Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks

by Serabian, Charles

Valor suddenly felt squeezed, as if two giant hands were pressing him together. It became difficult to walk. It was the same oppressiveness he had felt in the caves many times before, and added to it by a greater strength.

  “Do you feel that?” Valor squeezed out with a puffy breath.

  “Push on,” Roiland said in a commanding tone.

  The energy Valor felt was oppressive, tiring, molding to the walls. It seemed to take up space, pushing Valor away from all sides.

  But with only a few more steps, it vanished. Valor nearly stumbled, as if many hands had been holding him upright, now letting go. His mind swirled at how such a change of energy was that fast, or even possible. He looked at Orrin, who shared the same expression.

  They had reached the top of the stairway. Orrin stepped on something wet. Valor and Orrin looked down, catching the shape of a severed leg.

  “Careful,” Roiland said. “There was some fighting here.”

  “Did you cast a spell here?” Valor asked, his lungs squeezing together.

  “No,” Roiland said. “The magic that has been cast over these tunnels is weakening. You may notice yourselves feeling lighter in mind and body. Whoever is controlling the magic might be attempting to attune it to choke points where fighting could break out. Either that, or they are distracted by Sir Tro - Jerryl’s revolt.”

  Valor put a hand on Roiland’s shoulder. “So he’s the one leading this? How?”

  Roiland shook his head. “No time to explain. I saw him for a brief moment. We need to press on.”

  Valor grabbed Roiland’s arm. “How are we going to find Jerryl? You said you left him in Lobosa’s chambers.” He surveyed the floor, noting the many bodies, both feral and human. If the ferals had truly thought the same as Roiland, then the choke point decision was smart on their part. “Roiland?”

  As if timed to perfectly interrupt, the magic sprite from before shot upwards from the ground, passing through the rock and stone directly in front of Roiland’s face. It shimmered loudly.

  “Follow me,” Roiland said again. He had said those words so many times that Valor was tired of hearing them.

  They saw no one alive. Corpses filled the crevices, bodies cracked over sharp rocks, blood pooling in stone holes. Valor would look down to see if he recognized any faces, and both noticed that most of them were not struck by an axe, but had been twisted and contorted into odd shapes, and that chunks had been ripped from the unarmored parts of their body. Hands, too, were missing, as if they had been pulled away at the wrist, leaving the tendons and muscles stretched, curled like half cooked noodles. Valor knew such damage was not the work of weapons.

  The sprite led them through a hidden passageway, just off the main path, covered by cloth that had been expertly painted to appear like the craggy rock. The passage itself was perfectly flat, and ascended just slightly. Roiland motioned for them to crawl, but Valor was already on his stomach. If seen, there would be nowhere to hide. At least on the ground their dark clothes could blend into the rock, but Roiland’s armor would give them problems. Slowly, the passageway grew wider until its edges could not be seen.

  As they crawled, a large swath of glowing lights cut across the horizon of the pathways peak. Valor knew they were the lights of Emberless.

  Then there was a strange group of sounds that became louder with every few shuffles. A terrible screeching, accompanied by two or three others just like it, but either higher or lower in pitch, though the agony was the same. They multiplied quickly, triplet moans building until they were six, twelve, twenty four, forty eight... and then they stopped.

  Each round of screams caused Valor’s heart to roar in his chest.

  “What is that?” he asked. Roiland gave no answer.

  As they crawled Orrin slapped Roiland on the leg.

  “What?” Roiland said.

  Valor answered for his brother. “Emberless is up ahead. Can’t you smell it? How do you mean to get through a city of thousands?”

  Roiland grabbed Orrin by the same wrist, and pressed him onwards. “I came through the city. Trust me. They have other concerns. We will stick to the outskirts.”

  Orrin crested the steep hill before his brother, peering over the side.

  Valor grabbed his brother’s pant leg. “Orrin! Orrin, what are you doing?”

  Valor stood with his brother, and looked out across the city. He would have yelled if he could have. But instead, he did something he had not done in a while.

  For the first time in years, he saw his brother cry.

  The nameless things that stalked the ceilings of their world were out now, bathed in true light, through holes blown by stray fireballs in the ceiling of the Arnak’s interior, for the first time in centuries.

  They were eating everyone.

  Orrin could feel his brother’s teary eyes look towards him, but Valor could offer no comfort. He could feel his brother’s desire for sibling affection.

  Let them die, he thought. It was what they deserved.

  The fire magic of mages continued to open the sky, revealing true horror, displacing all mystery that had ever surround the walking nightmares.

  Their bodies were all different. Each nameless thing was a collection of hands, heads, and tentacles, completely unlike the one next to it. Everything met together in what appeared to be a construct much like a human rib cage. Black ooze poured from volcano shaped spouts on their bodies. Some hands had six fingers, and were six feet long with sharp nails, slashing their way through the city’s defenses. Tentacles seemed to move of their own desires, the tips opening and closing, circle mouths with rows of teeth, spewing even more of the black liquid upon their foes. Each one had at least two heads, eyes dark and nonexistent. Noses and mouths and eyes drooped as if they had been melted and formed of old wax candles, permanently affixed in tortured shape.

  They lumbered and swayed, then sharply move, carried by four, five, or six legs that moved them in a stalking gait, swaying all the time, as if avoiding the strokes of axes, bows and lightning spears was in their nature.

  The three men watched as ferals’ struck in vain at the nameless things and their hardened skin.

  Some of the monsters had begun to climb to the higher levels. Flaming arrows struck their mark, but it was as if they felt no pain. They only lumbered faster, swaying as if walking on the ocean floor, desert spiders emerging from their holes.

  Valor watched the closest one; he watched the tiny, ever melting mouth droop open just a little. The first head screeched and moaned. The world seemed to shatter as their voices built upon each other.

  Three, five, twelve, seventeen, thirty-nine...

  The ground was littered with bodies and blood. Cubs and warriors alike were spread all over.

  The slave revolt was doing something, but Valor was unsure of what. Some were splayed across the feral huts, hanging out of windows and falling off rooftops, as if giving up on life, though not yet dead. Orrin could not count how many of the things there were. At least a hundred, maybe one hundred fifty.

  And every time, the nameless things screeched.

  Small groups of slaves had banded together, running over the ferals one by one, themselves being attacked, trying to hide in and amongst the ruined houses. Valor watched them do this over and over, noting that there seemed to be some genuine strategy in place.

  Orrin pointed at one of the nameless things and grabbed Valor by the shoulder. His finger traced one of the creature’s closed hands. There was something small in it, wrapped in a tight cloth, wet and dark red.

  Orrin could not speak, but he could make sounds. “Aaaah… ahaaahaaah….”

  It was as if the child inside his brother was trying crawl out of his mouth.

  “Orrin,” Valor said, “it’s alright. Don’t look.” He had little sympathy for adults, but a child was another thing.

  Valor put his hands on his brother. Orrin pushed aside his hands, and suddenly slugged Roiland with a massive overhand right. He stumbled back, and seemed surpris
e at Orrin’s power. Valor held his brother back, yelling at him. “What’s loose in your head, Orrin!?”

  Orrin signed. [ He did this. ]

  [ Did what? ] Valor asked.

  [ He knew about this. Just look at his face. It’s all over it. ]

  Valor did look. Roiland’s expression gave a hint that he could tell of what they were signing. [ Orrin, they’re ferals. They are monsters. All of them. ]

  “What’s he saying?” Roiland asked, rubbing his jaw, not seeming as mad as Valor had expected him to be.

  “He says you did this.” Valor pointed at Roiland. “I don’t know that you did. But my brother’s right. Your face says you know something.”

  “I didn’t,” Roiland said plainly. “Your teacher Jerryl did. He activated an old harmian device down in the tunnels.” Armun stepped close to Valor. “Listen, we have to go.”

  Orrin’s hands moved quickly. [ Ask him where Jerryl is. Ask him! Tell him we won’t leave until we find him! ]

  Valor grabbed his brother. “Orrin, he didn’t mean it. Believe him or not. There’s nothing we can do about it now. Roiland - where is Jerryl?”

  Armun shook his head, spreading his lips thinly. “Most likely in the city beyond, but finding him will be impossible.”

  Valor looked back over his shoulder for his brother. “Orrin - “

  Orrin was not there. He turned back fully towards Emberless, and saw Orrin leaping over the crest, jumping towards the battle.

  Roiland ran forward after him, passing Valor. “What is he doing!?”

  Valor broke into a sprint to catch up, surprised by Roiland’s speed in his heavy armor. “I don’t know any more than you! He probably wants to find Jerryl!”

  Roiland cursed as they ran, dodging stray fireballs being lost from the hands of slain mages. Orrin was a good hundred yards ahead, sprinting like a madman. Valor wished Orrin would stop running, and that Roiland would stop talking.

  “Orrin!” he called out. “Orrin!”

  “Valor, I need you to control your brother. I gave my word to Jerryl that I would get you both out, and that word is my bond, but I cannot do my duty if he persists in behaving erratically. I thought you two would be more accustomed to this kind of thing.”

  Valor looked sternly at Roiland, but said nothing.

  As they passed under the broken arches of the city, Valor could see more clearly how the fighting had consumed all of Emberless. Fires had broken out as the feral mages attempted to shoot through the nameless things, taking no regard for anything else. They had success, but it took so much flame that the mages were spent, leaving themselves defenseless and dead, weak flames sputtering from their trembling hands.

  Valor feared that the guards would turn their attention to them. They passed the first group, a squad that had a nameless thing surrounded, feral enforcers stabbing and prodding. The single mage tossed his fire upon it, but it seemed about as effective as splashing water onto a mad boar’s face. To Valor’s fortune, they were more concerned with the things with eight arms or four heads than a runaway slave and a mage in full regalia.

  They quickly entered the inner city, a place of crumbling, burning stone and wood. The heat was intense. Seeing it with his own eyes filled Valor with a grim satisfaction.

  Despite the carnage around him, he could tell the city had always been in bad condition. Cracked foundations and broken fences that had not been touched told him the city could not be maintained. It was the first time he had seen it through more than a hole in a hood. It told a much different story than the one he was used to.

  A broken people and their broken city.

  Orrin was turning corners faster and faster. Valor’s lungs felt fit to burst, and he wondered how Roiland was keeping pace with all that heavy, clunking armor.

  Orrin stopped after rounding a tight corner, in between a bakery and butcher shop. There, he saw Jerryl, but only for a brief moment, a half second that seemed over in a quarter second. He questioned what he saw, as Jerryl was not the only older, bearded man in the crowd. It very well could have been someone else.

  No, he thought, that was him. It was a glimpse so short that not even magic could have found a way to extend it. Jerryl was too far away. Even if he had had his voice, it would have been too far, and the sounds of fighting were too loud.

  The brief glimpse was brilliant, though. Jerryl, sword raised high, shouting commands, blood smeared upon his clothes. He was a warrior again.

  Suddenly, Orrin couldn’t remember why he had run into Emberless. He knew it was to find Jerryl, but to do what? To say goodbye one last time?

  Orrin felt very stupid, then.

  He heard something grip onto the crumbling, crackling stone above him.

  Valor turned a corner, and saw Orrin, standing still as the buildings around him. He ran forward, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Orrin... Orrin, I want to find Jerryl. I don’t want to leave here without him. But he wanted us to - “

  Valor heard some tattered fabric be pushed aside on the clothesline above. He looked up, and saw the long fingers of a three headed nameless thing moving aside the tattered clothes. Its pulsing orifices sputtered juice on the ground around them.

  “Move back!” he heard Roiland call. The nameless thing turned its heads to its left, and then fell towards them. Valor grabbed Orrin and leapt out of the way as the nameless thing tried to reach out. He felt its greasy fingers slip off of his leg in a desperate attempt to attack its prey.

  As the nameless thing hit the dirt, Valor turned to see Roiland on top of its awkwardly shaped frame. The mage brought his battle axe high, and let it fall with a dancer’s grace. It crunched onto the first head, splitting it in two, blood splattering against the axe’s edge.

  The remaining head expressed the pain of its twin with an ear-piercing shriek. It stood up with a sharp jerk. Roiland leapt off its back, swinging against its front most leg, connecting in perfect timing as he hit the ground.

  Valor pulled Orrin further from it as Roiland continued to expertly hack away. The leg did not cut away completely, but with each blow, the beast cried in pain. On his fourth strike, the weakened leg cracked and splintered under its own weight. He cut again and again until the creature collapsed, long arms flailing wildly. Roiland turned his frame, deflecting each slapping blow with his armored shoulders. Finally, he stopped.

  As the creature whined and died, Roiland collapsed. His hands and feet were covered in the black ooze of his victim. He stepped up to Orrin, face to face.

  “Son… Jerryl wanted you to come with me. He told me to take you both, to take you both over him. Over his own self. All of this,” Armun said with a hand extended to the destruction around them, “All of this was to help you escape. Lobosa meant to sacrifice you, to commit you both to the white death.”

  Orrin and Valor stared at each other.

  Armun wiped his face. “Don’t dishonor the wishes of a great man. But if we must do something to help Jerryl, then that I can do.” Armun looked at Orrin. “Remember the forge you told me about, the one you saw as a child? The one where they seal the white death and the ober together?”

  Orrin nodded slowly as Armun spit out some of his own blood. “I’d be lying if I said there’d be no benefit for me. But I can find it. And together, we can destroy it. We can destroy the very thing that’s stolen so many innocent minds. And then - we leave.”

  Valor watched Orrin take a moment, consenting with a weak nod. As they crept away, Valor put himself in between Orrin and Roiland. The last thing he needed was to get in between the two of them again, but he feared the next fight would end with much more than a sucker punch.

  Chapter 33

  As the three men snuck through broken windows and alleyways of overturned crates, slipping through the damaged ruins of Emberless, Valor wondered how the revolt would end. In his gut, he felt the ferals would win eventually, despite the cost on both sides. In the end, they would control the food and the water.

  He also pondered Roiland�
��s words, having said that Jerryl called the nameless things just so they could escape. The man who had given them everything continued still to give.

  “Now where?” he asked.

  Roiland turned to answer. “I will call my sprite once we get far enough beyond this madness.”

  As they ran from the city, Valor heard feral enforcers calling out to them. He had never learned their language, but knew the inflections well enough. The barks and chattering sounded more like pleas for help than commands to stop. He didn’t look back, and wouldn’t.

  It took only a short time to reach the southern tunnels. They stopped upon rounding a rocky corner, Armun dropping down to his knees.

  “Is anyone injured?” Valor asked. Neither of them answered.

  “I need quiet,” Roiland said. “A sprite will only follow my command if it can feed on my intentions.”

  More nameless things cried out from the city. “Good luck getting it,” Valor muttered. “Do they never stop?”

  He stayed silent as Roiland did his familiar hand rubbing. He looked at his brother, who continued his statuesque presence. “Orrin, you alright?”

  He waved a [ yes ] without looking.

  Roiland separated his hands. A tiny sprite popped out from between his palms, bursting to life, dancing around his hands. Roiland held up the other hand as if to tell it to stop. When it obeyed, he pulled a piece of ober from the inside of his glove.

  Valor smirked. “Warrior, mage, and thief. All rolled into one. Where’d you get that?”

  Roiland didn’t answer. He pushed the piece of ober into the sprite, as if feeding a baby. Roiland asked, “I wonder what would happen if you eat ober.”

  “It’ll kill you.” Valor said. “Seen it.”

  Roiland’s eyes went wide. “Interesting. Sprite’s are excellent trackers. I didn’t get this from the quarry. I retrieved it from a loose crate upon leaving Lobosa’s quarters. The sprite will show us where this refined ober came from. It’s obviously been smelted or manipulated in some way.”

  “Fine.” Valor’s stomach eked out a long, multilayered grumble. Only in the quiet moment had he realized he was hungry.