The sound of rushing water from an underground river was barely audible from deep in the chasm below. Magical torches resembling the magelights found in Nexus lined the bridge at regular intervals, illuminating it with a warm glow while enhancing the blackness of the chasm’s void.
The group had marched the entire day since having captured Waresh. After Endira had planted her suggestion in the dwarf’s mind, he seemed much calmer and more lucid, enough to no longer make Idrimel nervous that he would go berserk at the first hint of trouble. They had released his bindings after the elf declared him safe although they had confiscated his axe. It was currently wrapped in a cloak and strapped to Yosrick’s pack. Waresh hadn’t protested the arrangement, but she couldn’t help notice the frequent glances he stole at his axe.
It’s an obsession for him, much like one of those wretched civet addicts.
“Is this the place?” Idrimel asked. Despite the temple’s foreboding appearance, she could detect no ill aura emanating from the place.
“Aye, I assume so.” Yosrick started across the bridge, boots clumping loudly, while peering toward the gloomy temple. “The light spoils my vision—we’ll have to make our way across in order to take a better look about.”
Then it may be too late to turn back, Idrimel thought nervously. Her hand stole to the comfort of her holy symbol upon her breast.
The four of them traversed the narrow span. Despite its fragile appearance, the bridge was quite sturdy.
“We are being watched,” Endira said suddenly as soon as they set foot on solid ground at the far side. “They are aware of our presence.”
“So we are, Lady Elf.” A figure shrouded in a voluminous cloak materialized from a small doorway in the temple. “Much that occurs here in the Deep Roads is witnessed by the Order of Peraphrax. I know that few remain of those that originally set out on the journey here.” The voice was raspy as if from disuse and issued seemingly from a void. Nothing of the speaker’s features were visible.
“Aye, the road was a dangerous one, but we’ve arrived at the right place,” Yosrick proclaimed.
“Is that so? And what would an intriguing group such as yourselves wish from our humble order?” The cowl shifted as the figure’s gaze swept over each of them in turn.
“We would ask that you allow us to access the crossroads,” Idrimel said. “Nexus of the Planes is on the verge of falling, and we seek to prevent that.”
“Although tales are still occasionally told of the crossroads, as you call it, we no longer receive many travelers since Nexus of the Planes was constructed many millennia ago. Where is it you would go, blessed one?” The voice held no surprise at her announcement, only mild curiosity. She could feel the unseen eyes boring into her.
“Our destination is the Gray Lands,” Endira said. “We search for a friend who went missing there.”
“The Gray Lands? Old Valirial is a destination not requested of us for quite a long time.” Surprise was evident in the figure’s voice. “I’m sure there is a fascinating tale to be shared. Please, step inside our humble sanctuary.” A hand appeared from the voluminous cloak, extremely pale and thin, and gestured them to enter. “Come, come. I am called the Keeper of the Keys. You shall be my guests for some refreshment first. Then I would be interested in hearing your tale afore we discuss the crossroads.”
The Keeper turned and entered, again waving them forward. Idrimel took a deep breath and followed along with the others.
The temple turned out to be a mere façade carved into the stone wall of the vast cavern. They found themselves in a much smaller cave mouth, which could be blocked off by a rusted iron gate. Beyond the gate, faded frescoes decorated the walls of the cave. Cowled figures of what looked to be monks were depicted worshipping, inscribing in and reading tomes, and going about their daily lives.
“I must admit, I’m not at all familiar with your order,” Yosrick said. “I had read of the crossroads before but found practically no information on the Order of Peraphrax. What is it you do here?”
“We tend to Peraphrax, the Transitory God, of course. Or what you would term the crossroads. We also keep the Yuez’hite archives, recovered from the Illuminated Library before the Eternal Hoarfrost made the surface world uninhabitable. We transported as much of the archives as we were able and stored it here for safekeeping.” Pride filled the Keeper’s voice, particularly as he spoke of the archives.
They arrived in a larger cavern smelling of moist earth and plants. A garden of various fungi and tubers stretched off to their right. Water dripped from the ceiling and was collected in buckets for irrigation. More of the magical lamps lit the path through the gardens. They followed the keeper past the gardens and entered a room with several stone tables and chairs built from a type of dried, stringy wood that Idrimel realized were cleverly crafted roots.
The Keeper spoke quietly to another cowled figure, who bowed respectfully and disappeared. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he said.
Idrimel was thankful to have the chance to sit and rest after the long day’s travel. The companions took their seats, looking around curiously. A large hearth had stained the wall and ceiling black with soot at one time but now sat cold and unused.
Two other monks returned with plates, cups, a platter of food, and a flask filled with liquid. They efficiently served the group plates of mushrooms, potatoes, and tubers drizzled with a vinegar sauce and small black loaves of bread. Each cup was filled with a small amount of sharp-smelling spirits.
When the monks departed, the Keeper raised his cup. “Eat and drink, friends. All I ask in exchange is to hear your tale. Long has it been since the last group of travelers shared our table.” He didn’t take any food but drank a sip of the alcohol. He lowered his cowl partially, revealing an ill appearance. His thin, skeletal face had translucent skin and eyes tinted yellow. The pale blue of veins was visible beneath his skin, and the top of his pate was bald, with wispy white hair around the sides of his head. His yellow eyes held a hunger for knowledge.
Idrimel must have started in reaction to his appearance, for the Keeper of the Keys’ eyes held hers, and he suddenly wheezed, a sound she realized was laughter.
“There are dark places in the multiverse where not even the light of your god can penetrate, priestess,” he said. “Not all grow to be fair and beautiful in the light such as thyself.”
“I… I’m sorry…” she stammered.
The Keeper waved her apology away. “Many find our appearances disturbing. It is no matter.”
Thoroughly embarrassed, Idrimel fumbled for her cup. She took too large of a sip and coughed as the strong alcohol burned going down her throat. Heat rushed to her cheeks within moments, and she quickly set the glass back down.
Waresh laughed at her discomfort and knocked a slug back without blinking. “Easy there, Princess. Hmm… not bad.” He grunted before popping a chunk of potato in his mouth. The others were careful to take very small sips.
Idrimel ate a large mushroom and found it pleasantly tangy when drizzled in the sauce. The rest of the meal, though simple, was satisfyingly hearty.
Although unnerved by the Keeper’s manner and appearance, she sensed no malice from the creature. Sensing his impatience, she began their tale. With Endira and Yosrick chiming in, they told him much of what had occurred, leaving out some specifics with regard to their quest. Waresh remained silent, scarfing down his food and drink as if he had gone for days without. A monk appeared and refilled his drink, which he was happy to receive. The others declined.
When the meal and tale were finished, the Keeper regarded them thoughtfully for a time, elbows on the table and hands clasped before him, his drink seemingly forgotten.
“That is quite a fascinating tale, indeed. I am intrigued as to which powers pull the strings of their agents. I sense Shaol’s hand in this, as well as his benevolent brother,” he said with a nod to Idrimel. “It would appear the stage was set long ago, and only now is the drama in full swing. W
hether it ends up a tragedy has yet to be seen. A group of heroes stands before the certain doom of the multiverse, and here they are at my doorstep, seeking aid.” His thin lips twisted in what Idrimel thought a gruesome smile.
“Indeed, if you will allow us access to your crossroads, we shall be on our way and take up no more of your time,” she said.
The Keeper turned his eerie gaze back on her. “I have nothing but time, blessed one. It is no imposition but a boon to hear of the machinations in Nexus. Fear not, I shall not prevent you from traveling to Old Valirial if that is your wish. I imagine the crossroads is not what you imagine, however.” The smile formed on his face again. “In fact, I shall take you there at once if you so desire.”
The companions nodded their agreement and rose to follow the Keeper. They passed deeper into the temple complex, down a long straight passageway. Idrimel coughed from the dry, dusty air.
“The archives are kept dry out of necessity to prevent mold and rot from setting in,” the Keeper explained as they continued deeper down the tunnel. “My order spends much of our time there, studying and cataloging the wondrous knowledge, that it won’t be forever lost.”
They approached a large archway on the left. A magical force thrummed over the entrance, providing a faint amber illumination. On the other side was a large cavern with shelves constructed more than thrice Idrimel’s height and filled with scrolls and tomes. Monks were seated at tables stacked high with volumes. Many were hunched over, intent on reading and inscribing on parchments.
“Just imagine what knowledge lies within,” Yosrick muttered quietly, eyes wide in appreciation.
The Keeper regarded the gnome. “Wisdom of the ancients, as well as their follies, my friend.”
“Would that I had the time to learn some of it.” His face was wistful. “If outsiders are allowed to study,” he added hurriedly.
“Of course. We believe knowledge is not to be hoarded. Perhaps you will visit us again on your next trip.”
“I would like that very much.” Yosrick’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Although… I think it wouldn’t be for some while as I’d like to spend time home with Qixi and the younguns, to watch them grow up.”
Idrimel glanced at the gnome in surprise, previously unaware that he had a family. She was somewhat ashamed to realize she’d never spoken to him of his personal life, as focused as she’d been on her quest and then on her own grief over Athyzon’s death. I’ll do what I can to see you make it home again once this is through, my friend.
They followed the Keeper for what felt like nearly a mile down a straight, flat tunnel. A large arched opening ahead revealed a huge cavern.
“Behold, herein lies Peraphrax,” the Keeper proclaimed, bidding them enter with a sweeping gesture.
At first, Idrimel couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. “What manner of deviltry is this?” She gaped at the wall of pulsating flesh before them. Endira looked just as shocked by the sight while Yosrick and Waresh both uttered startled curses.
Even though the Keeper had pulled his hood back up, Idrimel got the impression he was deeply amused at their reactions.
She exchanged glances with Endira. “I suppose we’ve come too far to turn away now,” the elf said, composing herself more easily than the rest.
The Keeper waved them forward again, the sleeve of his robe slipping down to reveal a sticklike forearm. The darker shapes of veins and sinew shifted inside his skeletal limb. He drew forth from somewhere in his cloak an enormous ring of keys that rattled loudly from the movement.
“That ugly heap of flesh is the crossroads?” Waresh asked dubiously.
“Hold your tongue. It is best not to insult our host,” Idrimel scolded although she was as shocked as any of them.
The creature took up the entire vaulted room, which was as large as a castle’s great hall. It was an amorphous blob of flesh, mottled in colors ranging from a sickly yellow to pink to maggot white. It quivered and shook subtly, emanating a grumbling sound that Idrimel thought of as some great intestinal discomfort. Dark spots covered the creature’s hide at regular intervals. Fluids leaked from the fleshy beast, leaving slimy pools of reeking ichor.
“Smells like a sack o’ troll arseholes in here,” Waresh grumbled, in an undertone this time.
Idrimel didn’t disagree. She fought down her gorge and asked the Keeper, “What manner of beast is this? Is this the object of your order’s worship?”
The Keeper wheezed in laughter. “The Order of Peraphrax offers supplication to the Transitory God, Peraphrax. Have you not learned of him in your studies, priestess?” The Keeper regarded them with amusement. His yellow eyes gleamed in the depths of his hood, and Idrimel could just make out his translucent nose and chin.
She shook her head. “No, Master Keeper, I can’t say I’ve had the honor.”
The Keeper made a sound that could have been a scoff. “Not many have, for the bards and historians are oft short of memory. Many millennia ago, before the ascension of the current gods, existed the old gods, their methods crude and brutal. They sought not the worship of mortals, for they were powers more ancient than any mortal, so they needed them not and cared for them little. One clever adventurer, a mortal by the name Peraphrax, sought out the hall of the old god Syestu, for he heard telling of a rod the god possessed, which could unlock any place in the multiverse, much like your Nexus of the Planes in later times. Peraphrax was perhaps a bit too clever for his own good, for he succeeded in stealing the rod, but he hadn’t a clue how the device worked. The rod was covered in keyholes, but there were no keys provided, for Syestu himself carried the keys upon his person at all times, as Peraphrax would later discover. Syestu, of course, was less than pleased once he discovered the theft. He pursued Peraphrax through his halls and across the land. The thief fell into an eldritch bog that clung to his boots and clothing, threatening to pull him beneath its muddy surface until he drowned. The wily Peraphrax slipped out of his boots and clothes to escape with his life and the Keyhole Rod. With rod in hand, although naked as a babe, he had nowhere left to hide as Syestu approached. The thief thought to hide the rod in the only place he could think of…” The Keeper left off with an amused sneer.
Idrimel blinked as she wondered at the Keeper’s hint.
“So he shoved it up his arse, you mean?” Yosrick barked laughter.
“Indeed.” The Keeper wheezed, amused at their reactions. “Syestu happened upon Peraphrax in the middle of the violation of his Keyhole Rod and was less than pleased. As a result, he cursed Peraphrax to all eternity, the curse transforming him into what you see in front of you.” He gestured dramatically.
“Hah!” Waresh laughed and slapped his thighs. “There’s a moral to that story somewhere, I reckon.”
Idrimel was less amused—repulsed instead. “So this was once a man?”
The heaving fleshy mass before them rumbled loudly as if it had indigestion deep inside, followed by the emission of a gaseous stench.
“Peraphrax doesn’t appreciate being reminded of his once-mortal roots, it appears,” Yosrick observed. “And are those the keys once carried by the old god Syestu?”
“So our lore tells us, the knowledge passed down from one Keeper to the next.” The Keeper studied the creature for a moment before turning back to them. “I’m afraid it is best that you make haste. Peraphrax stirs.” He studied the massive keychain, thumbing through scores of them and mumbling to himself until he finally selected a suitable one. “Follow me.”
As they approached, Idrimel was startled to discover the dark patches seen from a distance were all ornate metal plates with keyholes, embedded in the flesh of the onetime thief.
The Keeper strode alongside the creature, splashing unperturbed through the stinking puddles of fluid until he reached a spot where a ridge of flesh extended outward. He stepped onto it and followed it upward as surefootedly as a mountain goat before reaching a keyhole five paces or so up. “Come now, don’t tarry,” he said.
&nb
sp; Idrimel looked at the twitching mass of flesh with a grimace. Up close, she could see large boils covering the pale flesh, which leaked pus. Next to the nearest keyhole, she noted what looked like a closed orifice.
Yosrick glanced back at Idrimel and shrugged before climbing onto the monstrosity. Endira gingerly followed, then Waresh, and Idrimel came last. The mound of flesh was spongy beneath her feet but relatively stable once she got used to it. After a minute, she reached the others.
“This leads to your destination.” The Keeper inserted the key into the keyhole. He twisted it, and it clanked as if some great tumblers unlocked within. The orifice opened before them, smelling as foul as it appeared.
Idrimel turned and retched. Her vomit spattered the fleshy side of the creature. She nearly lost her balance, but Waresh grasped her arm to steady her. She looked back to find the Keeper leering at her.
“As I said before, there are dark places in the multiverse that the light doesn’t reach, priestess. Once you’ve experienced some of them for yourself, you can see there are those that have been forgotten by the new gods, can’t you?”
Idrimel fought down her gorge and faced the Keeper, chastened. “A valuable lesson I shall take to heart and share with others, that they may learn from my own shortsightedness. Fear not, the Order of Peraphrax will not go forgotten.”
“If you are successful in saving your Nexus, then perhaps it should be forgotten. Time moves on and passes us by.”
She couldn’t tell if the Keeper wanted his tale to be told or not, but she detected some bitterness in his comment. “Through there lies the Gray Lands?”
“As requested.” The Keeper bowed mockingly.
The group studied the dark, stinking opening for a moment. It didn’t appear to function as a traditional portal—missing was the icy chill of the void. Only a warm stench wafted from the opening.
Doors of the Dark Page 25
