by Sever Bronny
“You’re talking about Krakatos!” Augum said. And of course, that meant, “then the other Unnameable must be Magua.”
“To mortals he has, for many an age, only been known as Krakatos, the God of Wisdom,” Esha said.
Augum glanced to the Fasa the rugged lion. “And Magua?”
Fasa replied in his guttural lion tongue.
“The Goddess of Deceit,” Esha said.
“But how could the Leyans allow her to become one of them?”
Mateo answered and his daughter translated.
“Enlightenment is balance.”
“I don’t understand …” Augum had to steady himself against the parapet. This was all incredible knowledge they were passing to him. The Unnameables had once been mortal! Who would believe him?
Behind him came the sound of armor being buckled onto hundreds of undead troops. He expected his father to make Dreadnought armor for his living troops, but he did not expect him to make it for the undead.
“What you’ve said … that the Unnameables were normal men and women who learned great arcanery … no one will ever believe me.”
“That is the misfortune of your epoch,” Esha replied. “You are bound by this age, Augum Stone. Be not hard upon your gentle soul. You have already done so much.” Her gaze fell upon his shoulder and chest, caked with dried blood. “And suffered so.”
She nodded at the rocky tunnel. “Let us walk.” As they continued on, she watched him with feline eyes that made him feel strangely at peace. “As I say, I have read much about you, Augum Stone, and have gleaned thus. You embody a spirit that transcends the ages. It is the spirit of your ancestor, Atrius Arinthian. You embody the love for another. You embody the loyalty of true friendship. You embody sacrifice, valor, and the pursuit of knowledge. There is greatness in you and what you have done, Augum Stone. But you also tread a most difficult path, a path of suffering and loss. And that is written on your face and behind your eyes.” Her gaze fell to his scarred palm. “It is written on your flesh.”
Augum unconsciously rubbed his palm, recalling all too well cutting it to imbue the vitae concoction with the power to heal Bridget’s wounds.
Esha smiled. “It binds you to your enemies, Augum Stone. That sadness, that loss. I will guess that your enemies have seen it too … and it frightens them, for nothing through the ages has ever—and I mean ever—been more powerful than love. Love builds castles. Love builds armies. Love builds kingdoms. It is a foundation.”
Augum allowed what she had said to tumble through his fractured mind, but it was too much and he was simply too exhausted to appreciate it fully. “My friends,” he said. “I need to find my friends.”
Esha spoke in their native tongue to her father, before turning back to Augum. “The commander is ahead. Him we shall ask.”
Song of the Ancients
Augum and the group of Dreadnoughts entered a round stone room with a domed ceiling, from the center of which hung an iron wheel chandelier racked with flickered tallow candles. The walls were adorned with worn carpets and the furniture was made from iron. There was an iron bed, an iron chest of drawers, and a magnificent—if not crude—iron desk and iron chair. Behind that desk sat a battle-scarred old lion with a huge gray mane. He was as emaciated as the others, but wore beaten iron armor from some age long past. A soiled and torn cape hung from his shoulders. He was writing on a parchment with a peacock quill, reminding Augum of Mrs. Stone’s ruined cave.
Mateo gently took the water jug from Augum’s reluctant fingers, then said something guttural to the lion while indicating Augum and Esha. The old lion looked up with tired eyes that glanced over Augum as if having seen him a thousand times before.
“Aye, so this be he,” he said, voice like grinding boulders.
“This is Commander Dredius Hestius,” Esha whispered. “It would be wise to bow.”
Augum did so, recognizing that voice as the one he had overheard speaking to his father back in the Blade of Sorrows’ cabin.
“Commander Dredius Hestius, I am searching for my friends—”
The old lion commander abruptly stood, his rusted iron armor clanking. The chair he had been sitting on fell to the ground with a crash. He growled something at the group of lions, who all dropped their heads. After finishing his admonishment, the commander strode around the desk and gestured violently at Augum.
Esha cleared her throat nervously. “Commander Hestius says that your friends are responsible for a Dreadnought death.”
Augum swallowed. He didn’t know how to reply, yet was grateful his party was alive.
“He says they roam about, lost like fools. He says they are being chased, and that they will die soon.”
Augum stared up at the old venerable lion. “Can you help them? Please, can you help them? It’s incredibly important.”
Mateo softly explained something to the old lion, who only glared at Augum with a face that had seen a lot of war. The scars were deep and numerous. The eyes reflected the fire of thousands of deaths. They were cold, calculating eyes, eyes that remembered everything and forgave nothing.
The ancient lion closed those knowing eyes and began to speak more patiently in his tongue. Esha quietly translated as he spoke.
“A Dreadnought death is eternal. It is a sacred event. Each candle snuffed brings our people closer to extinction. We shall honor the dead, then discuss the matter.”
Augum instinctively knew there was absolutely no arguing the point. He was only grateful the commander hadn’t called upon the Legion to grab him. In fact, he wondered why that was the case. As if reading his thoughts, the old lion’s deep eyes fell upon the two Exot rings on Augum’s hands. The lion gave a derisive snort before turning his back on him. Augum was then quickly hustled out of the room and down a series of hot tunnels.
“Is he going to help my friends?” Augum asked Esha after the group stopped at a crude set of doors. Mateo pulled a lever and some kind of rusty mechanism began slowly grinding.
Esha gave Augum a pitying look. “I lament that I do not know.” She searched his eyes, voice soft. “You long for her. I was once longed for in such a way. That was in an age of war.” She gave him a pained lioness smile. “We are a tired people adrift through time, in search of peace.”
The double doors slid aside in a rickety fashion, revealing a small wooden platform with iron grating. Augum was herded inside by the lions. A lever was pulled and the doors slid closed as the platform began descending. Augum was too preoccupied with worries to appreciate the cleverness of the invention. Instead, he stared at a caged torch, noting its crudeness, the way it sputtered.
“You follow the commands of your enslaver, my father,” he finally said. “But what happens if you disobey those commands?”
“We must obey,” Esha replied. “It is an ancient and sacred vow, a powerful and arcane vow that cannot be countermanded. Our decisions must always flow along a river with only one path. Doing otherwise breaks that sacred vow, resulting in a most painful death at the hands of the enslaver, as is his right. And our numbers are already very small. We cannot aid you in a manner that countermands an order, Augum Stone.”
Augum almost smiled, for that meant they could aid them in other ways! But he did not want to get her in trouble with the question that lingered on his lips—what ways could they help in. And even though her face remained impassive, he had the distinct impression she knew what he wanted to ask.
“Why have you not turned me over to my father yet?” Augum asked instead.
Mateo replied in his native tongue.
“We owe a debt to your ancestor.”
“Atrius Arinthian is my father’s ancestor too.”
Fasa said something now.
“But not in spirit,” Esha translated. “And no specific order has been given to have you turned over if you were found.”
“Why hast thou comest?” Mateo asked in his awkward accent.
“Why have you come?” Esha repeated when Augum did not
reply.
Augum listened to the rickety platform clunk along as they descended past infrequent levels represented by sets of grimy doors. He concluded it too dangerous to reveal that he was down there to retrieve his mother’s body, and so remained silent.
The platform at last came to a halting stop. The doors opened and in billowed hot steam. Augum had to raise his hands to protect his face, while the lions remained impassive. When the steam cleared, Augum saw a chain and iron slat bridge spanning over a molten lake of lava.
The lions shuffled out and strode across the iron planks. Augum followed, trying to be light of foot, for the slats broiled his turnshoes. The bridge swayed ever so gently, the heat wavering through the spaces between the slats. The cavern was vast, the air broiling and dry.
They came to a wide rock island, in the center of which was a giant iron fire pit. The rocky island was connected by another bridge that in turn connected to a wide tunnel. Within that dark tunnel, shapes began to emerge—other Dreadnoughts, their faces long with sorrow. They shuffled slowly, weakly, toward the central rock plateau, where Augum and his group stood in wait.
In the end, Augum estimated less than two hundred Dreadnoughts assembled around that rock. Two hundred emaciated, broken and sooty lions. All that remained of an ancient, damned race.
Last to emerge from the tunnel was a solemn procession led by Dredius Hestius, his face proud, noble, melancholy. They were carrying a crude iron gurney between them, on top of which lay a fallen Dreadnought lion.
“They allow us this ceremony, Augum Stone,” Esha whispered. “It is the only time we are thus allowed to be alone together as a group. To honor, in our ancient way, the sacred final passing of one of our own. It has been this way for eons. Once we numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Now look at us.”
Augum felt a hollow pang. Hundreds of thousands. He was witnessing the very end of an ancient race, a fragile, sacred race of lions. There was a lump in his throat at the emaciated visage of them all.
The procession stopped in the center of the gathering and the Dreadnoughts formed a loose circle. Their heads lowered as Dredius mournfully addressed the crowd in his millstone voice. Esha translated in a whisper.
“We gather here, my tired accursed brothers and sisters, to honor a fallen soul. Theo had been with us to witness the Great Flood of Old. He had laid eyes upon numerous Unnameables. And he had witnessed some of their deaths. He had experienced the reign of Attyla the Mighty. He had been present at the Founding. He had witnessed civilizations rise and fall. He had lived well and long. In his mortal life prior to damnation, he had sired seventeen lions and lionesses. He had loved and lost, dreamed and acquired and built. He had lived grandly. He had lived humbly. This old lion’s path ends here and now. This old lion’s candle … extinguishes forever.”
The assembled lions seemed to all take a deep breath as they prepared for something.
“And now the ceremony,” Esha whispered, lowering her head.
Augum felt a tingle as she translated the familiar phrase, a phrase he had heard before, and one that held great meaning to him. Somehow, he knew the spell was old, he just did not realize it was this old.
“I call upon the spirits of the dead to listen to the cries of the living,” Esha translated as the old lion commander spoke with a trembling voice in the center of the gathering. He was the only one with his head held high. His eyes swept the gathering as if acknowledging the smallness of their number, the last survivors, the holdouts of their ancient race. “And to remember those they left behind, those that still breathe the air and walk above ground. Dearly departed, allow us a final goodbye as we mourn your passing from this life.”
Dredius Hestius held a paw before the open fire pit until it burst with an unnaturally high fire, eventually settling to a guttering blue flame. He uttered a final word Esha translated as, “Hear the cry,” before he began to sing in a voice that transcended time. It was a voice that Augum never would have guessed belonged to such a mighty beast, for it was fragile, wavering and soft. The primitive melody drifted above them like a tired war dove. And as the old lion sang, Augum could not help but stare into those blue flames, flames that blurred before him. Then, as had happened before, forms began to take shape in the heart of the fire …
Promise
Augum was not conscious of the ancient memorial ceremony officially concluding. He missed the part where the Dreadnoughts ceremoniously dropped the fallen lion into the lava. He barely recalled what he had mourned. He only felt a great and heavy sorrow, along with a deep union with the ancient lions. He somehow knew that he had skipped through time with them, experienced the life of that fallen lion, but was unable to remember the details, as profound as they were. Perhaps his mind was simply unable to comprehend the sheer vastness of such a long life, the accumulated knowledge, and especially, the poignant memories. There upon that rocky island surrounded by magma, Augum stood alone.
Or so he thought.
“You have experienced Theo with us,” Esha whispered behind him, perhaps in surprise and admiration. They were with Dredius Hestius, Mateo, and Fasa. All were watching him.
Augum glanced about. The other Dreadnoughts had left. The procession, the gurney, all gone. The iron fire pit smoked quietly. The magma bubbled in the distance. The air wavered with heat.
“Searcheth mine old heart hath I,” the old Dreadnought commander rumbled, gray mane askew. “A question thus I pose thee.”
The lions stared at Augum in wait. He knew what the question was. And now he felt it right to answer.
“You wonder why I have come here,” Augum said. Judging by their quiet poise, it seems he had guessed right. “I have come to retrieve my mother’s body. My father, your enslaver, was once in … love, if you want to call it that.” More like obsession. “He murdered her, and seeks to raise her as the undead when he is powerful enough.” The last scion would do it, he was sure of it. “She wished for peace in death, not eternity in undeath. I have come to fulfill that wish.” A wish discovered in a pleading letter from a despondent wife to a malevolent husband. A letter discovered in the forbidden bowels of the ancient Library of Antioc.
Dredius Hestius studied Augum gravely. After a thoughtful length of time, the old lion turned his back and began pacing toward the tunnel. Mateo and Fasa wordlessly followed. Only Esha remained.
“Wait, what about my friends—?” Augum called after him.
Without turning around, the lion raised an idle paw and said something in his old tongue.
Augum turned to Esha with an inquisitive look.
“I … I am not sure,” she said. “I think we should stay here though.”
He gave her a stronger look.
“What? Wise, he is, wiser than I.” She shrugged. “I do not know everything, Augum Stone.”
And so they waited together. Esha mostly spent the time watching Augum, or more like studying him. She pestered him with questions about the kingdom, about this age in which they lived, about village life. Whenever he asked her a question though, she would deftly turn it back to this age, as if it was more important than the past, more important than his clumsy questions about that which had “long turned to dust”, as she liked to say. He wanted to know about the Founding, about Attyla the Mighty, about Atrius Arinthian, and about all those legendary and glorious things that had happened in all of written history; events that had become myth, events told to children around the fire in hushed voices. After all, when not in “The Big Sleep” as she called it, she and the other Dreadnoughts had lived through those times! Yet Esha was almost playfully only concerned with the now. She was curious about what was happening then, in that time, in that moment, around the kingdom. She asked questions like, How were the wolves faring? Or, Did Nefra really survive that curse so long? Would the winged lizards return anytime soon? Are the Ordinaries treated well in this age? And so on. She asked about village life and city life, about brigands and the animals in the forests, about warlock customs and
warlock schools, about the culture of Ordinaries and about other kingdoms. The more she prodded, the less Augum could answer though. She made him feel daft with the kinds of questions she posed.
“And what of diplomacy? How doth Kinadia stand?”
“Kinadia?”
“Forgive me, that kingdom is no more, is it? The Big Sleep takes its due. Ah, you see? Even a Dreadnought’s memory is imperfect.”
And after much banter and sheepish giggling, Esha suddenly turned her lioness face toward the tunnel. He glanced that way as well but saw nothing.
“Promise me, Augum Stone, that you shall live fully to the end of your day, and that you shall love deeper than the Canyons of Sabhatha and travel further than the wandering sun in spirit and in mind. Promise me that you shall never stop learning, and that you shall remember my people, that we were once strong and whole, and that we too cried and laughed and loved and lost.” Her voice died to a whisper. “You promise me this, Augum Stone. You promise me this …”
“I … I promise, Esha. Of course I promise.” His heart felt heavy.
She smiled at him bittersweetly. “You have the privilege of a mortal life. Do not squander it, for its beauty lies in its fleetingness.” She began backing away toward the tunnel. “That which you seek lies somewhere at the bottom of the elevator. But be warned, it is guarded by a most ferocious foe. As for the enslaver … when you face him, be sure to arm yourself with love, for love is even stronger than Dreadnought steel. Goodbye, Augum Arinthian Stone, it has been a great honor meeting you. Do not forget us …” Her backward pace increased. “And should you ever find yourself with a certain choice … I only hope that you shall make it knowingly and with a full heart, for we too have our wish. That wish … that wish you can see behind our eyes,” and with that the Dreadnought lioness known as Esha turned her back on him and strode out of the magma chamber. For a time, Augum stared at the gaping entrance, trying to understand, to transcend. But he was a blunt tool in the immensity of existence, never feeling smaller. And the part he had to play in this grand drama … perhaps smaller still.
