“I made my peace with leaving everyone a long time ago. My duty—and my safety—came first. They all understood that. And, I’m assuming my father’s empire doesn’t even exist anymore. After all, I was an only child, and the bloodline, it would seem, ‘died with me’.”
Ryris’ eyes widened in surprise. “Your father’s empire? You mean you’re a princess?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Royalty and a warrior. Strange, you don’t strike me as the ‘princess type.’”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Kaia deadpanned. She picked up the last strip of meat. “I was born with exceptional magical ability. My parents wanted me to become a high wizardress. As I grew older, it became apparent that I was just as skilled with weapons and tactics. The Crystal Guard took an interest in me, and asked my parents if they would allow me to be trained. At first they were adamantly against it. I, on the other hand, instantly became attached to the idea. When I was nine, I even ran away for three days—and tried to sneak into their ranks. I was found rather quickly, and returned to my parents.” Her eyes twinkled in the firelight, obviously proud of her childhood rebellion. “I think they realized that they couldn’t keep me from being what I strived to be, so they reluctantly allowed me to join. As their only child and heir to the throne, it wasn’t a decision they made lightly. I convinced my father that it was a good thing, and that military training that would make me a better queen in the future. He finally agreed. I think he honestly thought no harm would ever come to me—or the kingdom. When the war started, I know it weighed heavily on them.”
Ryris sighed in understanding. “It must have been hard for your parents to seal you away.”
“My father did what he had to do. My magical ability and high profile made me a prime target for the hunters. In order to keep me safe, and ensure the future citizens had a protector if the need arose again, he agreed to seal us away. Magic use wasn’t the only prerequisite, though. Ealsig and Jaric were the only other two generals left. We had to ensure we were all safe. The technology was researched and created, and several months later we were put into stasis. We were honored.” She held out her hand. “Give me your dirk, it needs to be sharpened.”
“You weren’t scared?” He handed his weapon over.
“Do I look like the type to be easily frightened?”
Ryris shook his head, fearful he had offended her. “That’s not what I meant…”
Kaia laughed, drawing his knife across a flat stone she found at the campsite. “You’re funny when you’re nervous. Of course I was scared. There was a moment where I feared what would happen to me, what would be waiting ‘on the other side’.” She held her head high. “But I was bound to protect the innocent, just like I am now bound to you.”
Ryris had never felt “bound” to anyone, not even his father. Yes, they loved each other and had a deep connection not only through family but their shared business, but Kaia’s words had hit him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. The tone of her voice, the sternness in her expression—she was now a part of his life whether he liked it or not. He suddenly realized that he would follow her anywhere, do whatever she asked of him. Never in his life had he felt this way, and he doubted he ever would again.
“Once we collect the others, we’ll need to get to the armory. The headquarters of the Guard are more than likely in ruins or gone by now, but the armory…it was relocated during the war. If it’s still intact, we’ll need to begin raising an army. Recruitment will be priority.”
And just like that, the feeling of following Kaia’s every word was gone.
“An army? Recruitment? Listen, I know you think there’s something looming, and I totally believe you. But amassing military forces? The people won’t be so quick to join up. And I’m just an alchemist. I don’t know the first thing about armies and war.”
“Ryris, war is coming. Between good and evil. You need to choose a side.” She blew some stone dust from the newly-sharpened blade and handed it back to him with determination.
“Are you calling me ‘evil’?”
“Of course not. There will come a time where those who you thought were on the side of light expose their tainted souls. To ensure you stay pure of heart, you must never let yourself stray, or have dark thoughts.”
Her words shook him. He had always considered himself a good person, with strong morals. The same went for his father and his friends, the people in the village. He had only been in contact with one “truly evil” person in his life—the man who killed his mother. To think that there were those out there, who he knew, that might stray and follow the course of darkness chilled him. So, he did what he always did best—decided not to think about it.
“Well then, we’d better get some rest. If we’re leaving in the morning, we need to be ready.” His voice was unusually chipper, and he hoped Kaia couldn’t sense that he was trying to change the subject on purpose.
She eyed him under intense scrutiny for a moment, before turning her attention to the fire. A minute later, a loud, rattling puff of air broke the silence of the cavern. Ass of the East let out a satisfied sigh before nestling her head close to her body. Ryris chuckled nervously, completely embarrassed by his horse’s lack of manners.
Kaia wrinkled her nose at the offending odor. “That explains the strange name…”
~~~
It seemed like he had been in the cave forever.
As Ryris followed Kaia into the chamber she had lay in for centuries, he couldn’t think of one good reason keeping him there. It was cold, dark, and dangerous. The previous night he swore he heard growling outside the mouth of the cavern and spent the rest of the evening huddled under his blankets, only his eyes poking out—keeping watch for any critters or beasts that may have wandered in, interested in their fire. He had been exhausted in the morning when Kaia finally stirred, but unwilling to admit he had enjoyed little sleep. Instead, he played the part of well-rested companion and dutifully did as he was told to prepare for their departure.
“Take anything you want, or feel we’ll need.” Kaia pointed toward the myriad of shelves and cabinets. “And choose a weapon. Your puny dagger won’t fend off a skellin.”
Ryris immediately took offense, fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at her behind her back. He had paid good money for that dagger, and was rather proud of his purchase. Yes, he knew it wasn’t the heartiest of weapons, but he felt safe with it at his side. But, his mind suddenly thought to the incinerated saberstrike carcass out in the cave, and he realized there would be many beasts along their travel route—and a ‘puny dagger’ most certainly wouldn’t cut it. He grumbled and made his abhorrence for weapons known, before choosing the smallest, lightest shortsword he could handle. He hoped he never had to make use of it.
Kaia returned to the chamber from her secret room, carrying the pieces of her heavy armor in her hands. “Do you have a crate on your wagon? I won’t be able to wear this mail while we travel the road, it’ll bring unwanted attention.”
The alchemist shook his head. “Not one big enough for the cuirass, but we can conceal that well enough, I’m sure.”
Kaia looked at her armor with reverence. “I guess that’ll have to do for now. I’m going to need some civilian clothes. This under mail wasn’t meant to be worn alone.”
“We can get you something in the next town. I agree that you probably shouldn’t be cavorting around in mystical armor.”
“I don’t cavort.” She shot him a confused-yet-stern glance before she unceremoniously broke the cabinet door containing her helmet. Careful of the shards of glass dangling from the door frame, she unlocked it from the inside and removed the accessory.
“Lose your key?” Ryris quirked a suspicious eyebrow.
She didn’t answer, setting the helmet down on top of her former coffin. Moving past him silently, she approached the bookshelves and curled her hands around either side. With a mighty heave, she slid the shelving to the side, exposing a hidden nook. Resting inside was a
linen-wrapped parcel, no longer than ten inches. Kaia grabbed it and turned back, not bothering to move the shelves once more.
“What’s that?”
Again, she didn’t answer, and tucked the item into a backpack Ryris had given her. Taking a few moments to carry her armor and knapsack into the cave proper while her companion packed various items from around the room, she finally returned. Grabbing her bow, she tested the tension on the crystal string. “Did you get everything you needed?”
“I’m working on it!”
She stared at him for a moment and readied her weapon. Whispering a soft word, an arrow of pure flame appeared, ready to strike. Ryris instantly realized she was going to destroy the room, and scrambled to collect as much as he could before she unleashed her projectile. He grabbed books, potions, and anything else he could cram into his pack or balance in his arms. When he was unable to tote anything else, he reluctantly backed out into the cave. Kaia followed, standing at the exit hole he had excavated. With incredible efficiency, she shot several arrows into the chamber, engulfing it in flames. At her gesture, they moved to a safe distance and she unleashed one more arrow, this time causing a massive explosion that felt as if it rocked the entire mountain. The wall crumbled, sealing the room off behind a layer of quickly-cooling molten rock. Ryris knew there was no way anyone could ever enter that place again.
Waving his hand in front of his face to dissipate the sulfurous scent of melting rock, he looked at her questioningly. “Why’d you have to destroy it? We could have just piled rocks again and sealed everything up.”
Kaia just turned and walked away from what had been her sanctuary for centuries, never to come back. “Let’s move out.”
Turning heel, Ryris quickly followed her, the heavy backpack pulling on his shoulders. On their way out of the cave, he hastily scraped some aegis mold from the walls.
INTERLUDE ONE
“Catch him!”
The boy ran like the wind, stumbling over his feet as he looked over his shoulder in panicked terror. The other children were gaining ground, one of the other boys swinging a large stick. He fell and scraped his knee, his pants ripping. Blood dripped down his leg. Scrambling back to his feet, he prayed he could escape them.
“You can’t get away!”
Panting frantically, the boy continued to run, even though he was tiring. Exhaustion was setting in, his lungs burning from overexertion, his feet screaming at him to stop running. He ran blindly through the back alleys, trying desperately to evade his pursuers. The choices available to him were quickly coming to an end, and he knew soon he would be caught. Again.
Forced out in the open when his back-alley route suddenly ended, the young boy had only one option for salvation—the cemetery. He avoided the place like the plague, never wandering near for fear of ghosts. His fear of death was almost crippling. The creepy headstones were like a warning to him—stay away. But, he could either run into the graveyard, or face the bullies. And that meant a certain and swift attack. He barely escaped the last one, and left the encounter with broken fingers and a bloody nose.
He bolted through the iron gates and darted behind a large stone monument. Sitting on his haunches, he desperately tried to calm his heavy breathing, for fear of being heard. He hoped the other boys forgot about their pursuit.
They hadn’t.
Following him into the graveyard, they quickly located him and dragged him to his feet. He kicked and screamed, the children paying no mind to his pleas. The boy was terrified of what they might do to him in this place. His hands instinctively heated up, and one of the attackers yelped in pain as his skin was slightly singed.
“Don’t even think about burning us, jackass! We’ll tell your dad!”
He immediately let the heat die from his hands, for the only thing he feared more than the boys’ impending torture was his father’s wrath.
They laughed at him, mocking his fear as they led him deeper into the cemetery. A grove of trees in the middle held the scariest place of all—the crypt.
Reserved for noble decedents, the door was always locked to deter potential grave robbers. Unfortunately, it did nothing to dissipate the stench emanating from within. Unluckily for him, one of the attacking children was the son of the mortician—and just so happened to have the key. He had a sudden realization that the whole chase—and ending location—had been planned.
“Hope you like skeletons, Mensu!” One of the boys pushed him in and slammed the door behind him. “Magic-using weirdo!”
The lock turned, and he was trapped. He banged on the door with every ounce of strength he had, begging the boys to release him. He pleaded with their decency, hoping against hope that they’d see their error and let him go.
Their laughter got quieter as they walked away from the crypt.
Mensu clawed at the door, claustrophobia setting in. His fingertips began to bleed, the rough metal tearing open his skin. Surrounded by total darkness, the sickly-sweet aroma of decay penetrating his nostrils, he screamed until his voice went hoarse. He begged the Goddess to help him.
He rattled the knob in the hopes that someone would hear his cries. As his hysteria grew, he began to hyperventilate. There was no escape, of that he was sure. He briefly thought he might die in this place, surrounded by the skeletons of the noble. His young mind did not afford him the luxury of rational thought in his panicked state. It wasn’t long before his surroundings began to play tricks on him. Skeletal hands reaching for his collar, intertwining their bony fingers in his hair. Ghosts in the air, pulling him into the abyss. It felt as if a thousand eyes were watching him.
The boy didn’t know how long he had been trying to escape, for minutes seemed like hours in the dark recesses of the crypt. He couldn’t take the blackness any longer. Terrified of the dark, but also terrified of what lay within, he finally brought flames to his hands. Bloody streaks cascaded down the door where he had clawed at the metal. He looked to his fingertips, the blood slowly incinerating into smoky wisps from the heat of the fire. Mensu shook. His heart thundered in his ears.
The door mocked him. How was he going to escape? The barrier was locked tight. The mortician’s son had the key, which was more than likely safely back in his father’s lock-box already, with the undertaker none the wiser. Sweat dripped into his collar, and he felt as if he might vomit. A rat skittered past his leg, causing him to yelp in terror and do an abrupt about-face, turning around into the crypt proper. His flaming hands illuminated the interior of the chamber.
Mensu screamed.
The bloated, decomposing body of a noblewoman lay atop her ceremonial bier. Her satin dress, once pale lavender and pristine, was now stained with the fluids of decay. Her hair had begun to fall from her skull as her scalp detached, her eyes sunken in and rotten. Lips once colored with ruby-red pigment were now gray and withered. A hand, purple where the blood had coagulated under her skin, hung limply off the side. The stench was overpowering.
He collapsed to the floor, unconsciousness pulling him under before the flames disappeared from his fingers.
Floating in limbo, Mensu saw ghostly mist envelop him from all sides. The air was cold around him, chilling him to the bone. After a moment, he found himself back on the floor. Curled into a ball, he trembled as nausea overtook him. He lay there for several minutes until the quaking subsided and the sick feeling left him. Finally forcing himself to stand, he shook the fog from his head and let his eyes rest once more on the noblewoman before him.
The corpse began to twitch, a rotten hand reaching up into the emptiness above her. A garbled moan bubbled from her lips. After a moment of convulsions, the woman slid off her bier, her putrid, ballooning legs squishing with each step she took toward him. Eyes devoid of life, she stared at him longingly, her arms outstretched, her crooked fingers beckoning to him. Mensu tried to run, but found his feet were somehow frozen to the floor. Wave after wave of terror washed over him, his lungs unable to produce any semblance of a scream. Hot tears streamed
down his face. He screwed his eyes shut, only to find he could still see the horrible abomination through closed lids.
The dead woman lunged forward, wrapping her gangrenous arms around his body. Mensu desperately tried to escape her clutches, but her grip was inhuman. She ran her withered fingers through his hair, a fingernail catching within his locks and breaking off with a sickening pop. He felt her lips against his cheek, could smell the rotten breath wafting from her gaping, aggressive mouth. She kissed his face, pulling him close like a mother would her child. A strip of putrid flesh sloughed from her chin and stuck to his skin.
Her touch sent jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, made goose bumps appear on his skin. Every time he tried to pull away, she just hugged him tighter, her disgusting hands digging into his back. She kept kissing his face, coagulated blood adhering to his flesh. He begged her to let go, but was met with malicious laughter. Her phantasmal voice echoed off the walls.
He knew he needed to get away, or he risked being dragged into the underworld with the hideous woman. Mensu pushed back with all his might, clawed at the tattered sleeves of her dress until he scratched through to rotten flesh. Nothing he could do caused her strength to wane.
“Mensu!”
He shrieked at the sound of his name, horrified that the dead woman knew who he was. Banging on her bloated chest, he flailed wildly in one last attempt to get away.
“Mensu, stop!”
His eyes snapped open and he saw his mother, panicked tears running down her face. Her eyes were wide with concern for her only child. Soft hands replaced that of the corpse-woman, strong-yet-gentle arms lovingly held him close. He fought to get away, scrambling from his mother’s embrace in confusion.
Lying on the cold stone floor of the crypt, feeling his mother’s soothing hand rub circles on the small of his back, all emotion left him. His thoughts, once filled with magical fantasies and hopes of being left alone by his bullies—were now inhabited by flashes of death, power, and rebirth. Malice. Decay. Ecstasy.
The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny Page 20
