass, here stood an archway, hewn from the natural rock. On either side, as if guarding the place, two mammoths of creation stood. They looked vaguely human, but in the same way Whitney looked vaguely female. They held hands above, meeting above the arch. Hanging from the curvature where their hands met, also carved from stone, was a thin line of what must have represented blood. A blood pact being made. Whitney had done it before, twice, and he knew what that looked like. And felt like. Without a thought, he rubbed his hands together as if to ward off the pain of it.

  Kazimir extended his hand, and the orb of light floated out to reveal an endless cavern. In front of them, down a sharp cliff, was, indeed, an expansive ocean that stretched without limits—a sea of gray as far as the eye could see. It was impossible. Whitney knew he was within a mountain, but he saw… sky—faint clouds even.

  Steady muttering in a language that sounded vaguely like Breklian came from within. If Whitney heard it, the upyr surely had too. That fact was confirmed as he was shoved aside by Teryngal, finding himself out in the open cavern.

  “Imperio Vikas!” someone shouted, to which another responded, “Hush! He is praying!”

  If that indeed was what he was doing, Whitney had never seen prayer anything like it. His body, hair, clothes… they were all sopping wet with blood, and he lay on his back, face to the air. His arms and legs were splayed out in a way that reminded Whitney of all those years ago with Torsten in Oxgate. They’d happened upon a man, crucified to a post just before being abducted by Nesilia’s cultists.

  So many things had come full-circle. That had been the day that Sora and Whitney had been reunited after so many years. Now, history was set to repeat itself, only Whitney wasn’t sure he wanted to see what Sora had become.

  The upyr called Skryabin was already beside the man. She was beautiful like a polished stone statue—flawless, but cold and lifeless. One of their enslaved men lay near her, puncture marks in his neck, dead.

  “Kazimir,” she said, rushing to them. “I found him like this. He won’t feed.”

  Kazimir pushed by her, kneeling next to Vikas, one hand upon his shoulder. Unsure what else to do, Whitney and the others watched from a distance.

  There was a word Whitney strove for to describe the scene before him, yet for lack of finding it, he settled on demonic.

  Blood everywhere.

  Unnatural underground oceans.

  Mass murdering monsters.

  The threat of death or worse.

  It was a lot for anyone to bear, much less the person upon whose shoulders rested the fate of the entire world.

  Whitney moved closer, even daring to push past the Imperios. He stopped only when he stood close enough to Kazimir to hear his conversation.

  “Vikas,” he said, lightly shaking the man.

  Vikas looked crazed—although, Whitney had never seen the upyr before and that could very well have been his natural state. He’d overheard Kazimir say Vikas was older than all of them. How old must he have been?

  His stringy, thin hair was disheveled. It was white, like Kazimir’s, Sigrid’s, and every other upyr present, but while they were all breathtakingly beautiful, Vikas was gaunt and skeletal. His cheekbones protruded like knives from his face, a shelf for his soulless eyes. His mouth was wide open, unmoving, using only his throat to utter the words to his prayer.

  “Vikas,” Kazimir said again. “We’ve been searching for you.”

  As if drawn out of a trance, the upyr called Vikas closed his mouth, teeth smashing together. His head whipped toward Kazimir but he still said nothing.

  “Vikas, are you alright?” Kazimir asked.

  The other Imperios were whispering now, words like, ‘madness,’ and ‘lunatic.’

  “Imperio Vikas, the old gods are stirring,” Kazimir said. “Nesilia is coming. She’s coming soon, and we must be prepared.” Kazimir tried to help Vikas to a sitting position, but the older man swiped his hand away.

  “Foolish children,” Vikas said. His voice came out like a wagon wheel on a gravel road. It sounded like it hurt. “She is already here.”

  If it was possible for the room to become colder, Whitney was sure it had. The air about the platform began shimmering. Greens, purples, dark blues, all these colors and more swirled above them.

  The Imperios all dropped to their faces, together as one. Whitney and the other humans remained standing, but he soon wished he hadn’t.

  A deep voice like thunder spoke in that same language Vikas had been using and sent half the mountainside bouncing down from above, rocks slamming into the water.

  Whitney couldn’t understand it, but the other upyr repeated the words.

  Then, a sound so horrible it could have been death in auditory form assaulted Whitney’s ears. It was followed by a high-pitched whine, and then he heard the rumbling voice in the common tongue.

  “A Lightmancer?” it said. “A Lightmancer and an insecure child.”

  Whitney looked around, wondering who the voice was speaking of when he realized it was him.

  For, perhaps, the first time in his life, Whitney couldn’t speak. He’d stood before kings and queens, and the Wearer of White himself—both of them—but he’d never heard a voice with such a commanding timber, Bliss and Nesilia included.

  “The gods have a sense of humor, do they not?” the voice said. “Balance has not just been threatened, it has been undone. The thief was right in making the pact, yet, Kazimir… you’ve not yet fulfilled it?”

  Kazimir’s head shifted, but he didn’t look up. “Lord Thian, there were complications.”

  “Yes,” the Lord Thian said, slowly. “A blood pact made in Elsewhere whilst you were banished. One that we did not s
anction, might I add.”

  Another voice spoke, this one dignified, female. It came from another spot in the misty, multi-colored fog. “But one that was made for honor, with a mind for balance.”

  “But now, both marks are here—and the one spared is also the one who’s death has been called for,” she said. “You, Kazimir, have made things very difficult. Was your time in Elsewhere not enough for you to understand?”

  “All due respect, Lady Anavink,” Kazimir said, bowing his head lower, “but if we do not handle this delicate matter… delicately, we will all suffer a far worse fate than Elsewhere.”

  “You presume to tell me of our fate?” Lady Anavink asked. Her voice echoed throughout the Sanctum, quaking the stone, and Whitney promptly understood the power of the presence before him.

  “It does not matter,” Vikas said, his eyes returning to that of a crazed man. “She is here. This all ends. She is here.” He turned to the vapor in the air, the Sanguine Lords, and said again, “She’s here.”

  Then, turning to Kazimir, he said, “My son—for that is what you are to me. My child. My first, only, and most precious. I am so sorry for all these years. I became complacent in my old age. I am weak, you see me now. I’ve tasted no blood for ages, and what is left in me, you see here.” He raised his hands, tugged at his garments. “I should have been there.”

  “It’s fine, Maker,” Kazimir said. His voice was soft, softer than Whitney had ever known it to be.

  “Not for me, child. I will not let her have me. If she wins me, she wins far too much power.” He was standing now, backing away slowly.

  “Vikas,” Teryngal said, “what are you doing?”

  “As long as I live, I am a threat to us all. I am the eldest,” Vikas continued, still backpedaling. “I’m sorry.”

  The Imperios all moved toward him, but they were too slow. He turned and, with agility his frail form didn't seem capable of, ran for the cliff, then dove off.

  Whitney wasn’t sure what the big deal was. The upyr couldn’t drown. But then he saw it: tentacles slashing to and fro, the waves sloshing with their rage. Wianu in vast numbers screamed down below, and Whitney remembered those sounds from Elsewhere when he’d met Dakel un Ghastrin. One of them was horrifying—this was paralyzing.

  “No!” Kazimir shouted, grasping at air but pulling back as the sharp tip of a wianu’s tentacle reached for him.

  “Maker!” Sigrid raced to him and pulled him to safety. From his knees, Kazimir let out a primal roar.

  “She has stirred them all to madness,” Teryngal said.

  “You fools!” the Sanguine Lords said, all their voices booming at once. It wasn't just the two, Whitney realized, but so many voices, he couldn’t even keep track. Whitney’s flesh exploded in little bumps. “Are you so blind?”

  Kazimir looked to the mist. “Lords, just tell us what to do.”

  “She has felt the mind of the Lightmancer,” they answered as one. “You’ve doomed us all bringing her, Kazimir…”

  The mist slowly dissipated, and their voices trailed off. The chill that had been running through Whitney’s entire body since the swirling colors had manifested was replaced by warmth. No, not just warmth—overwhelming heat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and already, his shirt was soaked through.

  Kazimir didn’t have time to respond before a portion of the wall across the plateau burst open. Rock fell loose, cracking the ledge and knocking more into the subterranean sea. Two of the Imperios happened to be standing there and were cast into the deep, immediately swallowed up by the wianu.

  Dust, filling Whitney’s lungs, sent him into a coughing fit.

  “The Sanctum has been breached,” Kazimir whispered, incredulous.

  “She’s found us…” Zlata said, and she and all the other upyr who hadn’t drunk with Kazimir back in the antechamber seemed frightened for once.

  From the shadows beyond the miasma of debris, figures emerged, a horde of beings clambering nearer. Aquira must have seen it too because she flapped a frenzy, and blew little puffs of smoke from her nostrils.

  “She followed me…” Lucindur said, voice faint as Whitney had ever heard it.

  “She knew I’d bring you here after the Well,” Kazimir added, he, too, seeming scared.

  “The Lightmancer has unveiled the realm of the Sanctum,” Teryngal said. “What have we done?”

  A plume of flames shot through the breach, gobbling up the air, surely the cause of the immense heat. Vines extended from the rock, grabbing chunks and spreading them out further.

  Whitney wiped sweat from his brow and looked to Kazimir. “What now?”

  “Lord Thian!” Kazimir shouted, like something had just come to mind. He turned back to the place where they’d been. The multi-colored mist comprising the Sanguine Lords was now completely gone.

  “What are you doing?” Teryngal asked.

  Kazimir ignored the question and shouted again. “Lady Anavink!” Neither answered.

  “They’ve left us!” Teryngal said.

  “The Lady said Nesilia was coming for them,” Kazimir said, “and they run?”

  “We’re next,” Skryabin warned.

  A portion of the plateau the size of the house Whitney had grown up in slid off and landed in the ocean, sending a tidal wave slamming against the cliffside and spraying water against Whitney’s hot face.

  “If they have abandoned us, then it is true… the blood pacts are no more,” Teryngal whispered, though not soft enough to keep from Whitney’s ears.

  “Nuh, uh,” he said, shaking his head. “A deal is a deal. We are not killing Sora, no matter what.”

  “Sanguine Lords or no, we will continue with the plan,” Kazimir said, rising from his knees with Sigrid’s help. It was the most exhausted the upyr had ever looked.

  “This is madness!” Teryngal declared.

  “If you would like to leave, you can find your way,” Kazimir snapped. “I choose to believe the Lords yet remain. Their power is sealed here in this realm, but here has been ruptured. The blood pact is intact. Leave, or cease arguing.”

  A soft skittering sound drew their attention to the breach.

  Through the hole, the shadows had finally become clearer. Goblins crawled into the Sanctum in pairs, many of them too stupid to avoid the nearby ledge, and falling dead to the waters below where thrashing wianu fed. Grimaurs soared in as well, screeching, and swirling the dust clouds.

  “If we are going to do this, it’s now or never,” Lucindur said. She moved to beneath the archway at the Sanctum’s entrance, as far from the attacking beasts as possible.

  Whitney dabbed at the sweat pooling beneath his eyes with his cloak, then turned his attention to Lucindur, pulling the salfio from her back.

  Kazimir barked orders in his ancient language. He and all the other upyr formed a line in front of them, between the breach and the arch. Tum Tum got the hint and joined them, patting his hammer. Aquira also, somehow, understood and unleashed a blaze in a wider, protective circle around them.

  “We will keep them away,” Kazimir said.

  “Aye,” Tum Tum added.

  Whitney’s gaze moved between Lucindur and their impending doom. Another section of the cavern’s wall crumbled away, revealing more beasts.

  “I can feel her presence already. We must hurry.” Lucindur tugged Whitney and pulled him down, so they were seated across from each other under the arch. The exertion made her grimace.

  “We’ve done this before,” Lucindur said. “It should be easier now. Clear your mind. Focus on me.”

  “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. All clear.”

  “No, it’s not,” Lucindur said.

  “There are goblins and demons attacking us!” Whitney argued.

  “If you cannot ignore them, we have lost already,” Lucindur said.

  “Then give me some of that manaroot,” Whitney said.

  “We don’t have any,” Lucindur said. “If I can still manage after what happened, Whitney Fierstown, you
can do it, too.”

  Whitney’s brow was pouring sweat now. He continued to look over his shoulder at the descending foes. “Okay, Okay. Clearing my mind. Clearing my mind…”

  “Good,” Lucindur said. “Focus and be fast. I do not know how long I can go now.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “Focus.”

  He thought about Sora, and then about Gentry, alone in Glinthaven, probably cursing Whitney’s name. That wasn’t clearing his mind. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and his shoulders dropped. Took another breath. All the sounds around him became distant, and there was nothing but the darkness of his closed eyelids.

  The enchanted strings of her salfio vibrated under her fingertips, echoing throughout the cavern. As always, she started slow, playing a smooth and soothing melody. Then she sang the song Whitney had heard enough that he wanted to sing along, but he fought the urge and just listened, letting the music bathe him in sweet serenity.

  Let your mind be opened,

  eyes be opened.

  Let the winds of eternity

  bring upon them clarity.

  Your eyes can’t see

  but your mind is free

  to travel Pantego

  wherever she may be.

  Darkness engulfs her

  brimstone and sulfur

  Love lost but found

  hear only this sound

  Upon song and light

  give us sight.

  Embers danced. He could see them even with his eyes clenched shut. Then, blinding and severe light overwhelmed Whitney, and he felt the pull.

  See what you came to see.

  See with your soul, not with your eyes.

  He slipped completely now, white light zoomed past him at an incredible rate. His stomach lurched, and he saw various landscapes rush by. Finally, he landed upon stone with such force that he felt it throughout his whole body. This wasn’t Elsewhere, it wasn’t Troborough, and it wasn’t even Nowhere.

  He stood and dusted himself off, grasping his side where it felt as if he might have bruised a rib.

  “Sora,” he said softly, not only due to his lost breath but also afraid to awaken anything that might be listening.