by Chris Fox
The Marid turned to us. “Who among you is leader?”
“I am,” I answered clearly, and stepped forward.
“Lead your people into that igloo.” She nodded at the one she’d emerged from. “Make yourselves comfortable. We will give you time to freshen yourselves, and then you will dine with us. I would hear what has brought you to Hotep.”
“And I would hear a reason you should continue to draw breath,” Ursus rumbled. The bear casually aimed his rifle in my direction, though he didn’t fire. “You have attacked us without provocation, then followed us back to our village. Saho cannot protect you from the law, and I will have my fill of flesh before the day is done.”
The bear stalked back into the tent where the firelight and laughter had come from, and the others followed. I forced a calming breath, and then walked into the igloo. I doubted I’d walk about ever again—not under my own power at least.
14
The interior of the igloo was surprisingly both well lit and warm. The walls glistened wetly, but when I removed my helmet my breath didn’t even mist. All around me my companions set down their gear, minus our weapons which had been stacked outside the igloo.
Giving up Dez hadn’t sat well, but when the alternative was being mauled by already hostile bears I was willing to bend a little. Saho was the only thing keeping us alive, as far as I could tell, though I didn’t know which of us were really safe after Siwit.
Behind me Rava noisily emptied the contents of her stomach against the far wall. That triggered my gag reflex, but I kept it down. I couldn’t blame her.
“Why did they kill him like that?” Miri asked in a quiet voice. Her eyes had gone glassy, and were light years away. “And are they going to do the same to us? I’m not sure turning over our weapons was the best play. If they come for us what are we going to do to stop them?”
“Same as before,” Briff supplied. He moved to wrap an arm around Rava, and stroked her back as she rocked on her knees. “We die. If they want us dead there’s nothing we can do. There was only one play, and Jerek made it.”
I appreciated his support more than I could ever express. “The question is what comes now. We can’t answer that until Saho shows up. Seket, can you station yourself by the door and let us know if anyone is coming?”
The paladin nodded, and moved to stand at attention, facing the igloo’s entryway. “If anyone approaches I’ll hail them.”
I joined Miri, and guided her over to Briff and Rava. Nothing we’d encountered on the trade moon had impacted her like Ursus’s casual brutality. “They’re going to ask us why we came. We tell them the complete truth. No secrets. That’s our only hope. We didn’t choose to be here, and I have to hope they’ll be reasonable. If not—”
Water bubbled up from the ice in the center of the room, more and more of it, and began assembling itself into a woman. Into Saho. Stunning turquoise locks framed her azure skin, and she wore gossamer clothing that looked like it had been spun out of something from the air Catalyst. I hoped it wasn’t silk. I never wanted to see another spider.
“It is good that you chose not to lie to me.” Saho sank to her knees atop one of the many cushions scattered throughout the room. “I have ordered Ursus to prepare dinner and he should be along presently. Be on your best behavior, and before he arrives, tell me in your own words why you are here.”
I sank down onto a cushion opposite Saho, and gave a sigh as I realized just how badly I’d needed to sit down. Adrenaline had masked my sorry state, but that was gone now. “We were attempting to gain entry to the city of the gods. Sanctuary, the golden one not far from here. The necromancers issued a challenge, and I passed it. They attacked us anyway, and we fled into the storm, and crashed here. That’s the whole story.”
“Clearly not.” Saho raised an eyebrow, and irritation flitted across her features. “Ursus killed the necromancer with you before I could learn his purpose. I’d have it from you. Why did you travel with a soulshackler?”
“Against my will,” I assured her, and meant it. “They’ve got my father’s shade, and demanded I find a way into the city. Siwit was our handler. He seemed pleasant enough, and was honorable. It was wrong what you did.”
“I didn’t do it.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’d mind that tone. Do not mistake your position here simply because I have maintained civility. You are prisoners. If you seek escape, Ursus will hunt and kill you. He’s likely to allow you a lead, too, so he can make a game of it. Do not let him. You will not enjoy that game, I assure you.”
I wanted to plead our case, but Seket cleared his throat and called out. “Greetings, my furry companion. Is stabbing out the eyes of a prisoner a common greeting? Would you like me to do it to you?”
The paladin bristled, and golden light exploded from his armor. Only then did I realize that Seket’s silence had been masking a problem. Of course he wasn’t handling the death of a companion well. I’d assumed he’d be the most inured to death, but how much did I really know about him? He had said he was a paladin trainee, or something.
“Seket!” I roared. “Stand down, or you’re risking lives.”
The paladin’s aura flickered, and his shoulders slumped, though the defiance never left his gaze. “We can discuss this later, bear.”
“Be assured, we will,” Ursus grumbled as he sank onto the cushion next to Saho. “And then I will lap up your blood, Inuran.”
Seket sank down on the cushion next to Ursus, his body language as aggressive as I’d ever seen. This was going to be a fun dinner. How did I keep us alive long enough to find a way out? Things were spiraling out of control and I had no idea how to fix it.
“Have you prepared dinner, Ursus?” Saho raised a delicate eyebrow. “You are host, are you not?”
“It’s coming,” he snapped, then licked his chops. “We downed a great elk. Venison for all, hot and salty.”
Scraping sounded in the entryway, and a pair of bears dragged the unskinned corpse of the largest elk I’d ever seen, more of a moose really. The pair set to with a pair of wicked chopping knives, and began handing out hunks of still steaming flesh to everyone around them.
When it came to me I surprised myself and took a large hunk. I’d been exerting myself all day, and raw meat wasn’t that different from raw fish, right? People paid outlandish prices for fish, but couldn’t spare fuel costs to cook it?
Gourmet elk, I told myself as I ripped off a hunt and chewed. It wasn’t bad, though I considered conjuring some flame to help it along. I didn’t think my hosts would like that, though, so I dined in silence.
Only Briff seemed to genuinely enjoy the meal, and moved to sit next to the elk. Long after everyone stopped accepting hunks Briff kept asking for more. I’d never seen him that ravenous, and Briff’s default setting was hungry. Was he getting ready for a molting? Could it really be coming?
That could be really awful timing, but when it happened I’d have to adjust accordingly.
“I have heard the why of their visit, Ursus.” Saho nibbled on a slice of venison as she eyed her neighbor sidelong. “The only piece that does not sit well is their necromancer companion. They claim that he was forced on them, and that they were shot down by the unseen.”
“That’s consistent with the battle damage,” the bear managed around a mouthful of meat. “They fought necromancers, though the storm did as much or more. Good flying, or it’d have been worse.”
Seket grunted at that. He’d been chewing his meat silently, but looked up at the bear, then went back to his meal thoughtfully.
“Saho,” I ventured, figuring I had nothing to lose. “Is there a way inside the holy city? Am I permitted to ask about it? Apologies if that’s offensive. I don’t know anything about your religion.”
“It is not offensive to ask.” She fished a napkin from her pouch and carefully cleaned her hands. I noted that water bubbled up from her palms, making the process easy. “I do not know a way inside. Hotep did. Our benevolent father. It is possible
that if you commune with his dreaming mind he might answer your questions, but I doubt it. The asking will almost certainly kill you, and I would advise you to turn away.”
I considered that advice. If I went I might die. If I stayed, what were our options?
“Will you help us repair our ship?” If they would, then I would cheerfully turn around without going to the Catalyst, because that meant saving the lives of my crew. My father’s shade wasn’t worth that. Nothing was.
“We lack the means.” Saho gave an irritated scrunching of her nose, as if about to sneeze. She collected herself before speaking again. “Our technology is all castoffs, or occasionally purchased from the Djinn.”
“Then I need to speak to your god. Will you let me try?” I took another mouthful of meat, and chewed mechanically. What would this Catalyst be like? Some were lethal. Even were this one not, it would likely change me forever.
“I will.” Saho gave a slight nod. “You have come here through no fault of your own. I sense no deception in you. That you traveled with the necromancers is bad, but you have given cause and I believe you. As for the others…Miri has come for love. Seket for honor, and duty. Briff for all three, but mostly love. All pure. If any of you wish to approach the Catalyst I will allow it. The journey is not easy, as you are not permitted to use the transports save in times of great need. The journey should be symbolic.”
“You mean we have to walk.” I hated walking almost as much as I hated climbing, which I hated almost as much as snow. Yay.
Interlude VII
Siwit returned to existence even as his body slumped to the ground. For a necromancer the transition was instant, and the loss of his actual body no more an inconvenience than changing a mud-spattered suit.
A ghostly, less turbulent version of the world stretched out around him. It mirrored creation, but everything was less. Color. Sound. Emotions. This place drained them all, and the deeper you went the faster that drain occurred.
Had Siwit been ready to transition, he’d simply have walked out into the storm and thought of oblivion. It would find him soon enough.
Yet Siwit didn’t crave oblivion. He had an obligation to stop Necrotis, and to protect his people. This Jerek and his companions had proven resourceful, and what’s more they’d proven honorable. If anything it had been his own people who’d shown a lack of honor.
He watched as they were herded by their captors into one of the igloos. There wasn’t anything Siwit could do. These people had wards and shamans. This was not a place for a spirit to linger.
On the horizon, where the blade met Hotep’s chest, lay a pool of primal spirit. A massive, powerful breach in reality where raw turbulent forces congealed around the wound. Not a Catalyst in the traditional sense, as it was linked to no god, but the magic was so powerful that one could Catalyze anyway.
Siwit could possess greater spirit magic. Or, if that Catalyst possessed some truly magnificent ability, then perhaps he could gain that. Either way it was simply too great an opportunity to pass up. Hopefully he could return here before Jerek’s fate was decided, and ideally with enough power to help them escape.
He trudged into the storm, grateful that the weight of his physical body had been removed. Now it was willpower that drove each step, and that he possessed in abundance. Winds swirled out of his path, and he strode boldly up the path toward the Catalyst.
The pain of Hotep’s death screamed out all around him, bits of the god’s mind and soul slowly slipping into the spirit realm…for all eternity. The process would never complete, no matter how much of the god it stole. Such was the way of magic.
As he approached he noticed a crowd of souls clustered around the magic. Those in the back pushed those ahead of them closer, all pressing toward that wonder glow. All for the same reason. If you could claim that power, then you could exist again. You’d be transformed. Empowered.
What spectral form you wore would be determined by training and strength of will. As Siwit had prepared his entire life for this moment he had high hopes, though not the confidence to back them.
Spirit after spirit merged with the light, and Siwit realized the terrible truth. Most didn’t emerge. Most became the light. The power of the magic, the power sustaining it, came from every death in this system. Instead of flowing into the spirit realm, they clogged here, seeking to regain the existence they’d just lost.
Would he be strong enough to succeed where most failed? Almost he hesitated. Almost his steps turned toward the deep storm. To see the Cycle turn…it could be glorious, and then he would live again as something new. Perhaps many somethings. Was that such a bad fate?
Perhaps not, but it was certainly a passive one. Siwit was not passive. He acted. He helped his people, as all good necromancers should. The ancestors protected and shielded them, and the necromancers worked with them, as it should be.
Siwit plunged forward and shoved weak-willed spirits aside as he made for the hollow white glow. He would not be claimed by this power. Could not be. Instead, he would wrest a chunk of it for himself, and use that metamorphosis to become something capable of helping his charges, and then his people.
Siwit charged into the light, and pulled it to him. A thousand million screams awaited him, endless tormented souls trapped by their own greed, their own lust for existence. Siwit fought them off, his will an iron bubble around him as he focused on the magic. So much magic.
He sucked the closest soul into his bubble, and devoured it. Then the next. And the next. Siwit grew in strength, and continued to feed—for how long he did not know. When he returned to conscious control, his entire spectral body was suffused with enormous power. Enough power.
Siwit studied the Catalyst around him, and forced himself to stop drawing magic. He studied the titanic blade along which the magic had congealed, and followed it upward, back into the realm of the living. He simply walked through the tear, and back into reality.
The very air assaulted him. Reality tore at him, existence reminding him that he didn’t belong here, and that if he did not leave only oblivion awaited. The drain upon his essence was slow, but steady. Eventually all the energy he’d just taken would be used up. The way to stop it was simple. He needed a body.
Siwit would simply find a Djinn or Marid seeking the Catalyst, and then eject its soul so that he could insert his own. Already exposure to this realm had lessened his form, though, so he knew that he needed to be swift.
He thought as prey thinks. If he were a Djinn he would approach along the blade. If he were a Marid he’d approach along Hotep’s rotting form. As he didn’t want to encounter any shamans that meant finding Djinn. Siwit drifted upward along the blade, conscious of the fact that since he’d emerged onto this plane he was all too visible to everyone around him. The glow made him far from stealthy, even with the storm raging around him.
Were there any consolation, it lay in the presence of thousands of other spectral forms around him. Countless angers and spites and ghosts and wights and worse prowled the storm here, all searching for the same thing Siwit did.
Elation soared when he spotted a quartet of Djinn warriors running down the blade, toward the Catalyst. Already spirits converged around them, mostly wights, and the occasional weaker ghost. Siwit glanced down at himself, and realized to his delight, that he’d absorbed enough energy to become a full wraith, the more powerful version of a wight.
A wight killed the living. A wraith took all they were and made it their own.
Siwit drifted at the edge of the cloud of ghosts, and waited to make his move. As expected those spirits who attacked were quickly cut down by lightning, and no matter how many approached, the Djinn always seemed to possess more spells.
He knew that to be an illusion, however. They were tiring, and their weaker members would soon be without magic. He scanned the quartet, and his ghostly face cracked into a smile when he saw a young man of no more than two decades, with lightning hair, and electric eyes. He possessed great power, but was fla
gging, and his spellblade drooped at his side as he trailed in the wake of the other three.
Siwit positioned himself carefully in his path, directly behind a trio of wights all lunging for him. As expected the Djinn’s blade came up, and he managed enough spells to deal with all three opponents. Yet it was a near thing. Siwit lunged before he could gather herself, and sliced through the boy’s mental defenses. His spectral body disappeared inside the Djinn’s corporeal form, and when Siwit’s eyes fluttered open it was from the perspective of the Djinn.
Had it been that simple? Pushing aside another mind had been…easy.
He’d done it. He’d seized a body. The host consciousness flitted about like a trapped moth, unable to escape but damaging itself in its frantic struggle. Still yourself. I will release you in time, and have no wish to keep this body forever. I need to make it back to my people, and into a prepared host body. If you take me there I will release you. Do not fight me, or you will only take injury.
The host consciousness stilled, a bit at least. He couldn’t blame the boy for being terrified, but he was a man of his word. He’d release the Djinn, just as soon as Siwit found a way back to the ship, off this frigid corpse, and back to his people.
He let the trio of Djinn charge into the Catalyst, and then turned and ran back into the storm, toward the Remora.
15
The next morning I stared longingly at the swirling ball of primal water that danced above the magical circle. Tiny water sigils swirled through the liquid, proof of an enchantment too complex for my limited intellect. I was positive it could carry me anywhere I wished to go, and that Saho could have just whisked us to our destination.
Instead, she required us to gather our gear, and climb toward the Catalyst. The storm had been raging all night, and lost none of its ferocity when the thin sunrise made its presence known. By that point my people were ready to go.
