Astalla faced two pressing matters; she had to reach out to the Elder Cleric in the city of Eternitas. Next, she would explain the murders to her local followers.
With no time to waste, she made Eternitas her first priority. She could sense weakness festering and she gathered energy to project her thoughts. She didn’t feel strong enough to maintain a mental link like she had with Arxu. She focused to convey her thoughts to the Elder Cleric in Eternitas. There would be a delay before it reached him and her efforts would weaken her. But there was no question that she had to warn them.
* * *
“The Nightwalker is down there,” the guard uttered. He cast Arxu a wary look. “Make it quick. The prisoner is to be executed soon.” The prisons of Gaelithea were just as Arxu suspected: claustrophobic, dank, and thirty feet underground. Fortunately, he was on the other side of the prison bars, a barrier that separated hope from despair.
Criminals in Gaelithea was regarded as subhuman, stripped of their rights and demoted to worthless organisms. Nishka wouldn’t be thrilled to learn that Arxu had come here, but he felt he had no choice.
He pulled back the hood concealing his face. He scanned the cells to his left, letting his gaze fall on a figure in the corner. Arxu didn’t say anything at first, studying the lone creature. The same unnatural, blue hair marked the prisoner as an exile. He refused to raise his head, engrossed in thought. Surely, he was contemplating the last moments of his life; his accomplishments, his secret fears, the friends he cherished, his last sweet sip of wine. Arxu’s presence was insignificant to him.
“I’m not a guard,” Arxu said. The prisoner’s head jerked up and he considered the visitor. His eyes fixed on Arxu in complete rapture.
“Who are you?” was all he managed to whisper.
“We share a common bond,” Arxu replied. The captive squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of his visitor in the dark. Arxu rolled up his sleeves, revealing the indigo marks that tentacled across his skin. Even in the cold depths of the prisons, the marks glowed with the surreal intensity of moonlight. He watched the prisoner’s eyes roam from his pale arms to his blue hair.
“I didn’t know there were any Nightwalkers left.”
“Some would say I’m a Nightwalker no longer. Only an exile,” Arxu admitted. The prisoner, a man by the name of Lucretio, grinned.
“I could certainly use a friend now. I’m surprised to see a Nightwalker roaming free in Gaelithea. We are not well-received in society, friend. I encourage you to leave this garrison state as soon as possible.”
“I’m afraid I can’t until I find the answers I seek.”
“Are those answers in these cells of torment?”
“I felt compelled to come here,” Arxu confided. “Word reached me that the guards were holding a Nightwalker in the prisons. I must speak with you.”
“You are the first Nightwalker I’ve encountered in ten years. I’m afraid you and I are the last of our order,” Lucretio lamented. “I managed to smuggle some components into the prison before I was apprehended. I won’t need them for much longer, but perhaps they will serve you well.” He dug in the corner of his cell and produced a finely cut rose quartz. He offered the precious stone to Arxu and he murmured his thanks. “Tell me, what have you done to share the same status as me?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot remember.” Lucretio’s eyes narrowed as they settled on the pendant around his neck, cradling the polished jet. He seemed to understand the source of Arxu’s amnesia.
“That is forbidden magick,” he uttered. “Very few have experimented with death without dire consequence. Even the most knowledgeable among us refuse to interfere with death.” His eyes widened. “…Are you the one called Arxu?”
“Yes.” The temperature plunged several degrees as though winter stirred in the dungeons. Lucretio studied him for a moment, his features growing colder, fear clouding his pupils.
“You are the reason the Nightwalkers are extinct!” he screamed. “You should be in this prison awaiting your execution! Not me!” Arxu was so taken back by the accusation that he stumbled away.
“I cannot remember anything,” he said as a dull pain began to grow in his temples.
“Everyone you loved died because of you!” Lucretio spat with feral intensity, squeezing the prison bars until his jutting knuckles glowed white. Had the bars not separated them, he looked like he would sink his teeth into Arxu’s neck. “Your actions annihilated an entire population!”
“How?” Arxu demanded. “How did I—what have I done to be branded a traitor?” The prisoner’s hands uncoiled from the bars.
“Perhaps that is the cruelest punishment that can be afforded to you. You cannot remember anything… You cannot remember losing your mother.”
“How did I lose her?” The words spilled out of Arxu’s mouth in white hot anger.
“You don’t deserve to know. Her life was more precious to me than you could possibly fathom.” Arxu could feel a familiar rage flowing within him like caustic venom. Lucretio scowled with disdain. “You hurt her more than anyone in the world ever could. I was there as she spoke her last words and begged for mercy.”
The prisoner floundered back from the blow that followed. He massaged his tender lips, thankful he could not feel blood.
“You haven’t changed,” Lucretio condescended. “Your anger will kill you one day—and possibly everyone around you.” Arxu didn’t surrender his glare. “I knew your mother. No one would openly say it, but we could see the resemblance between you two. You didn’t even know your own mother until it was too late.”
“What’s going on down there?” a guard called.
“The city watch has been exterminating mages and performing autopsies on them,” Lucretio hissed. “They seek to discover where magick originates from, tracing its biological origins. Soon they will perform an autopsy on me.”
“What is your crime?” Arxu demanded.
“You don’t understand, do you? My existence is my crime.” Arxu could hear the guard rattling down the stairs, coming to dismiss him.
“You have felt discrimination in Gaelithea, haven’t you?” Lucretio said. “Mages aren’t safe in this city. The commoners won’t protect you. They fear you.”
“Do you expect me to free you?”
“Look around you, fool. Where would I run? Our kind is persecuted in every major city and hounded in villages. It’s a massacre out there; I’m tired of running.” Lucretio retreated to the dank corner of his cell. “Soon you will find yourself in a cell just like mine.”
It was unthinkable that he could have killed an entire population. Was this his crime? Mass murder? Was he no different from the killer terrorizing the temples? Arxu wanted to say something to Nishka, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice the truth. Even more heartrending, the prisoner implied that Arxu had loved ones. He wondered if he had a family or a lover. He could have children for all he knew, their innocence erased from his memory.
Chapter 21
Nishka refused to ask the guards for directions. There was no telling if she had been spotted last night as she fled the tavern. The last thing she needed was a grabby guard hauling her to the dungeons and reading her death sentence. Even if she mustered the will to ask where the markets were, she didn’t see those mysterious sentries.
She was contemplating what she needed most at the marketplace when a change overcame the citizens. Agitation swept through the crowd and they hastened forward. She had no choice but to match their pace, trying not to trip or fall. Their voices grew louder, reaching high pitches of surprise and awe. Then a devastating silence fell upon them.
A tall man clad in armor stepped into view. His face and scalp were covered in black tattoos that distinguished him from all others. A battalion of soldiers followed in his step, traversing the plaza toward the ungodly garrison. Instruments of war gleamed in their hands, especially polearms with elaborate blades. They maintained an excellent formation, marching in unison with each step, not once brea
king their order. The rhythm of war drums hypnotized the populace, holding timid men and women in place. Several commoners looked too frightened to move. Suddenly, Nishka realized why the people stopped and stared.
Child soldiers followed the battalion of men. They looked like smaller versions of adults, young boys and girls outfitted for war. It was difficult for Nishka to process what she was seeing.
A child no older than thirteen met Nishka’s helpless gaze. The girl looked at her without emotion. Nishka had seen that expression before—in Arxu’s eyes, except this child’s feelings were not stripped away by her own death. She was a shell of a girl, her fragile innocence shorn by war. And she looked at Nishka as though she saw nothing, not even a person. The child was enduring a slow decay, desperate to break free of politics, but it had been the only way to feed her family. She felt no more than a pawn in a patriarchal society obsessed with control.
But the world would continue to seat these dictators on their elite thrones, and any rebellion would only perpetuate the oppression their revolutionaries espoused to end. The girl looked away and gripped the sword dangling at her waist.
It broke Nishka’s heart to see the child relinquish all hope of escape. The girl refused to believe that she could forget what she had seen or done to others.
Nishka backed away from the plaza as she gazed at the procession. She would never make it through the streets now. Mothers and fathers continued to stare in disbelief, some of whom didn’t see their children return from the war campaign.
Nishka slipped through people frozen like statues. She wished she could forget what she had just witnessed. Of all the war crimes Gaelithea had perpetrated, robbing children of their youth and transforming them into killers was the most appalling. At once, she remembered how desperately she wanted to flee this city.
She would locate Arxu immediately and beg to leave. No atrocity could compare to Gaelithea.
She tripped over Margzor and toppled to the streets. Nishka cried out and staggered back to her feet.
“I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?” Margzor looked at her with shock. He reared up and twisted away, but the agony crippled him. He collapsed to his knees in surrender.
Nishka felt paralyzed. Margzor breathed deeply and touched the wound at his side. Blood stained his fingers. He lifted his face and looked into her eyes; blood flowed freely like crimson tears streaking down his face.
“You’re wounded!” Nishka gasped. She reached out for him but he recoiled like an animal. Margzor closed his eyes as another spasm of pain lit a fire in his chest. Nishka quickly tore at the hem of her shirt, collecting the cloth to clean his wound. After all, her shirt was already stained with ale from the tavern fight. Margzor’s eyes widened in fear as Nishka reached for him.
The cloth pressed against his cheek with soothing warmth. Margzor trembled at her touch. He was stupefied that this woman did not fear him.
He didn’t know what to say. He could only marvel at this woman who treated him with kindness. He gazed at her compassionate face, her soft features accentuated by beautiful eyes.
Margzor tried to focus on the woman, but his reality was deteriorating. He felt too weak to maintain control as if the world was stretching away. He tried to speak, to utter his thanks, to say anything before she was gone forever. Fear and tranquility washed over him. His senses died and he passed out.
Nishka watched his consciousness slip away as she set down the cloth. He breathed heavily, his chest rising in its furious endeavors to maintain life. Nishka cast one final look at the dying man sprawled in the alley, concerned for him. She needed to inform a guard about the victim. She wandered the streets, looking for one of the sentries who seemed everywhere at once except for this dejected street.
Finally, she caught sight of an armored figure standing at the crossroad. Nishka looked uncertainly at him. He wore a black helmet that shielded his face from view.
“There is a man who badly needs help,” she said, catching up to him. She gestured toward the alley in the distance. “He is severely injured. I attempted to mend his wounds but it won’t sustain him.” Nishka almost feared the guard would belligerently send her away.
“I will see what I can do,” he calmly responded. Pleasant surprise washed over Nishka. This soldier seemed less menacing than others. She smiled gratefully at the faceless guard and left.
She felt relief knowing someone would help the man in need. There was nothing more she could do for him; someone with the necessary skills would restore him. Hopefully, the man would survive.
As she walked, she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye. Nishka realized someone was following her, and she saw a familiar Nightwalker in the distance. She smoothed out the creases in her clothes almost as an afterthought as Arxu approached.
“The market hours have changed temporarily in light of the temple slaughter,” Arxu said. “Merchants are only permitted to sell their wares between the seventh hour of morning and the sixth hour of evening. Furthermore, for purposes of the ongoing investigation, civilians are forbidden from walking the streets past the ninth hour of evening.”
“What?” Nishka sputtered.
“The guards have increased the number of patrols around the perimeter of the temple. No one is speaking of the crimes for fear of arousing suspicion. I would avoid the guards if possible.”
As she listened to him speak, she found herself studying his face. His eyes reflected her mysteriously, a hue of blue amber. How natural they seemed against the paleness of his skin, no longer a disconcerting sight to her but rather familiar and comforting. Though no emotion conveyed behind his eyes, they captivated her imagination. For a moment, her gaze fell to his mouth, still moving.
“…questioning nearly everyone who…”
She could remember when he tried to kiss her, leaning in toward her lips. She couldn’t deny the initial excitement she felt, but it was also shrouded in fear. In that instant in her room, she had been thinking about Arxu’s mouth pressed hot against hers, seizing his blue hair in a burst of excitement, the same dyed hair that indicated a horrifying criminal past. Wondering what he would do to her.
It seemed silly now that she wondered what a kiss felt like. Given a second chance, she wondered if she would have let him do it, just to see what would happen.
Arxu’s lips became still. She hadn’t heard a word he said. He seemed to be waiting for a response. Nishka looked away, feeling embarrassed. She looked innocently at the streets to hide the warm blush that came over her cheeks.
“Arxu?”
“Yes?”
“Can you feel happiness?”
“No.” She paused before asking her next question.
“Can you feel desire—?”
“Hatred!” A particular darkling sauntered into view. Hrioshango was practically convulsing with rage, shaking his fists and glaring. “Hrioshango hate humans! They barter like fools! Want to kill guards! Hrioshango has not destroyed in so long!” Nishka glared at Hrioshango for the rude interruption. “What? Hrioshango is angry! Arxu, unleash your newfound anger with Hrioshango and take this city by—”
“Guards!” she yelled. Nearly seven hinged helmets turned in their direction. Nishka had never seen Hrioshango run so fast.
* * *
The guard glided down the dejected street toward the alley the woman had indicated. These rundown slums were avoided for good reason. Gods knew he didn’t want to walk in on another grisly murder.
He halted at the sight of the figure in the alley, a man clad in ebony armor. He reached for his sword on instinct, but after his initial shock subsided, he allowed himself to lower his hand. He approached the unconscious human. He could see the trail of blood spattered around the body and he contemplated his dire condition. Slowly, he took his sword again. His steps echoed softly as he neared the body.
He doubted anything could be done to save him now. He towered above the pitiful casualty and raised his blade to end his suffering.
Margzor’s ey
es snapped open. His sword burst through the guard’s neck, incapacitating him before he could scream. The guard lay against the wall and reached toward his throat, but he could only feel a cascade of pain where flesh once resided. When he opened his eyes, the man was no longer there. He would die alone.
Chapter 22
“Why would someone want to become the demigod of virginity?” Nishka asked. A quick smile creased her lips. “Especially a man?”
“I don’t know. It’s hardly the ideal divinity anyone would aspire to. The demigoddess of virginity doesn’t possess extraordinary powers. Most mortals wouldn’t gain anything from killing her. However, I have been contemplating possible reasons why someone would murder her followers and seek to kill her.”
“What have you concluded?”
“The murderer wants to kill her for ideological means, and that includes murdering her followers. He may be attempting to make a statement about the religion itself. If this is the case, we can assume he is so strongly intent on annihilating her that he will stop at nothing. It will be extremely dangerous to interfere.”
“Well, that’s a good start. I can’t think of too many reasons why a man would want to eradicate an entire religion.”
“On a related manner, we still don’t know what we’re exactly dealing with. Astalla suggested that he isn’t entirely human.”
“Or he is human and something is abnormally wrong with him.”
“Should we question the cleric?” Arxu asked.
“Yes, that would be helpful. We could use whatever information is available to stop this man. Let’s head to the guardhouse.”
“No need,” Arxu said. Nishka turned an intrigued expression on him. “I already contacted the guards and they indicated the cleric has returned to the temple.”
The Undying God Page 15
