The demon purred in his thoughts. Power, more than he could fathom. All his for the taking.
The Hunter shrugged it off, but the demon's demands grew insistent. 'Seize it, and there will be no one on the face of Einan to stop you! You could rule unchallenged, even by—'
I care nothing for power! I am here for Soulhunger and the Swordsman's blades, nothing else. The rest of these treasures will remain undisturbed.
Soulhunger's voice echoed in his mind. He could sense the blade, but its presence was weak.
It must still be locked away in the iron box.
He pushed the protesting voice to the back of his mind and turned to the apprentice. "Where is it?"
"Where is what?" Visibos looked puzzled.
The Hunter seized the apprentice's collar. "Soulhunger. Where is the blade you stole from me?"
Visibos squared his jaw. "You already have a weapon. Why not let it serve your purpose, and be gone from this place?"
The Hunter shook his head. "I am here for Soulhunger. Take me to it."
Visibos looked ready to say more, but decided against it. With visible reluctance, he led the Hunter through row after row of burdened shelves.
The Hunter couldn't help marveling at the objects stored in the vault. Withered bones covered with parchment-thin skin. Metal worked into twisted shapes that filled his mind with horror. Books that looked as old as the vault itself. Crates bound with heavy chains. Urns, jars, and vases sealed with wax and clay. Jewelry, coins, and valuables worth a kingdom.
He resisted the urge to reach out and grasp the objects. He had to stay focused on his task.
Soulhunger seemed to sense his presence. Its eager whispers filled his mind with a steady throbbing—a sensation he found surprisingly welcome.
"There." Visibos pointed.
The Hunter saw the simple wooden box he had carried from Voramis. He reached for the heavy chain and thick padlock which secured the box, but jerked back the moment his fingers touched metal.
Iron.
He turned to the Cambionari. "Open it."
Visibos crossed his arms. "I will not! I will not be responsible for releasing another of these accursed blades into the world."
The Hunter seized the apprentice by the collar and slammed him hard against the shelf. "Open. The. Box."
The apprentice glared back, defiance written in his eyes.
"Tell you what, priest." The Hunter spat the last word. He held Toramin's knife under Visibos's nose, the razor-sharp blade pressing into the apprentice's skin. "Give me Soulhunger, and I will leave this in its place."
Confusion replaced the anger in Visibos's expression. "Why? You know what they can do. Why not take it and have twice the power? "
The Hunter eased the pressure on the apprentice's throat. "It is because I know what these things do that I will leave them."
"B-But, isn't that what you demonspawn want? To bring back your great god?"
The Hunter bared his teeth in a snarl. "It is not what I want. For all I care, Kharna can rot in the hells from now until eternity. Soulhunger is mine. It will leave with me, and with it, I will purge the accursed Abiarazi from the face of Einan!"
Chapter Eleven
Visibos's jaw dropped. "Wh-What? Why? Why hunt down your own kind?"
The Hunter shook his head. "I may have the blood of demons running through my veins, but I know what they will do to this world should they return. I will not stand by and let—"
He almost said 'innocent people die', but swallowed his words. He had no need to explain himself to the apprentice.
"I like my world the way it is."
Visibos goggled, as if unable to wrap his mind around the Hunter's answer. "B-But you are a demonspawn. Is not your mission to—?"
The Hunter snarled. "Mission? Do not speak to me of a 'mission'. I do not accept any 'destiny', no matter what you believe. I answer to no man, demon, or god."
"But the Bucelarii are here to…"
"To what? You say you know why the Bucelarii are here. Tell me before I open your throat." He pressed the blade into Visibos' neck, just hard enough to part the flesh.
"Wait! I will tell you what you want to know. I—" The Cambionari's gaze fell on something behind the Hunter, and his eyes widened.
The Hunter, wary of tricks, pushed the dagger's edge harder into the man's neck.
Visibos held up his hands. "Please! Let me speak."
With a warning glare, the Hunter eased the pressure on the blade, but kept the tip beneath the apprentice's chin.
Visibos gasped and rubbed at his neck, his eyes still locked on whatever had caught his attention. "Look." He pointed. When the Hunter didn't turn away, he swore. "Keeper take you, Bucelarii. Look behind you!"
The Hunter turned his head, the dagger never leaving Visibos's throat. He saw only a shelf lined with books. The volumes looked ancient, their bindings cracked and pages yellow with age.
"What? What am I looking for?"
Genuine wonder filled Visibos's voice. "That book! What is it doing down here?" The apprentice pushed the blade aside and reached for a weathered tome. It looked identical to the other volumes, yet he caressed it with reverence. "I had thought it gone to Lord Apus with the rest…"
"What's so special about it?"
For long moments, Visibos said nothing; the book consumed his attention entirely. The spine crackled as he opened it, and he turned its pages with care.
"Do you know what this contains?" Visibos asked without taking his eyes off the book.
The Hunter's patience was growing thin. "No. Enlighten me."
Visibos turned to the first page of the book and held it out to the Hunter.
The Hunter read. "The Numeniad by Eshendun." The words meant nothing to him. "So what is it?"
"You expect me to believe that name means nothing to you?"
The Hunter glared. "If it did, would I be asking? For just a moment, let's pretend I'm not a scholar who spends all of his time reading dusty old books. What. Is. It?"
"The Numeniad? Eshendun?"
The Hunter motioned for him to continue. "Yes?"
Visibos shook his head. "Watcher's beard, demon, what rock have you been living under?"
For an answer, the Hunter brandished the blade.
Visibos flinched and held up his hand in a defensive gesture. "All right!" He spoke in a rush, words tumbling from his mouth. "The Numeniad is supposed to be a firsthand account of the War of Gods, passed on to an early historian named Eshendun. It is said the gods spoke to him of the battle in the heavens. Thus, it is very possibly the only accurate recounting of those events."
Silence hung thick in the dusty air.
"You mean," the Hunter asked, his voice quiet, "within those pages is the truth about the demons and the Bucelarii?"
Visibos looked surprised. "You've heard the story, then?"
"That the Beggar God pled for the Bucelarii to be spared when the other gods wanted to kill them? Aye. Father Reverentus told me the tale. But is it the truth?"
Visibos held out his hand for the book. "I might be able to find answers."
The Hunter saw no trace of deceit in the apprentice's expression. His gaze dropped to the book in his hands. He couldn't read the writing; it looked like gibberish to him. But the apprentice's offer of help made no sense.
"Why? You know what I am. You are sworn to kill me and my kind. Why help me?"
Visibos stared at him for a long moment, and shrugged. "Let me be clear, I'm not doing it for you! Let's just say I love a good riddle."
In that moment, the Hunter saw the truth of Visibos. It felt odd to think of him as anything but the Cambionari who had poisoned him and thrown him into the Chasm of the Lost. Yet here was a man fascinated by mysteries from the past. Being a demon hunter was the lesser part of his identity; what he wanted most was to be a scholar.
"Besides," Visibos continued, "how often do you think I get a chance to read the only record of the War of the Gods. This is a chance I
will never have again. If finding answers for a demonspawn"—the Cambionari returned with Visibos's snarl—"is the price I must pay, so be it."
With a glare, the Hunter handed the book to the apprentice.
Visibos flipped through the pages, muttering to himself. "Kharna's Folly…sacrifice of the Swordsman…death of the Serenii…Aha, here we are!"
With a glance at the Hunter, the apprentice read in a rich, clear voice.
"As I lay in rest, the great Master spoke to me, saying, 'Eshendun, arise, prepare thyself, and bear witness. For this night, we bring an end to the folly of the fallen god. Though he is forever locked away, his creations are to be cast from the face of Einan, never to return'.
Thus I arose, and dressed myself, taking bread and drink. Then was I translated to the heart of the mountains, where I saw a gaping pit ringed with fire. 'The gateway to the hells,' the Master spoke. Khar'nath, he named the place."
The moment the name "Khar'nath" passed Visibos's lips, the Hunter's world fell away. Darkness filled his vision; he floated in an empty void, with only the sound of Visibos's voice echoing in his thoughts.
"The Master spoke once more to me, saying, 'Bear witness, Eshendun, son of Iridun.' In a flash of light, I stood alone. The creatures of the hells were arrayed before the pit of fire; the stench of the place still fills my nostrils to this day."
Suddenly, it was as if the Hunter was there. He knelt on rocky ground, his knees aching, blood trickling down his face. Ropes held his arms bound behind his back. Demons numbering in the tens—no, hundreds—of thousands surrounded him.
Visibos' voice filtered into the memory.
"And the gods cast the demons into the pit, returning them to the fiery hell from whence they had come. The sound of their descent filled the night; their screams echoed to the ears of the gods."
He watched the demons being thrown as if by an invisible hand. The creatures disappeared into towering inferno of flame that illuminated the night sky. Tormented cries filled his ears, the sound of suffering tearing at his consciousness.
"Then the gods looked upon their descendants, the creatures they had spawned upon Einan with the daughters of men. The Master spoke again, 'Sons of the burning hell, this night you join your fathers."
An invisible force lifted the Hunter from the ground. Of their own accord, his feet moved toward the inferno. He felt Her presence beside him once more, but he could not turn his head to find Her. The towering pillar of flame filled his vision, turning night to day.
"But the god of beggars spoke, saying, 'My brothers and sisters, can we condemn these creatures to a fate they have not earned? Within their veins flows the blood of humans as well as demons. Do they not deserve the same mercy granted by us to the rest of mankind?'
The gods spoke among themselves, and the sound of their voices rent the earth asunder, cast the seas onto dry land, and whipped the winds into a torment."
The ground bucked beneath the Hunter's feet. The wind swirled around him, buffeting him with stone and dirt. Water surged from the ground, soaking the Hunter and chilling him to the bone.
'The Beggar has the truth of it,' spake the Master to gods of the heavens. 'These creatures have done no wrong. The sins of the father cannot be visited on the children.'
'Give me leave to watch over them,' the Beggar pled, 'and I will give them a purpose. They will be cast out, as I am, destined to roam Einan alone.'
'Thus shall it be,' decreed the gods. 'They shall be under your care. Should they threaten the world, you will destroy them.' And the Beggar God ordered his priests, saying, 'I will give you weapons to slay the offspring of demons, but use them not, for I have a purpose for these creatures.'
The night suddenly felt cool and calm. The ropes binding the Hunter's arms fell slack. He looked around, staring into Her fear-filled eyes.
"But the Beggar God visited the Bucelarii in secret, saying, 'The time will come when I have need of you. Until that day, I will spread you throughout the face of Einan, and your memories shall be forever expunged.'
Then the god of illusions spoke to his clerics, saying, 'Power over the minds of man and beast I give you to ensure the spawn of the hells remain eternally scattered. Their strength is greater than that of man, so this I give you to balance the scales.' So it was, and so it shall be forever more."
Visibos' voice trailed off as he finished the passage.
The memory slowly retreated, leaving the Hunter disoriented and confused. The world swirled around him. For a heartbeat, he stood in both places at the same time: atop the mountain, and in the stuffy vault.
When his eye finally focused, he was back in the House of Need. His head ached, and his stomach felt ready to disgorge its contents. He reached out to steady himself on a nearby shelf.
"So you see, Hunter," Visibos spoke without looking up from the book, "the Beggar God truly did spare you, though for what purpose, I know not. Even gods can make mistakes, it seems." He glared at the Hunter.
We were spared because, within the Beggar God, there remains the seed of Kharna's consciousness, the Hunter thought, but said nothing.
Instead, he asked, "Does it say any more about the Bucelarii?"
Visibos flipped through a few more pages and shook his head. "No, it just says that they were scattered across the face of Einan. It goes on to detail the history of the Cambionari, how they were given iron weapons to hunt down and kill all you Bucelarii. But you know all of that."
The Hunter's mind reeled, his thoughts racing in time with his thudding heartbeat. So the Beggar God—Kharna, in truth—spared us, but not out of mercy. We were only spared to be weapons for the Destroyer to wield.
The demon whispered in his thoughts. 'It is your destiny! It is your true purpose for existence.'
The Hunter's lip curled up in a sneer. And yet, I do not bend to 'destiny'. I am no pawn—not to man, and certainly not to the gods.
A cry in the back of the Hunter's mind reminded him of his true purpose in coming here. Soulhunger begged to be freed.
"Visibos." The Hunter pointed at the iron-lined box on the shelf. "Open it."
Visibos looked ready to protest, but the Hunter pressed the blade into his neck. With a sigh, the apprentice seized the key from the shelf next to it. The padlock opened with a loud click.
"There you go," Visibos growled and stepped aside. "You have what you came for."
Covering the apprentice with Toramin's blade, the Hunter reached into the box and, careful not to touch the iron lining, gripped the handle of his blade.
Soulhunger screamed in his mind, its voice ecstatic. A rush of power flooded the Hunter; he felt almost happy to be reunited with the dagger. It seemed somehow…right.
He took a deep, calming breath and lowered Toramin's blade. He studied the two weapons, feeling Visibos's angry glare on him. With a smile, he flipped the stolen dagger in his hand and held it out to the apprentice.
"Here. As promised."
Visibos stared at the dagger as if at a viper. "Why?" He seemed unable to wrap his head around the fact that the Hunter was just giving it to him.
The Hunter shrugged. "Because I don't want it, and I have no need for it. I have only come to reclaim what belongs to me. And the owner of this blade will not come searching for it. I have seen to that."
Visibos' mouth fell open at this. He looked astounded that the Hunter—a spawn of demons—would kill demons.
He placed Toramin's dagger into the iron-lined box and snapped the lid shut. "Besides, the blade is flawed."
"W-What do you mean?"
"The demon—Toramin, he called himself—said the raw material used to make the blade was faulty."
Visibos gaped. He seemed unable to form proper words.
"Well? Spit it out!"
Visibos raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what the gemstones are?"
"No, I don’t. Tell me, now. Before I remember how to use this thing." He hefted Soulhunger.
For a long moment, Visibos stared at the H
unter, gaping. When he finally spoke, his voice was eerily quiet.
"The stones are the souls of your forefathers, Hunter. They are the souls of demons."
Chapter Twelve
The Hunter's mind raced. "What? What in the twisted hell are you talking about?"
"Look!" Visibos flipped to a page near the beginning of the book. "Read it for yourself."
The Hunter craned his neck. The vision had shaken something loose in his memories. For a moment, he almost thought he recognized a few words, but most of it looked like gibberish.
"Read it to me," he snapped.
Visibos cleared his throat. "And the demons beheld the fruit of their loins, and desired to give them an inheritance. The Serenii, firstborn of Einan, spake to them, saying, 'Unto us is known a ritual through which your power can be passed down through the generations, but the price to be paid is high.'
Thus did the Serenii speak the words of the ritual, known throughout the demon kin as the 'Lament of the Fallen'. For to invoke the ritual, the demons made sacrifice of their own souls."
The Hunter's jaw dropped. "Wait! You're telling me demons have souls? Aren't they soulless creatures?"
Visibos shrugged. "That question has been the subject of countless debates among philosophers and theologians throughout history." He pointed to the book. "But, according to Eshendun and the Numeniad, they do."
"So the demons gave their souls? Willingly?"
Visibos squinted at the page. "That's what it says. It's written here that their souls were transformed into simulacra of gemstones, an imitation of the riches mankind holds most dear."
The Hunter stared at Soulhunger. "The stones were embedded in the hilts of these daggers. And the blades were passed from Abiarazi fathers to Bucelarii sons."
"The inheritance." Visibos nodded.
So, if the gemstones are souls, why was the other blade 'flawed', as Toramin put it? What happened to make it so?
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 30
