He saw Rashnir’s approach. The ranger and his two companions pursued them. A disquiet welled up in the archmage's gut again and he verged on vomiting.
If the ranger would not be dissuaded and if his master could not be deterred, then Absinthium was forced to prevent the fateful meeting from occurring. Contingencies had to be laid.
Pulling his face from the smoke, he surrendered the scry spell and grabbed his quill and parchment. He needed allies to make his plan work; the otherwise loyal mage bit his lip and quickly penned a letter to peh’-shah, the demon who had devised the ill-timed coup against the Gathering.
The arch-mage snatched a songbird from its enclosure. He pressed his lips to the confused bird’s head and put his thoughts and feelings into the animal—impressing his request into the winged messenger’s heart. Absinthium went to the window and sent his first request to one of his master’s enemies. “Queen Mother,” he whispered and thrust the bird into the air.
He turned to the letter he’d written. Courting peh’-shah was a dangerous gamble… but the Luciferian would risk it all to prevent his vision.
Absinthium sighed heavy-heartedly and stamped his seal upon the hot wax at the page’s bottom. In order to save his master, he had to consider all the potential courses, even defecting against his lord in order to save him.
Rolling up the paper, he tied it to the leg of a winged lizard caged in the minor bestiary amongst the other creatures at the far wall. He paced near the open windows of the Babel Keep. Finally, he set his heart on the task and enthralled the reptile with his dark magics. Commanding the animal to deliver the note to only peh'-shah, or otherwise kill itself in strong enough fire to consume the package it carried, he released the lizard into the sky.
It soared above the reaches of the upper firmament and disappeared into the distance. Absinthium exhaled a tense breath. I must stop this future from happening.
***
The gate overhead slid open slightly and Kevin craned his neck to get a look at the visitor. Karoz stiffened at the sounds of the gate—traditionally, visitors brought only pain.
This demon was different than the one who’d fed them before, it wore a set of stunted horns as common to lesser demons but one had been broken. He dropped two wet sponges that slapped to the floor and slopped a bucket of table scraps down the side of the wall where it dribbled to the floor; slimy globs and chunks splattered on Karoz who was closest and couldn’t see to avoid the spray.
“What is it?” Karoz asked, wiping his face.
“You don’t want to know,” Kevin said, sniffing a handful and recoiling.
“Many days you have been down there,” the creature above them said. “The human must eat or he will die.”
Kevin reluctantly shook his head. “So your master can eat me at his table in a few days’ time?”
“Stupid human,” he said. “Krist-chins taste like filth. They are not good for eating.”
The angel shrugged and Kevin blithely noted the new information. He took a sponge and cautiously tested it with his cracked lips. It tasted like iron and smelled like piss, but it was wet.
Several moments later he noticed the demon hadn’t left. Their captor watched them studiously. “Are you looking for something?”
“I am EIZTCHKEY the Great!”
The demon stared at them as if that should mean something.
“Should I know that?” Kevin whispered to Karoz.
His cellmate shook his head.
“I am the writer of the Book of EIZTCHKEY… keeper of all history that matters. I want to know about the krist-chins.”
“Christians follow the Messiah who redeemed mankind from sin and death,” Kevin explained the basic tenets of the faith. The small demon’s brow rose as he looked towards the ceiling, searching for information as if he’d known this and forgotten it.
“Mankind’s redemption had always been the plan of Yahweh, the Father,” Kevin continued. “His Word was established before time and has always existed since the beginning.”
“The logos,” eiztchkey stated. “The personhood of the logos…”
“Yes. Jesus Christ, the Messiah—”
eiztchkey yelped at the name. A jolt of pain rippled through him and made his skin crawl, resulting in gooseflesh. The fresh excitement surprised and revolted him all at once.
The demon held up a hand to stop the preacher.
“The Book of EIZTCHKEY preserves the things that concern the realm and rule of the Gathering.”
A grin tugged at the corner of Kevin’s mouth. “You do not like the name of Jesus? Don’t you want to record the histories?”
eiztchkey recoiled with only a slight shudder. He grimaced, no longer in pain, but the sounds of the name bothered him like nails on a chalkboard.
“I cannot write the ineffable name. This is not the information I want.”
“But it’s who we are.” Kevin noticed a smile breaking on Karoz’s face. “He is central to our being. There is no such thing as a Christian without Jesus.”
eiztchkey curled his upper lip, staving off a twitch as the prisoner said the name.
“Perhaps my book needs no mention of your kind. Your time in this realm will be short,” eiztchkey stated matter-of-factly. “You shall not remain long.”
“No,” Kevin said confidently. “No, we will not.”
With a scowl, eiztchkey slid the door shut and left.
Karoz nodded, still wearing his warm smile. “Without a doubt that has been my most enjoyable moment in two-thousand years… thank you.”
Kevin looked at the emaciated messenger. “How long have you been in here?”
***
Werthen, Vil-yay, Shimza, and Fixxer snuck across the rickety framework of the massive mining elevator. They had crept across the rocky ridge and managed to stay out of sight, although the cover of dusk only hampered their maneuvers. The enemies’ sight could not be impaired by the dark.
Lying prone on the roof, they peeked over the edge of the facility; a massive operation sprawled before them. The quarry had been ripped open and gutted. Sloping paths rolled around the edges and ended their massive curvature at the bottom of the gaping hole. Pallid ghouls and unturned human slaves pushed handcarts up and down the road as they emptied their loads of broken shale and bedrock before returning for more.
Stations built at the top of the pit burned oil fires and reflected, the light, intensifying it with giant mirrors. The beams illuminated the floor of the dig site so that the slaves could see.
“This is new,” Shimza whispered.
Werthen looked at the hunter incredulously. They had only spent a few days in captivity and surely the work below demanded at a year’s worth of labor.
At the center of the excavation rested an immense, stone head. Artisans worked on the scaffolding they had built around the house-sized carving. They removed any clay and detritus that still encased it.
Teams of mules and lines of sturdy slaves prepared around the carving where they’d looped giant ropes and chains around the head. Slaves set up rollers between the sculpted figure and the sloped trail. They clearly intended to drag it from the bedrock.
“What is it?” Fixxer asked.
“Whatever it is,” Shimza said, “I don’t like it.” His ears prickled and he whirled around as a hissing creature rushed at them. A vampire clambered up the slope of the mining elevator’s rooftop.
Shimza sprang to his feet and drew his curved blade. It flashed in the dim light and he cut through the wendigo.
Shrieking in pain, the vampire bled sand, spilling fine granules across the tiled roof. His cry split the night before Shimza could pierce the soul-orb lodged within his heart with a wooden stake. The vile creature collapsed in a heap of dust and ash.
Swinging rapidly towards the sounds, the nearest light tower flashed its beam of light upon the intruders. Screeches filled the night air as the vampiric battle-cry rose up from all around Granik’
s overrun High Town.
“Time to go!” Fixxer shouted, scrambling towards the rocky butte the elevator had been built against.
The four rushed through the dark as quickly as they could, returning the way they had come. “We can't go back to the villagers in Low Town!” Fixxer howled.
“I think the point is mute,” Shimza yelled, leaning over the cliff face. He yanked out a bow and knocked an arrow, shooting a vampire in the face before it could fully scale the wall to catch them. “I’m not so certain we can make it out of here.”
Fixxer followed his friend’s lead. He leaned over the ridge and blasted another wendigo. The arbalist erupted with alchemical fury, burning the victim with both flame and jagged pellets. “So what, then? Stay and fight? Cuz I think that’s a losing option,” he stated as he reloaded with a new cartridge. The wounded wendigo crashed downwards and broke open upon the sharp rocks below. Moments later, it picked itself up off the rocks, albeit at a slower pace.
“Right now, let’s just stay alive,” Shimza said, slashing a vampire which had made the climb. He rammed the wooden spike into his enemy and kept the pace of the retreat.
More and more vampires made the ascent. Within moments, they were doing more fighting than they were fleeing.
Werthen’s flaming blade shone like a beacon in the night as it erupted. The azure edge ripped through the faux flesh of the undead, spilling sand across the blocked path. Slicing his blade in a wide arc, he severed the taloned hands of the wendigo who leapt towards him. Spinning his blade while thrusting, Werthen pierced the heart of the vampire with the holy blade and the creature erupted in a burst of ashen particles.
The swarm kept coming undeterred—even in the face of a new threat.
“You’ve got to go, Vil-yay!” Werthen screamed. “Get out of here, lead our people away… go around Lol. Take them to find Kevin or Rashnir—just go! Now!”
Vil-yay shot his friend a look like a betrayed dog. “I can’t just leave you here!”
“You’re the only one of us who can possibly escape!” Werthen yelled as he struck another pale enemy.
Hesitating a moment longer, Vil-yay turned and assumed his lupine form. Using his powerful legs, he sprang into the distant darkness and into the black night.
Seconds later the wave of the vampires crushed around them, forming a solid wall of enemies on all sides. The three remaining spies shrank back to back, weapons held out to ward off any attack against the encircling force.
Another attack did not come. Instead, a row formed within the ranks and two elegantly dressed vampires approached them. They stood in front of Werthen but did not draw any closer than the circle’s edge.
They stood there silently, trading looks that ranged from curious to amused. One vampire narrowed his eyes at Werthen’s companions. “Our friends are back, Naadine.”
“So it would seem, Fayge. But look, this one has a pretty sword.”
Fayge squinted at it inquisitively. He grabbed the nearest underling and thrust him forward. The surprised vampire did his best to correct his charge and reached for Werthen with extended claws.
The Christian reacted with precision and split the creature from hip to head. Taking a step to stabilize, he slashed sideways through the wendigo’s chest and ruptured the vital heartstone. The wendigo burst into a cloud of sooty loess.
Fayge wore an impressed expression.
“There is no weapon that can overtake this blade,” Werthen stated with authority. “This is the blade that easily cut through the hide of the Dragon Impervious! Nothing can stand against it. Let me and my friends go.”
“Oh, yes,” Naadine said excitedly. “I have heard of that!”
Werthen waved his sword in his enemy’s face, “Then you will let us go?”
Naadine laughed. “No.” With lightning speed, he threw a swarm of tiny darts at the cornered humans.
Werthen could not block them all and two of the tiny, pointy bullets lodged in his body. He turned in shock and spotted Shimza and Fixxer. Darts pierced their skin, too.
He turned back to the leaders but felt suddenly and overwhelmingly drowsy. He couldn’t concentrate and try as he might to hold it, the flaming blade evaporated from his hand. Werthen sank to both knees. Fixxer fell next.
“A toxin,” Shimza noted sluggishly before he too took a knee and then slumped to his side.
Naadine walked triumphantly forward and caressed Werthen’s chin. The Christian swayed like a drunken man as the vampire tilted his prey’s head and exposed the neck. “Let’s see just what this krist-chin blood tastes like? Perhaps you will become one of the feeders here, like all the rest?” With a grin and a playful laugh, Naadine bared his fangs and sank them deep into Werthen's flesh.
The vampire drank deeply, and then recoiled, screaming. His face reddened until his eyeballs suddenly popped like ripe berries, rupturing in a bloody mess. Blood! Not sand! Flames shot from Naadine’s sockets as he flailed, incinerating from the inside out. He quickly melted into a puddle of viscous slag.
Standing over the putrid pile that just been his brother, Fayge recoiled with wide eyes. “Seize them all! Quarantine them—and nobody dare drink from any of them! There is poison in their blood!”
Werthen’s eyelids fluttered and he felt his attackers grab him and haul him off the ground. The sleep darts finally took full hold as they pumped venom further into his veins and he lost consciousness.
Hiding just behind a large granite formation, Vil-yay watched the entire encounter. He calculated which of his friends might be the closest. They had left three of Dri’bu’s Regal Red-Tail falcons with their companions only a day’s travel from Low Town. Raz-aphf and Rondhale shouldn’t be too far off near Vigna. Kevin should be in Xorst by now; perhaps Havara could dispatch some of the Gleendish military if things had gone well. Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ were perhaps far off, but surely one of the three could send a rescue party.
Vil-yay offered up a quick prayer. He hoped that his friends’ travels had led them to greater fortune. Things were certainly not going according to plan in Lol.
Chapter Twelve
She was unmistakable. Rashnir could smell her at this distance… like jasmine and crushed iliac… could reach out and wrap his fingers in her golden hair. His eyes traced Kelsa’s form before she turned and met his gaze with her lustrous, green eyes.
Shaking away the buzzing sensation in his forehead, Rashnir reached for her hands. Kelsa clasped them in her own, breathing incredulous and heavy. She kissed him fiercely.
Rashnir pulled away for air and finally recognized the buzz of warning in his mind. Something in his spirit told him that this was not right. A sense of déjà vu washed over him, only the setting was wrong for such an intimate encounter.
He looked up and spotted the backdrop. They stood at the foot of the Babel Spire, the entry to the demonic heavens—the mockery called Paradise.
Rashnir growled. He’d been here before; the wizard had played this game with him and lost. The only thing that changed was the scenery.
Kelsa gave Rashnir an apprehensive look as he stepped back, putting distance between himself and her. She reached for him but remained fixed in her location.
The vision darkened and the sky turned as Rashnir exerted his will upon it, forcing the façade to fall away. The scent of perfume gave way to the odor of wet ashes.
“I know you’re here,” Rashnir called shouted at the tower. The buzzing in his mind intensified. He locked eyes with her again, and she appeared genuinely frightened. Her hands felt for him as her eyes turned milky and unseeing. Rashnir’s gut ached to see her like this—even if it wasn’t really her.
“Where are you, wizard? Show yourself!”
“Please,” Kelsa pleaded. “Please, it’s so dark here. I cannot see.”
“Don’t you want to save her?” Absinthium’s hot breath was so close that it warmed the ranger’s ear.
Rashnir whirled as the archmage walked lei
surely around him, hands clasped behind his back. “Stop toying with me. I know this is all a lie.”
The black-cloaked mage nodded. “Perhaps. Your gut was correct last time… in the glade. That was an illusion. What does your gut tell you this time?”
Rashnir refused to look at her or acknowledge the sorcerer’s trickery.
“This time it is no illusion,” Absinthium insisted, motioning to Kelsa. He waved a hand and she stiffened as if she could not breathe. She went mute at his mystic command.
Rashnir’s eyes glared daggers at the ethereal intruder.
“I have come to you in order to strike a deal, Rashnir.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“I have her.”
“Kelsa is dead—and partly because of your affairs in Jand! I was there when she died.”
Absinthium chuckled. “True, she did die. But she is not dead.”
Rashnir’s set jaw and hard eyes silently expressed his disbelief.
“As I live and breathe—”
“Which won’t be for much longer,” Rashnir interrupted him.
Absinthium exhaled his frustration and patiently started again. “I swear upon my master’s seat at the Gathering that her body still draws breath.”
“That’s impossible! You lie.”
“As a favor to that twisted fop, Harmarty, I healed her body. She remains as beautiful as ever, ageless in her repose, and forever in my custody.”
“You have a shell, and nothing more,” Rashnir argued, believing the mage’s veracity for some reason.
Absinthium sneered and stalked closer to the blinded woman. “True. Her heart beats red and her lungs take air, but the breath of life, her unique spark, is not inside her—it departed at her death.”
“Her soul is gone. Kelsa is no more.”
The mage wagged a bony finger at him. “Not true! What do you know of death, krist-chin?”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 82
