Pathfinder Tales--Through the Gate in the Sea

by Paizo Publishing LLC.

  Mirian frowned. “This is the way the pirates went.” She waved a hand vaguely at the stairs. Jekka had seen the tracks as well. There was no missing the damaged vine and weed growth from the passage of at least a dozen travelers.

  She advanced at a crouch up the stairs to just below the top step, then looked over its edge.

  Jekka glanced behind. The ships bobbed toylike in the harbor, and the Veil churned beyond them, still a whirling mass of blue fog.

  “Something’s moving inside the temple,” Mirian said.

  “What is it?” Gombe asked her.

  “Listen.”

  “Sounds like scuffling,” Gombe said after a moment.

  “It sounds wrong,” Ensara said.

  Jekka strained for some hint of the noises himself, and heard an irregular clumping noise, as though someone were staggering and dragging something behind them.

  “What do you mean wrong? Gombe asked.

  “Like someone limping,” Ensara said. “And it’s damned peculiar if they’re trying to be sneaky.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to distract us,” Ivrian suggested.

  “Then it’s working.” Mirian glanced at her followers. “Are you ready for this? Something’s up there. It may not be sailors.”

  “We’re with you,” Gombe said grimly.

  “Keep your wits sharp and sword in hand.” Mirian put extra force into a final warning. “Stay together.”

  Jekka raced to join her as she started forward. They passed a fountain choked with reeds and grass and a single sturdy blue-wood tree. As Jekka trod over the pavement, he perceived silver and gold symbols through the detritus of leaves, soil, and grass. He could read only portions of the letters, and no complete words, but he could guess the gist of the message. They approached the Hall of Eternity and Communion, the heart of the city, where high ones would have met for council. No humans could have walked these steps, on pain of death. Jekka appreciated the irony that he preceded his human sister to guard her from danger, whereas an ancestor would have slain her the moment she set foot here.

  He advanced quietly under the portico shading the dead fountain, his feet brushing the weeds with a faint whisper. He stopped behind a blue marble column studded with gemstones and curling glyphs proclaiming the glory of the city and the wisdom of its people, asking for the blessing of the Great Mother.

  Like all his people’s requests, it seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.

  Mirian reached the other side of the doorway and motioned for the others to halt a moment while she peered around the corner. Jekka looked with her.

  The hall consisted of one immense, circular chamber, its floor formed of concentric rings, each tier lower than the last.

  An army of lizardfolk sat in the stone chairs arranged on every tier but the lowest. Jekka searched for signs of life, but found only empty eyes staring from dried-out bodies. It was as if they had all perished the moment after they took their seats, which was preposterous. Presumably someone had placed them here after death.

  Yet there was movement, human movement. Two dozen men in sailor garb twitched upon the floor of the lowest ring. A few moaned softly. Jekka didn’t smell blood, nor detect other signs of injury. There, closer to the narrow altar in the center of that lowest floor, lay Rajana, in spasm like the others.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Mirian whispered.

  “I don’t know.” Jekka suspected poison, then stared at the silvery teardrop resting upon the altar.

  It seemed almost to be staring back. “That is what Ivrian senses,” he said.

  “The dragon’s tear?”

  “I don’t know.” His tread soft, his staff ready, Jekka moved forward. Something silver rested under the folded hands of each lizardfolk corpse. A tiny globe.

  One pirate was pulling himself along with his hands and drooling, his gaze vacant. Clearly the humans were no longer any sort of threat. Had the tear lashed out against them?

  “Stay back, Sister,” Jekka warned.

  “They must have tried to use the tear,” Ivrian said. “And something went wrong.”

  “Then we’ll keep our hands off,” Mirian said.

  There was another troubling matter apart from the peculiar behavior of the humans. Scavengers should have eaten the dead bodies long before they had the chance to dry out. The hall was open—why had wildlife not entered? There were no bird nests, or spiderwebs, or even the little blue anoles that were to be found everywhere in the tropics. Not even vegetation had rooted its way into the chamber.

  Jekka heard Ensara muttering in awe at the jewels set in the walls.

  “We should leave,” Jekka said, even as the tear glowed with silvery power.

  He hissed. That light exploded, sweeping out in a ring. He threw himself at Mirian, to shield her, then the energies touched him and he plummeted headlong into dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Jekka woke in the same chamber. As he opened his eyes, he realized little time had passed, for the light conditions had not changed. Mirian lay unmoving beside him.

  “Please accept my apologies, Lord.” Ivrian spoke in the language of Jekka’s people, his pronunciation impossibly flawless. Jekka’s head swiveled, his eyes widening in curiosity.

  About Jekka lay the rest of the expedition—Ensara, Gombe, Jeneta, Harse. Mirian. All breathed shallowly.

  Ivrian stood at Jekka’s feet, his stance stiff and unnatural. Strangest of all, a mist of shifting colors, identical to that surrounding the island, filled his eye sockets, some of it drifting free as he lowered his head. “To facilitate the capture of the humans you have presented, I was forced to render you unconscious as well. I hope that you will accept my apology.”

  Jekka tasted the air about Ivrian again. He still breathed, but his scent was wrong.

  He no longer smelled human.

  Jekka grasped his blade staff and climbed to his feet.

  “I am grateful that you responded,” Ivrian said. “You were so long in coming that, did I live the true life, I would have despaired. Why didn’t you bring folk from the Shadakarn?”

  The Shadakarn? There had once been a powerful rival clan by that name. They had long since perished in battle with humans.

  It was a strain to recall the proper phrasing and pronunciation. “They sleep with the Great Mother. Those I brought with me, are they—”

  Ivrian interrupted him. “All the Shadakarn sleep the eternal?”

  “All.”

  “Is that why you brought humans? I will use them if I must. What of the Kavanakaar or the Saraen?”

  “A few of the Saraen remain, deep within the jungle.”

  “Then we will take these vessels and use them to capture the Saraen so we may wear them.”

  Vessels? Jekka sensed that the thing in Ivrian did not mean ships. This entity, whatever it was, meant to put the spirits of the lizardfolk into lizardfolk from enemy clans.

  Jekka drew himself up straight. He would see to freeing his sister, but that would require the proper formalities. “What manner of guardian are you?”

  “Forgive me, Lord. So long has it been since I spoke with living beings that I have forgotten decorum. I am known as Senakka, the Guardian of Destinies. I see by the markings upon your weapon and robe that you are a lord of the Karshnaar.”

  “I am Jekka Eran Sulotai sar Karshnaar.”

  “The founders will be honored that so great a lord answered their summons.”

  Jekka hissed while he considered his course of action. “You have occupied the body of Ivrian?”

  “I have assumed control of this vessel, yes. I shall relinquish it soon to bestow upon one of the founders.”

  “Is the human dead?”

  “He is in submission to my will.”

  So Ivrian lived yet. That at least was good news. “It is you who maintain this building?”

  “Yes, Lord. Likewise am I responsible for the life force of those beneath my charge.”

  “I confess a lack of understanding
of this matter. What are you?” Was Jekka expected to know these things, and would he be under suspicion if he did not?

  “I am a sorcerous construct,” Senakka answered, “crafted by the great Reklaniss. I maintain the Veil that shields the island from its enemies. I safeguard the spirits of the last lords so that I may place them in new vessels.”

  “What happened to the lords?”

  “Was not all this stated in your summons?”

  Summons? Jekka knew of no summons. His gaze returned to his sister. It pained him to see her lying so still. It was a great struggle to force composure. “Many years have passed. Your summons is remembered imperfectly.”

  “The last lords feared the humans still would come, for word reached from the outside world that their powers grew. And thus my charges took refuge within their globes so that I might restore them after reinforcements arrived. Word was sent to our cousins for help in this battle. Is this not why you came?”

  So this guardian had watched over these spirits for … eons, waiting for saviors who never arrived. If word had ever reached those who could have helped, they had not returned. He wondered if that lizardfolk ship they’d found had been one of those lost vessels.

  “How many do you require?” Jekka asked.

  “Two hundred and four.”

  Jekka considered the orbs resting in the laps of the corpses. Could there really be that many lizardfolk lords awaiting revival? What would it be like to converse not just with members of his own clan, but ancestors who understood the great secrets of the past?

  He breathed deep and scented the arena, his view taking in the strange condition of the humans below. “What has happened to them?”

  “I do not understand your question.”

  “Have you attacked the humans?”

  “I have placed the high lords of our people within them, as I will do with the humans you have brought me.”

  “No,” Jekka said, “you must not.”

  “I require more vessels, Lord, not fewer. Why do you forbid me?”

  “This one is my sister. Most of these others are my friends.”

  Ivrian’s head cocked. “Now it is I who do not understand.”

  “Your understanding is not required. You have my leave to take the one known as Ensara, but the consciousness of the others is to be restored. The female is my sworn sister and of my adopted clan.”

  “I shall have to consider your request.”

  “You shall consider it carefully. It is in my power to return with more vessels, thus you would be wise to seek my pleasure.”

  “I shall do as you ask.” Ivrian extended a hand. Mist sprayed from his fingertips, touched Mirian cheek, and then his sister’s eyes flickered open.

  Jekka helped her to her feet.

  Senakka spoke on with Ivrian’s voice. “If these others are not of your clan, I will have to ignore your request. I shall begin preparations for the first transference.” Ivrian turned and walked stiffly down between the rows of mummified figures.

  “What’s happening?” Mirian asked. “What’s wrong with Ivrian?”

  It was unpleasant to speak a human language again; he had to struggle to convey meaning quickly, and the words came clumsily. “Ivrian’s body is being controlled by a sorcerous guardian. It’s readying to transfer spirits from some of those seated here into the bodies of our companions. But something’s wrong.”

  He didn’t understand Mirian’s expression, but knew she studied him intently. “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m still working on that. Senakka,” he called.

  Ivrian pivoted as though he were on a crank.

  “There’s something wrong,” Jekka said. “Do you not see what the lords are doing?”

  “The lords planned to take the vessels of those who were presented to them. Thus has it transpired. They do with them as they will.”

  “There’s nothing left of your great lords,” Jekka said, realization coming to him as he spoke. “How long have they been confined to the orbs their fingers clutch? Four or five hundred cycles? A thousand cycles? They are mad, Senakka. Look, they do nothing but drool.”

  “Is that not what they wish to do?”

  “I don’t think so. They would converse, and walk.”

  Ivrian turned. Mist continued to drift from his eye sockets as he looked up at Jekka. “There is something to what you say.”

  Jekka moved down toward Ivrian. “Was there any contact between them? Or are they each alone within their orbs?”

  “Each is alone. It is safer that way—one orb might fail, but not all of them.”

  Jekka’s head swayed in sorrow. “Their safety has doomed them. They have been driven mad by isolation. Didn’t you monitor their well-being?”

  “They are safe, within their orbs,” Senakka said. “So long as my magic functions.”

  “Safe within a prison from which there was no escape. Can you sense their life forces, Senakka? Can you commune with their spirits?”

  Ivrian ceased movement.

  Mirian had started down after him. “What’s happening?” she asked. Naturally, she couldn’t understand their speech.

  Senakka replied. “You are correct.” Ivrian’s mist-filled eye sockets turned once more to Jekka. “I lack understanding of this matter. The magic in each is intact, yet when I call out to the spirits, no one answers.” He lowered his head, bobbed it twice. “They did not tell me that they could not endure.”

  Jekka supposed that the lizardfolk, for all their wisdom, had not guessed they would remain so long in stasis.

  “You must give the human bodies back,” Jekka said. “You have no use for them. I do.”

  “I can return this one and awaken these new humans.”

  “Do so.”

  “It shall be as you say, Lord. Likewise, I will turn the city over to you as well. It is yours.”

  “The city is yours, Senakka.”

  “No.” Ivrian swayed his head and shoulders, a lizardfolk gesture of remorse. “My purpose was to safeguard the entities and that is no longer possible. My task is complete. Farewell, Jekka Eran Sulotai sar Karshnaar. To you and your descendants I leave the city.”

  And as suddenly as a candle is snuffed, the mist drifted from his eyes. Ivrian collapsed limply.

  Jekka heard a great roaring of wind and his head snapped around to the doorway. He sprinted up the steps past Mirian.

  He reached the height of the stairs, looked through the archway and down across the city’s roofs to the dock where the ships were still lashed to the pier. He saw exactly what he had feared.

  The Veil, with no magic to support it, had collapsed. It now rolled in a vast, thousand-foot wave of mist toward the city.

  30

  THE STORM IN THE TEMPLE

  JEKKA

  While Jekka dashed up, Mirian sprinted for the dais and the silver, tear-shaped stone glistening at its height.

  The pirates groaned and shifted, struggling to sit upright. Rajana, though, swung up her head and met Mirian’s eyes. There was no mistaking that gaze for madness.

  “The Veil!” Jekka called from the archway at the top of the stairs. “It’s collapsing!

  From outside rose a rumble like a mighty storm, the frightened cries of distant animals, and the alarm calls of birds.

  Rajana pulled herself up the dais. Mirian was starting for her when she caught a flash of movement in an archway above.

  Telamba had stepped through an open archway, and the red coal burned in his palm.

  “It comes!” Jekka cried.

  Mist spewed in through every archway, propelled by shrieking wind. The swirling mists were somehow buoyant, tossing objects and beings as it reached them. Jekka was sent tumbling through the air like a leaf, and then the dead lizardfolk whirled up in a ghastly, gravity-defying dance.

  Mirian was flung into a row of brittle corpses, felt her elbow crunch into a dried chest. Her hand smashed into a chair back. A clawed hand struck her face and she fought down panic … but
the things were not alive. Only the wind granted them movement.

  The glowing mist buffeted and howled. Somewhere she heard Ensara calling to grab the pillars.

  “Jekka!” Mirian cried.

  There was no answer. She searched the floor. There, through the curtain of mist and rolling debris, she spotted Rajana. The wizard had pulled herself up the dais and grasped at the tear.

  Mirian grabbed her knife, aimed, and threw, but the wind carried the weapon far off target. She rose, cursing, and pulled out her cutlass.

  The wild wind buffeted her as she advanced. Something swam crazily past to her left—a headless lizardfolk corpse.

  A monstrous crash of stone shook the floor.

  “The dome’s caving in!” Jeneta screamed from somewhere to the left.

  Through a gap in the mist overhead she spied an immense crack shooting along the dome, widening.

  Mirian had lost sight of Telamba. There was no missing Rajana lifting the tear and waving her hand across it with a look of elation. It was only a brief one, for a net of fire soared out of the mist. Instead of wrapping her, it defined a protective shield of energy that surrounded the woman. The fiery red of the net burned with increased vigor even as Rajana’s shield glowed an eerie yellow. Half hidden within, Rajana shouted something.

  As the mists thinned Mirian spotted Telamba striding past a hunk of stone. Much as he needed to go down, she wasn’t about to attack him, for fear his own attack against Rajana would fail if his concentration was shattered. And she couldn’t reach Rajana beneath the net.

  She spotted Jeneta helping a dazed-looking Ivrian to his feet. Ensara veered past a cluster of broken seats and ran toward Mirian. She lost sight of him as masonry crashed down, stirring so much dust she couldn’t see if he’d leapt clear.

  The ground shook, and Mirian threw herself to the side as a gargantuan hunk of stone slammed into six rows of stone chairs to her left. Chips of stone flew into the wild currents. A sliver slashed her neck. By the time she struggled to her feet, both the net and the shield seemed to have failed. Telamba raised his gauntleted hand toward Rajana.

  Pirates formerly allied with Rajana raced wild-eyed past her. One of them screamed as another hunk of the dome fell. It raised a cloud of dust that soared into the mad winds still coursing through the room.