The demon wandered around the rim of the massive, domed chamber and kept close to the wall. Moisture seeped through crumbling, musty stonework with its smell of wet earth and worm. Even ekerithia felt trepidation here. He steeled himself and walked down the final set of steps and into the basin-like recess at the center of the ancient room.
He was in heart of the mysterious, hidden Tartarus.
The pool at the center bubbled with a greyish, smoky fluid: not quite liquid, but not mist, either. Encircling the pit stood a circular, brick wall like the guard around a well-house; the top boiled with the inky froth that threatened to spill over.
He approached by the light of his soul orb; it burned even more brilliantly here as the agitated spirit trapped within responded to the place’s dark energies with increased anxiety. Unlike his demonic brethren, ekerithia did not see himself as malicious; he felt a sense of pity for the woman whose soul he could feel weeping in the black void.
Sensing the soul’s thoughts, the consciousness within realized where it was and despaired. I was not destined for here! For the abyss! Please do not leave me here!
ekerithia sent his thoughts to the soul orb, I have come to collect another. One who has spent the days of her afterlife in the darkness until now. He shifted his thoughts to the pool and listened. Finally, he heard her again, crying in the dark. I am here.
I burn, she sent, asking for release. Please, free me from this hell.
You are mistaken. You are not in hell, nor in Tartarus… you burn because you remain as you were in death. But it will not always be so. And neither will your new companion remain trapped forever.
The orb dimmed slightly as the disembodied spirit calmed some at his reassurance. ekerithia approached the pool and traced his finger around its perimeter.
Words had been chiseled into the raised rim. ekerithia’s eyebrows raised as his eyes scanned them, remembering. It was written in the old language, the tongue of creation. He was unsure if members of the Gathering would even have remembered how to read it… but ekerithia remembered.
Ancient letters formed a simple warning to any who dared breach the abyss. The bubbling blackness was one of two doors. The heavenly side remained firmly secure, no doubt, and would until the time of the great emptying. This backdoor could be exploited, but surely not without consequence. One simple phrase embodied hinted an unspoken threat of action if meddlers intervened in the heavenly order. He interpreted the phrase.
THOU SHALL NOT STEAL.
ekerithia swallowed hard… the original language was more concise than the text below and more accurately said thy will not be stolen from. The possible repercussions would undoubtedly be severe. The demon withdrew a second orb, this sphere empty, from the leather pouch at his waist. He weighed the risks and blew the fine ash and silica from his empty spheroid to polish it.
Bending over the dark liquid, ekerithia held his breath plunged the orb below the surface. His consciousness went with it, breaching the surface of the void as if some load dragged him to the depths of the ocean. Breathless and cold, his skin burned in the darkness. The souls of the condemned swirled around him, moaning in blind torment as they cried for release.
ekerithia reached out with his mind, locating the one that he sought. Her spirit smelled of the life that she betrayed: the regret and the lost joy. The soul screamed with loss as it drifted derelict through the murk, moaning one name over and over again. Rashnir.
The demon reached out with the orb and used the mystic device to scoop up the spirit, trapping her within the globe. ekerithia reeled back from the pool on uneasy legs and caught his breath.
Anger rolled off of the pool like a fog. The thief could sense the abyss crying out at its loss and screamed with rage; it felt almost alive.
A flash erupted from the pool, flaring upward all the way through the upper firmament like a lightning bolt. The shockwave shook the Spire, enveloping it in a beam of eldritch light. High above, denizens of the Temple of Light inventing sudden prophecies and declared omens as the ground vibrated around the tower, intensifying at its center. With an audible groan, the force sent a final push from base to peak of the Babel Spire. It shifted on its foundation and separated slightly, gaping the winding steps that otherwise aligned with the lengthy crack.
Retreating back to the other side of the breach the angry presence retreated back to the void; the waters roiled more fiercely than ever. ekerithia gasped for air, knowing that something else far worse than an earthquake would follow.
But it was done. He'd acquired the next piece of his game.
ekerithia fled the chamber, ascending the secret stairs. He stepped over the chasmatic split as necessary. The two trapped souls rode at his hip. ekerithia grinned, knowing that his time grew ever nearer.
Plunged back into darkness, the chamber below the central hub of Tartarus continued to buzz with anger and wrath. Black smoke crept from the pool of the Deep Well. Something had been taken from it and for that, judgment was owed.
For the first time since creation, the thing within the Deep Well awoke.
***
Jorge, Rashnir, and Zeh-Ahbe’ shielded their eyes from the intense light that erupted skyward. The blast of energy sheathed the distant, barely visible tower. A sonic boom cracked the sky, echoing a peal across the landscape.
“I hope that’s not a welcoming party anticipating our arrival,” Zeh-Ahbe’ said.
“I daresay it is,” Jorge stated. “It’s not too late for you to turn aside and leave the burden on my shoulders.”
Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ both gave him looks of defiance. They continued riding in silence for some time. The elevation continued to climb as they neared the mountains. Glances backward revealed the trio of warrior women, ever on their tail, kept pace with them.
They kept their heads down and drew ever nearer the Luciferian pilgrimage site; other travelers became more and more frequent. The Christians gave them silent nods or brief waves as they passed, trying to maintain an affable front so that their cover remained intact.
Looking behind, the women stopped a group of travelers for a brief conversation. “We might have a potential problem, here,” Rashnir noted.
He stopped the next traveler who came near and asked for a favor. The young Luciferian monk was happy to oblige. “Can you ask the three woman some distance below to come up and speak with me? I will remain here, awaiting their company.”
Rashnir noticed the sigil of tah-av-aw’ tattooed on the monk's neck. “Right away, my friend,” he winked with the desire to help feed the hunger of his demonic lord who consumed lust.
A short while later, Ly’Orra, Shi’Nala, and Ri’Aqua joined the company under a temporary truce. They stood in talking distance but kept enough of a buffer that they could draw their weapons if they encountered any foul play. Zeh-Ahbe’ sniffed with his sensitive nostrils; he detected trace scents of ‘ãbêdâh, even over the smell of their sweaty horses.
“You summoned us?” Ly’Orra asked.
Rashnir nodded and stepped forward. The hands’ of the female crew dropped to their hilts in response.
“Yes,” he sighed. “I am prepared to strike a deal with you. You wish to fight me to the death in order to claim your honor… to complete your Pawar.”
“I must fight until I die, correct. You have been named and so only one of us may survive.”
“I would still rather that you come with us to Zipha so you could meet our queen as a potential mate,” Shi’Nala said, casting a sidelong glare at Ly’Orra. “Your sister deserves an honorable counterpart.”
“Whatever,” Rashnir held up his hands to stop what was some obvious infighting. “You two work it out between you. I’m here to offer myself—in whatever role you desire of me—but you must help me uphold my end of an honorable mission, first.”
The women returned skeptical looks.
“I only need for you to do nothing. I just need you to guarantee that you will not give away our positi
on. My friends and I have traveled all this way to rescue my mentor who was taken prisoner by one of the arch-mages.”
“After this, you will accompany us to Zipha?”
Rashnir sighed and looked at his companions. “Yes. But I’ll not abandon my friends until they have escaped the clutches of the Order.”
The three women huddled and began arguing intensely in hushed tones. “It is an honorable mission,” Ri'Aqua's voice rose above the others. “This only increases the desire for him by either party.” Ly'Orra and Shi'Nala were both silenced by that statement and nodded with tacit agreement.
“We have an accord,” Ly’Orra said. “On our honor, we will not disrupt your mission. And on your honor, you will join us afterward.”
Rashnir bowed. The women bowed in return; the deal was struck.
***
Elo’misce disappeared from the qâsam stone in Elo’wiind’s hand, she had passed on vital information for his campaign. He grinned, reassured of a successful venture, this time.
Through his telescopic monocular he spotted worry on the faces of the Vignans who the krist-chins protected within their encampment. The heretics seemed less worried, even in the face of the distant, growing line of elven and dwarven fighters that had begun mustering against them these past couple days.
Elo’wiind added another lens in front of the primary spectacle, increasing its range, and shifted it into focus. He spotted raiders in the distance kicking up trails of dust. Their formation began to split off into flanking groups.
The elven general looked back to the lockbox his sister had sent from the Xorst treasury. He reassured himself that it still remained in his possession; the mercenaries would do them no good if they couldn’t be paid at the end.
He scanned their number, counting them, and fixed his gaze on a couple wagons that trailed after the team. The group was far smaller than the Gleendish forces arrayed on the hillside which had been set up in an intimidating row against the krist-chins.
Elo'wiind memorized the blood-red logo painted on the side of the mercenaries' wagon: a bright logo boasting a winged fist in the middle of a fire. This team contracted from Briganik by Elo’misce, claimed to have already slain a group of these cultists. They possessed the ‘ãbêdâh potion which allowed them to fight against these abominations against the Order.
The elven general didn’t care for religion. It was benign as far as he was concerned, but if these two opposites wished to kill each other, then so be it. He only desired the power to overcome the terrible weapons of this rogue sect so that they would remain beneath his feet.
At least the Order could be manipulated, used. These krist-chins had to be eliminated.
He stared at the wagons again. One of them contained a shipment of the stuff, sent along for Gleend’s armory as part of the deal the elven diplomat had brokered.
The army encircled the Vignan encampment and began to squeeze them from all sides simultaneously. Chaos ensued. Blue, flaming blades sprang to life and a number of the defenders transformed into bestial werewolves.
Strange alliances, Elo’wiind thought, ironically noting that the mercenary force was almost exclusively composed of humans. He pressed the lens tighter against his eye as the battle intensified. Blades flashed and sparked as the weapons of the enemies met with force. Blood spilled and distant wails tickled his ears.
Elo’wiind gave the signal to his troops and they began to march towards the chaos at a reserved pace. They’d hoped the skirmish concluded by the time they reached the embroiled area. Better to pay someone else to fight on their behalf in this instance.
The battle remained fairly one-sided as the mercenaries charged unexpectedly from the flanks. Elo’wiind’s presence on the slope had distracted the force enough that they’d been caught unprepared from the rear and sides. Still, several Vignans and krist-chins managed to scramble free from the net and flee into the distance. The mercenaries let most of them go in order to focus on the battle at hand.
Arriving just as the turmoil subsided, Elo’wiind’s carriage rolled into the middle of the gruesome carnage. Barbarians followed with an empty rickshaw. It stopped as the mercenaries turned over bodies, searched them for markings, and hewed arms from the corpses they could get bounties on.
A large man rode his horse up to Elo’wiind. “Do you have our payment?”
The haughty elf stared at the man, a Mankran by the looks of him, but did not surrender his treasure quite yet. “You let some of them get away.”
He turned a half smile through the grizzled beard. “A few harmless humans. Maybe a krist-chin or two… and some werewolves. Surely you can find a few lost humans; the werewolves are practically worthless to us to take a bounty on, save their leader… we’d have to skin them whole to take a bounty, anyway… they don’t have the same mark as the rest.”
Elo’wiind nodded, pretending that he understood everything that the bounty hunter had told him. “You have our potions?”
“As long as you’ve got our gold.” He waved over a wagon laden with sealed flagons.
The elf bobbed his head in the affirmative and pointed to the chest behind him. “Gleend thanks you for your services. I’ll give you something of further value: information.”
The barbarian cocked his ear.
“Leave Gleend as soon as possible, and don’t return. All human and ekthroic alliances have dissolved. Any day now there will be bounties posted upon any humans found within our borders. I suggest a hasty departure.”
He only grinned in response as his partners rode up behind him. They weren’t all human—some were so much more.
***
Tall bastion walls rose from the mountain slopes ahead of Jorge, Rashnir, and Zeh-Ahbe’. The line of bricks only broke with intermittent, curved apertures where the roads came and went to form the edges of the immense Temple of Light. Urban rooftops jutted into the sky and a shimmering haze wafted above the city as the smog of several hundred thousand people and their tandoori fires burnt trash, cooked food, and warmed homes.
Beyond them, the Babel Spire towered over the sprawling monastery-city. Pilgrims and monks wandered in and out of its gates. City noises roared dully within the lower threshold of their ears, barely masking the sounds of their horses’ hoof steps.
The trio halted their weary mounts when they heard their names called from the steep, rocky slope that bordered the beaten road.
“Up here,” the cloaked figure called. “Join me!” it insisted.
Reluctantly, the three dismounted and scaled the steep grade. As they drew nearer, they found a figure that looked very much like Jorge’s duplicate. He also wore a Horpahthian disguise.
ekerithia pulled back his hood and scanned the horizon to ensure that they remained beyond earshot. He’d cleared a flat space of dirt and drawn a circle where he wrote sigils upon the ring to block any shama’ spells and ensure their privacy
“Do not disturb the ring.”
The travelers stepped inside the warding circle. “What is it? Is Kevin still alive?”
“For a while longer, yet. But my spy tells me that beh’-tsah plans to kill him in celebration of his next victory over his enemies in the Paradise War. He’s also increased his army with a large force of Noddic ghouls, so time draws short.”
“Then why stop us?” Rashnir asked.
“I’ve been busy since we parted many days ago. And in that time, much has developed. I have information critical to your success, but you must trade for it with a favor.”
Jorge looked hesitant to comply. “What is this favor?” He understood the high price demons were wont to extract.
ekerithia only looked at the two mortals. He ignored the angel.
“I need for you to retrieve something from the Babel Keep. There is a key within the central chamber: beh’-tsah’s throne room. It is a dangerous mission, but one that makes your friend’s rescue easier.”
“That doesn’t sound so hard,” Rashni
r stated.
“If it’s the key I think he’s referring to,” Jorge said, “it’s what gives beh’-tsah the authority to rule over the Gathering.”
“It is not that key.” The demon shook his head. “That key is made of enchanted material and appears gold in color. The key I seek is with it, but of no known value to the demons. I seek the silver key.”
Jorge was about to turn ekerithia down when Rashnir stepped forward. “I will get you this key if your information is as good as you promise.”
“I know which of the temple guards are corrupt. I can give you a list if you like—you will find it easy enough to enter Paradise unmolested.”
The demon handed him a weighty pouch of gold coins.
“You will meet my spy at the servant gate of the Babel Keep. Search out Cheska the ghoul; he will be your guide through the fortress. But there must not be the faintest hint of my involvement. As soon as he leads you to Kevin, you must kill him. Ghouls are notoriously untrustworthy. My existence cannot be known to the Gathering before my appointed time.”
The demon looked at the position of the sun. From their current elevation they could see beyond the Temple of Light. A field separated the temple from the tower: the Fields of Splendor. A green blanket dressed in yellow and white flowers and studded with boulders. The massive stones had been set to mark the hours as the sun passed overhead, casting the tower's shadows over the appropriate time.
“The guards will change shifts soon. You must hurry if you hope to access Paradise this evening. It is no small journey.”
***
Sim-khaw’ paced back and forth through the encampment. His mind weighed heavy. It had been about a week since Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ departed. The Zaw-nawb’ leader was on his sixth circuit through the grounds, muttering to himself, wondering at how gloriously Zeh-Ahbe’s higher transformation had been after he’d gained this new power from the krist-chins. If the Say-awr’ had gained such an impressive form, surely the Zaw-nawb’s would be something greater.
His frustration ebbed slightly when he spotted the children again. They followed him, barely visible in his peripheral vision, walking in his footsteps like it was some kind of game.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 85
