“No doubt you have noticed my obsession with clothes and my aversion to light. These two behaviors are interconnected... There are other compulsive symptoms that I alone know: the things that occur in my mind. Sometimes I am plagued by visions of my friends dying.”
“Is that what you fear?” Arxu asked. “That everyone you consider a friend could die at any given moment in time? That you will lose everyone and you will be alone again?”
“I don’t know.” Neither Arxu nor Nishka dared comment on the disturbing revelation. They wondered whom Hrioshango considered to be a friend. He loathed Arxu and barely tolerated Nishka. The prospect of him even recognizing the bond of friendship seemed phenomenal.
“Hrioshango... do you feel pain?”
“Physical or emotional?”
“Emotional.”
“Of course I feel pain.”
“I never would have imagined. You have a tendency to express only lust or rage.”
“Well, those are impulsive... I don’t have an overwhelming urge to dwell on sorrow. I consider myself a generally happy creature, actually.”
“Yet you envy my inability to feel.”
“Well, yes. Sometimes I think life would be perfect without pain.”
“Everyone has to overcome pain in their lives, Hrioshango,” Nishka consoled. “Maybe if there is no pain, you cannot gain an appreciation for pleasures in life.”
Hrioshango tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“And what if there is so much pain that it exceeds its purpose?” he rasped insidiously. “Then what purpose does pain serve?”
“If there is so much pain that it exceeds its purpose...” She lost the words as she considered the loss of her mother. The pain she felt had consumed her for years. She did not benefit from the hardship, but still she could not move past her loss, as if part of her refused to heal. The same way that Arxu would not move past his death.
“... I don’t know the answer to that.”
“I see. It seems pain does indeed have a threshold... I believe pain loses its purpose when it consumes everything. At that point, it leads to self-destruction.”
Nishka nodded absently, lost in the mist of her memories.
“Perhaps we all need pain in our lives,” he continued. “It motivates us to find a resolution to our problems and continue our search for peace. Isn’t that why you embarked on this mission to stop a mass murderer, Nishka?”
“Yes.”
“It pains you to see these people die, thus you have decided to do something about it. Admittedly, I do not feel sympathy.”
Nishka glanced at Arxu, expecting him to confess to the same flaw.
“If you do not feel sympathy, what compels you to follow us?”
“You ask too many questions,” Hrioshango dismissed. Nishka smiled to herself.
“I think Hrioshango is lonely.” The chaos magician cackled in response and offered no more. Instead, he carved something into the wall with a crooked nail, pausing to admire his craftsmanship.
“Now it ends where it begins, an eternal cycle. There is only one thing you can reliably count on in this world, and that is disorder.”
Nishka jumped as something scampered along the slick walls. Hrioshango brandished his sword, eager to defend his lair. A lanky hominid plummeted from the ceiling to land nimbly on all fours like a cat. Its head swiveled to take in the three characters, and the Gilith scuttled protectively toward Hrioshango.
“Our guide!” he happily proclaimed.
“I never thought I would be so happy to see that thing,” Nishka chuckled. Relief began to replace her doubts about their journey. Still, she couldn’t help but ask a question that begged to be resolved. “So, Hrioshango, when you say you compulsively think of the worst possible scenarios that can happen to your friends...”
“Yes...?”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Why, Gilith, of course!” He patted the creature on the head as it crouched by his side. “He—or she—is the most ugly, beaked, round-eyed Gilith that was ever spawned in the abysmal depths of the catacombs! Hrioshango would be crestfallen if his friend succumbed to one of the more dangerous predators down here.”
“Well, I consider you to be a friend, Hrioshango, albeit a very weird one...”
Before Arxu left, he closely examined the sigil that Hrioshango etched. It resembled three figures: two reminiscent of humans, the third considerably smaller.
Hrioshango emerged from the mausoleum to relish the tingling air. He loitered on the steps as he surveyed the silent necropolis. Fog wreathed the sacred grounds, obscuring the caricatures of resting places long forgotten. The solitary patch of land stretched on as far as the misty tendrils could reach. He sighed in satisfaction.
“Ah... there is nothing more enthralling than the mystique of death.”
“Is there?” Nishka said sarcastically.
“Well... besides the mystique of women, no.” With nothing more to add to his sexist comparison, he descended into the resting place of thousands.
Arxu exited the mausoleum and looked upon the necropolis. He froze in his steps. The atmosphere of loss seemed so familiar to him. He almost felt at sync with this place on a spiritual level, as though he belonged in such a cryptic setting. It rekindled the strangest feeling.
It brought him peace.
Traveling through the plaza, he viewed a massive fountain shimmering in twilight. Cemented with crystals equally as massive, water bubbled from the pinnacle to glisten down its sides.
Hrioshango marveled at the attraction. Water cascaded like wine down the crystal facets, and he grinned playfully at hundreds of his reflections.
Someone plucked a sitar in the distance, weaving a pleasant melody to water drums. Nishka relaxed to the sound, but she couldn’t take a break from reality while holy war seethed at the city borders.
Suddenly, a terrifying thought left her on the verge of panic. Margzor may not be interested in Eternitas at all. He could break from his predictable route and cut to the republic of Praemonen in search of the ultimate prize: Astalla.
“Arxu, what if we made a mistake in coming to Eternitas?” she said, voicing her greatest fear. “Maybe Margzor has already headed north!”
“No, he wouldn’t. We just have to wait for him.”
“Excuse me,” Hrioshango called out to a woman passing by. “Have there been any temple-related slaughters recently?” The woman was slow to reply, not expecting such a crude and abnormal question, especially from a darkling.
“No,” she said with a shudder. She quickly picked up her pace, leaving Hrioshango smiling mischievously.
“Well, that answers one of my questions.”
“You’re so charming, Hrioshango,” Nishka said.
“I know.”
“What was your other question?” Arxu asked.
“Hrioshango was wondering if she was—”
“Let’s go,” Nishka interrupted.
Arxu was already approaching a guard for directions as Nishka reined in Hrioshango. She was relieved to hear that Eternitas hadn’t fallen victim to the same atrocities as other cities.
“Can you tell us where the temples are?” Arxu asked. The soldier pointed in the direction of a gate.
With a nod of thanks, Arxu crossed the plaza. Two sentries wielding polearms stood watch at the gate, wearing the familiar scowls possessed by every man vested with authority. One of them barely glanced at Arxu before delivering an automatic warning.
“The temple quarter has been sectioned off in response to a contagion.”
“Is anyone still in there?” Arxu asked, refusing to let the guards discourage him.
“The watch has taken the liberty of evacuating the temple quarter. Everyone has been evacuated.” A soldier scoffed to his side.
“Except for the fanatics in the temple,” the second man added derisively. “They insist on staying. Something about purity.”
“We must go in there!”
“We canno
t risk you spreading the sickness. You will have to wait until the crisis has passed.”
“Who ordered the quarantine?” Arxu demanded.
“Captain Balthasar.”
“Where can I find him?” The guard’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t meddle in affairs you don’t understand,” he said, abruptly ending the conversation.
Nishka grabbed Arxu’s arm, dragging him away before trouble ensued. She could feel the tension in his muscles, and his angry gaze looked as though it could burn holes into the streets. Suddenly, he brought the steel tip of his staff down hard with a crack.
“Don’t worry, Arxu. At least Margzor can’t make it.”
“No, he’ll make it,” Arxu said grimly. “He’ll just have a little difficulty.” With those ominous words, he eloped into the market district.
Chapter 34
Night fell upon the city as a figure crept through the temple. He stepped lightly to avoiding raising an alarm. It was imperative that no one knew what he intended to do.
As a man, Ethan was forbidden to set foot in this hall. If he was discovered in the women’s wing, he would be ostracized from the faith, possibly arrested. He had no intention of finding out what punishments the clerics had prescribed for such a deviant crime. Nonetheless, it was a risk he had to take. He stopped before a particular chamber and took a deep breath.
He hoped this was indeed her quarters.
“Kayla,” he whispered. For a moment he was afraid she had fallen asleep. He could not risk trespassing on her chamber and waking Kayla. How might she react to his presence? The door timidly opened and a young woman peered back at him, her brown eyes ever radiant in the darkness.
“Ethan?” she said. The young man quickly took her hand to assure her, tugging at her fingers.
“Kayla, please don’t be frightened. If the clerics know I’m here… I wish to help you. What happened last night was only the beginning, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean?” Her fingers were like silky petals, slipping from his feeble grasp.
“I…” His thoughts seemed incoherent as he tried to explain himself.
“Ethan?” His fear dissolved and he spoke the first words that came to his mind.
“Elder Invictus has forgotten his moral responsibilities to the faithful. I fear his ignorance is blinding him to the danger he is placing everyone in. The clerics are looking for someone to blame for Astalla’s absence. They’ve transformed the temple into a religious court and everyone is on trial for their sins.”
“What danger are you alluding to, Ethan?”
“I suspect something terrible is going to take place. Astalla has been trying to reach us, but she cannot get through. She would only contact Invictus in the event of something gravely important. You must trust me.”
“What if you are wrong?”
“If I am wrong…” I will be branded a traitor to the religion, publicly humiliated and ousted from the temple. “I won’t hide from the consequences that await me. I have a choice between doing what is right and what is easy, and I’m taking the difficult path. I beg you to listen to me, Kayla. I’m conducting an evacuation of the temple to help as many people as I can.”
Kayla looked intimidated, as if imprisoned in her room by an oppressive force.
“To be honest, I was contemplating leaving after what happened last night…” She lifted her face to his, mesmerizing him again with her flawless eyes. “Ethan, I don’t feel safe here anymore. The priests are discussing methods to preserve our ‘physical integrity.’”
Physical integrity. The phrase made Ethan’s skin crawl.
“What do you mean?”
“Elder Invictus… he wants to remove…” She choked on the words. “He wants to remove parts of our bodies. From the women.”
“What?” Ethan gasped through his nausea.
“The women have been whispering about a barbaric procedure to circumcise our bodies… with a hot, iron rod. And stitching it back together to prevent…” She didn’t finish the thought, and she didn’t have to. Mutilating women’s bodies to ensure virginity? Ethan wanted to scream at the top of his lungs.
“I won’t let this happen to you, Kayla,” he said, fighting the urge to hug her. “Please follow me. This may be my only chance to save you.”
Kayla nodded.
Through desolate corridors, their nocturnal escape led past holy chambers where clerics surely prayed. One false move could sabotage Ethan’s efforts. With every floor they traversed, another woman joined their covert operation. At last, only the prayer hall stood between them and the city outside.
Ethan pried open the double doors with a grunt. Eternitas sprawled before the fugitives, beckoning them to safety. At first, the weary disciples seemed hesitant to leave the temple, like children afraid to leave their mother. Finally, a woman emerged from the flock and descended down the steps. One by one, they trickled into the streets.
Ethan looked at the woman he had longed for since his early adulthood, and he saw the uncertainty burning in Kayla’s eyes. In that moment, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to tell her everything in his heart, how he would even forsake his vocation if only she would deem him worthy of her.
He wanted to say that everything would be all right, that she would be safe outside of the temple. The trembling man resisted the kiss he yearned to share with her.
Instead, her lips brushed against his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Their eyes met and she slowly descended the stairs. Kayla cast one final look over her shoulder at him, where he stood paralyzed like a statue on the steps of the temple.
A knock sounded on Elder Invictus’ door. He sat in the darkness, not a single light to stir the shadows. Entombed in this somber chamber, he resembled a dying man who wished to spend his last hours alone. However, he had no intention of dying.
“Enter,” he croaked. The door cracked open just enough for a sliver of light to spill inside. A skinny man peered beyond the door. Black oils were smeared around his eyes, and red body markings overlapped in intricate designs to the contours of his bald head. He was robed in a shade of purple so dark it vaguely resembled black. He crept into the room, studying the Elder Cleric.
Ganelon had served as a spiritual advisor to Invictus for several months. He was rarely seen among the confines of the temple, although he was one of the most powerful men in the city. In fact, many worshippers and clerics didn’t even know he existed.
Supposedly, someone fitting his description could be seen creeping through the halls late at night, whispering under his breath, his long robes dragging along the floor. He was only briefly seen before he vanished utterly into the shadows. Few other than the Elder Cleric could confirm his existence.
Ganelon often visited Invictus to feed him succulent bits of information, and he would show his worth once more this night. He walked along the perimeter of the room as though afraid to invade the cleric’s space.
“I have located the source of abandonment,” the advisor said with a wretched smile.
“Have you?” Invictus murmured.
“It seems your pupil has displeased Astalla...” Ganelon let his words sink in for maximum effect. “I saw Ethan sneaking through the halls as if he did not wish to be seen. He was with a woman.” Invictus suspiciously regarded his advisor with his corpse-like face.
“Who is this woman?”
“Kayla, a young convert from Sepulzer. Her loveliness inevitably seduced Ethan. It is not difficult to imagine her preying on Ethan. I attempted to track down this... woman. It seems she has conveniently disappeared from the temple. Others are also missing.”
“Missing?” Invictus echoed.
“Unfortunately, yes. The matter of the disappearances does not take priority, however; I’m certain you would agree. We must immediately deal with the matter at hand concerning Ethan.”
“Where is he now?”
“I do not know.” A threatening silence followed. Ganelon said, “This is dee
ply troubling. He has disrespected the religious hierarchy and succumbed to the most horrid sin.”
His lips curled spitefully.
“Lust.”
He walked somberly away from elder and bowed his head. The walls thick with dust seemed to close in on the two men. Suddenly, Ganelon shrieked in rage.
“He has cast us into Astalla’s disfavor!” he screamed. His hand slapped against the wall, his yellowed nails digging into the granite surface.
“He threatens our temple,” Elder Invictus agreed. “His actions may indeed imperil the vision Astalla has sent forth to me.” Ganelon relaxed and let his arm fall by his side. He glanced over his shoulder at Invictus.
“What would you have me do?” he asked nefariously. The Elder Cleric contemplated his options. He could not easily dispose of the young cleric. Ethan was a stubborn and determined man of unwavering will. It would be a painful and drawn out process to eliminate him.
Invictus turned his gaze on Ganelon.
“Use your imagination.”
* * *
Balthasar glared suspiciously at the three characters as they sauntered toward him, particularly the Nightwalker. Balthasar was a middle-aged man with black hair, ornately clad in regal armor that proclaimed his significance. Various objects adorned his desk, countless documents and papers stained with pungent ink. A pair of lavish gauntlets was discarded there beside a dagger. Enthroned like a dictator wallowing in his kingdom, Balthasar sat with his hands folded before him.
“My guards report that you have a request for me,” he said stiffly. Nishka noted the condescension in his voice and she knew at once this man would present a problem.
Arxu calmly strode forward. “Yes, Captain Balthasar. We request that you lift the quarantine on the temple quarter.”
“By what authority do you ask this of me?”
“For the safety of the people you swore to defend.”
“I am protecting the people by containing the disease behind those walls.”
“You risk a greater tragedy by trapping the clerics within the temple.”
The Undying God Page 23
