Yet despite Jikun’s attempts to wrest himself from the delusional beliefs of his companions, he could not escape the anxiety of what possibly lay ahead. The imagery grew day by day with almost unnatural speed, as though one with the Aenid Mountains. By the time the three had reached the edge of the massive, grey stone, the peaks seemed lost above them in the stars.
Jikun’s eyes swept left and right, struggling in the dark. “So where is this path…?” he challenged. Several small, black shapes hovered near the cliff-faces, but part of him dared not ask what they were.
Eldaeus raised a finger to the east as he sauntered forward. “Just over there. Where the six crows are sitting.”
Jikun strained his eyes in disbelief. ‘At this time of night…?’ Validating Eldaeus’ words, he distinguished several crows perched atop a boulder, almost as still as statues. He shivered reactively as they turned.
“Do you feel that?” Navon whispered, his voice cracking.
“Yes,” Darcarus grunted.
“No,” Jikun lied, locking eyes on the mountain path. “Now desist from infecting me with your childish superstitions.” The moonlight’s attempt to stretch its rays into the twisting mountains abruptly ceased where the path began—nothing persisted but an endless void into the abyss, sable as the ocean’s depths. To his left, a crow abruptly screeched and hopped to face him, its cries rallying the birds around it to frantic bobbings and screams.
Jikun recoiled into the now-comforting familiarity of the sands and drew his cloak snugly about his body. There was something unsettling about the darkness—and the fact that the wild crows seemed rallied by his movement only intensified his alarm. “No.”
Up ahead, Eldaeus reappeared, his strangely etched face hollow in the moonlight. “Why?” he queried, his voice unnervingly cheerful.
Jikun coughed, flinging his hand boldly at the pass. “Absolutely not. We can’t see a damn thing in there,” he barked. “Whether or not your story about the infantry unit is true—and I have my doubts—we don’t know what else could be lurking within. We can wait until the morning.”
Eldaeus began hopping with the same intensity as the crows, his eyes like two freakish globes. “Oh no. We cannot wait until the morning. The infantry unit sleeps at night. In the morning, they will surely overtake us. We have to travel at night. Always at night. I said I could get you through safely… This is how we must move!—The path is not long, come!”
Darcarus’ fingers danced above his hilt even as he strode to the entrance. “His plan sounds half-sane to me…”
Behind Jikun, his captain had enough instinct to disagree. “I don’t know… Eldaeus, it is utterly black in there.” His own words reignited his unease and he withdrew, firmly shaking his head as he stepped beside Jikun. “Even if we wanted to travel at night, Jikun is right—we cannot see a thing.”
Eldaeus cocked his head and spun to face the path. “Really?” He was silent for a moment, then pivoted and snapped his tattooed fingers. “No worries. I have a thought!” Then he flopped abruptly down at the egress in a puff of dust and nestled himself against the stone. “At the first light of dawn, we will run through—really fast—before everyone wakes up. It is a risk, but it sounds like a reasonable compromise, does it not? You will get a little light and I will not be killed!”
“I would prefer to live, myself,” Darcarus seconded.
Finally, some sense from the both of them, even if it was of the most basic kind. “Agreed,” Jikun decided, settling down across from Eldaeus. He stared into the darkness a moment longer until concern threatened to overtake his senses. “Wake me when we are ready to move.” He rested his head against a stone and closed his eyes, forcing them to remain shut even as every instinct shouted at him to peer once more into the dark.
After a moment, he heard Navon inquire softly, “…So, what exactly are the males of this infantry unit now?”
“Well,” Eldaeus began, leaning in close, “wraiths, mostly. They still have all their armor and weapons, but they are definitely dead. I suppose… they are like wraiths or lich.”
“Sh!” Jikun hissed. “I am trying to rest. You two whispering only makes me strain harder to hear you.”
“These undead,” Eldaeus continued in a normal tone, “are fairly—Ow, why did you kick me?!”
“I said SH.”
*
“Ok, get up! Up!”
Jikun cracked open his lids and grimaced. His spine was stiff and his cheek throbbed with the effect of an unpleasant brawl. “Did I actually fall asleep?” he groaned, even as his eyes caught the ray of light on the horizon.
“Somehow,” Navon replied blearily as he hauled him to his feet. “But it’s time to move.”
Jikun pushed off of his support and stretched—though it was an action that would afford him little delay. Darcarus already stood at the mouth, tension rippling through his frame. ‘He has traveled all across Aersadore and still believes the path is haunted?’
It was not a comforting thought.
Yet, at the moment, that road was merely dirt and stone, speckled with the occasional weed that struggled for life along the otherwise barren path. The width between the grey stone flanking it on either side was hardly wide enough for two males to walk through side-by-side—like the pass at Turmazel Peak where thakish had often lain in wait.
And then Jikun’s eyes swept upward. The sight was little better: endless, sheer faces of the mountains, jagged here and jutting forth there, with sharp ridges like knives looming overhead. Jikun inspected them warily. Rather than thakish, here they faced the precarious balance of lurking stones.
‘Lurking?’ he rebuked himself shamefully. ‘Gods, I’m turning into one of those three.’
Three… His head spun around, realizing that they were one companion short. “Where is Eldaeus…?”
“GOOOOOOD MOOOOORNING LORD SUNSHINE!” Eldaeus crowed from behind him. He was perched atop one of the large boulders that marked the entrance to the pass, extending one hand toward the dawning sun as though he could raise it through sheer force of will. With an elaborate twist of his ancient cloak, he leapt like a spritely winter wolf down the stone, springing to the front of the group. When the momentum of his initial jump had faded, he drew to an abrupt halt and whirled to face Jikun and Navon’s flabbergasted expressions.
Darcarus clearly shared their thoughts, rapidly plucking at the gold button centered on his breast. “I think I am more afraid of him than I am of the dead.”
But Eldaeus put a dismissive finger swiftly to the prince’s lips. “Shhhh, we must not wake the infantry!”
And away he went.
Jikun raised a hand to his temple, massaging it as he began to follow the bounding elf. “Good gods.” There was a part of him that began to say it was too early for such loud tones and nonsense, but in the case of Eldaeus, Jikun could not think of a time of day he would ever find it bearable.
“At least he is not singing,” Darcarus muttered.
Navon recovered a second later, striding up to the two and falling into step beside Jikun. He wasted no time in dropping the weight of his conclusions. “I spoke to Eldaeus at length about these mountains and I am ashamed to admit that I truly believe him.”
“You should be.” Jikun forced a laugh, nearly tripping over a loose stone as he shot his companion a look intent on inflicting greater humiliation. “Have mercy on me. I can only handle one mad member of our group at a time.”
“Well that’s not really fair then, is it? Eldaeus will always occupy all the time for himself.” Navon reached into his cloak, retrieving three fish and swinging them about as he continued, “For a non-necromancer, he has a remarkable understanding of the souls and the Gates.”
“Perhaps he simply overheard your lesson.”
“…That was a summary for children.” When Jikun failed to retort, he persisted, “And the elves who escorted him to imprisonment feared the same tale—all substantially saner than he, I imagine. Not to mention that the ‘pri
nce’ seems on Eldaeus’ side.”
Darcarus snatched a fish before Navon’s wild gestures lost him his breakfast. He flicked some rotted fruit from its stinking, scaled flesh. “It is hard not to believe the tale when an entire culture has structured their lives to avoid the place.”
“And the Lithri still believe they are Lithriella’s Chosen. You know how elves are—how much stronger is a rumor than the truth?” Jikun rescued a fish as well, biting the head first in deliberate disobedience to the Faraven’s warning that such a thing was bad luck. “I have never seen a wraith, a lich… any undead, for that matter, except for those which flicker about within necromantic spells. I know Navon said that souls can resist the pull of the gate, but we are not talking about one or two here, we are talking about hundreds… thousands.”
Navon shrugged faintly, taking, Jikun noted, a bite from the tail. “I read a bit about it in my book… The book you stole from me. It has me wondering if perhaps Relstavum can summon something like them… I mean, he obliterated Dahel.” When Jikun gave no reaction, he asked, “Can I dump out the fruit yet? It really has gone bad. You should have dried it out like the fish. Now my cloak reeks like excremental waste and—” But his complaints were broken by the sudden reaction of the Faraven ahead.
Eldaeus had spun about, his eyes ripped wide, his jaw swinging low. Jikun felt his heart drop into his gut as the Faraven raised a shaking finger, pointing it into the barely lit chasm at their backs. His cry emerged barely audible through its frenzied quavering. “LOOK!! BEHIND YOU! AN UNDEAD!”
Jikun and Navon reeled about as one, his captain thrusting the kitchen knife high in preparation for Jikun’s first assault from the ground. Ice rushed to Jikun’s extended palms, crackling across his fingertips. He was flanked by Darcarus, who unleashed a wave of purple smoke that began to take the shape of…
And Jikun stopped, perplexed. The pathway was as empty of the undead as it had been only moments before, a lazy wind winding through its empty passage. A single crow plucked at a weed on their right as a small beetle scuttled its way to safety.
Darcarus’ magic fizzled out and the creature he had summoned vanished into the dawn.
Jikun whirled, fear giving rise to a swift temper. “Why, you little cunt!” he growled.
With a feverish giggle, Eldaeus pranced several steps ahead. “Oh, you should have seen your eyes!—like a troll grabbed you right about the middle. I thought for sure they were going to pop right out of your head!”
“Damn it, do not waste my strength!” Darcarus hissed.
Navon relaxed, letting his hand drop to his side with a chuckle. As though his ashen complexion was actually a rosy-cheeked expression of mirth. “You truly had me there.”
“I know, I know,” Eldaeus patted himself on the back.
Literally.
Jikun sighed, anger abated by Navon’s tolerant humor. He let the ice fall to the ground as he strode forward, crushing it beneath his heel. “What were you saying, Navon?”
Navon sheathed the kitchen knife at his waist, his cloak still gripped white-knuckled in his other hand. “Can I drop this fruit? Even the best of it smells like piss.”
Darcarus sniffed and quickly waved a hand before his nose. “I do not care what Jikun says. Yes. By Kamora and all things beautiful, yes. I will be eight thousand and still be scraping that stench out of my nasal passageways.”
Having obtained all the permission he needed, Navon untied the cloak and let the rotten fruit roll out behind him. The crow at the weeds lifted its head warily, hopping forward several feet to pluck at the fermenting cores.
The fruit was gone, but to Jikun’s dismay, the stench remained to creep along behind them. Ahead, the path twisted to the right and rolled into the distance. “For how far does this go on?” he demanded, glaring at the endless cliffs of stone.
Eldaeus glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, for at least a few hours. That is why we have to pick up our pace if we want to make it out before…” he trailed off, stumbling to a halt as he rounded upon them. His gape was locked over their shoulders, his expression frozen as he began to choke on his terrified bellow. “L…look behind you…! AN UNDEAD!”
Darcarus was already in action, his magic swiftly forming a monstrous wolf. Jikun and Navon were at his heels, the kitchen blade extended, a spear of ice preparing to launch from Jikun’s fingertips. Jikun’s mouth opened to cry out on the offensive…!
A crow squawked in the empty pass, ruffling its feathers in irritation at the intrusive stares. “Keep it up and I am going to start counting your teeth,” Jikun growled.
Eldaeus gasped. “That is just spiteful!” came his muffled reply.
Jikun turned back around, but the Faraven had already pranced ahead.
“Come on, we have to keep up,” Navon sighed, adrenaline gone as swiftly as it had come. He dragged his dirty, bandaged feet forward.
“Why?” Jikun spoke below his breath. “It’s not like we can lose him. Unfortunately. As he said, there is one way in and out.” He narrowed his eyes at the back of Eldaeus’ sickeningly cheerful hair. “He is going to be useless against Relstavum. I think we should make a pact now that if there are undead, we leave the maniacal elf behind as a distraction while we make a run for safety.”
“Agreed,” the other two replied in unison.
“LOOK BEHIND YOU!” Eldaeus bellowed down the canyon. “AN UNDEAD!”
He was determined, Jikun could offer him that much. He heaved dismally. “Is he going to keep this up the entire way?”
“Probably,” came his captain’s weak reply.
But Jikun had to admire the Faraven for his resolve. Eldaeus did not try it once or twice more: it was at least a dozen more times with increasingly dramatic expressions of terror or tones of shock. At least twice he feigned a fairly believable faint.
“Alright, Eldaeus,” Jikun snarled when he finally lost count of how many times he had whipped around, prepared for the ghastly horde. “I now swear that if you utter the word ‘undead’ one more time, I will run a spear of ice through your skull and may Lithriella wing me if I lie.”
Eldaeus’ grin faded and his ugly lips twisted into an expression of horror. He elevated a god-damn finger and choked out shamelessly, “L-l-l-ook! BEHIND YOU! UNDEAD!”
Darcarus shot out his fist. “That does it!”
Navon put a tempering palm on the prince’s wrist. “At least he is adding variety.”
“How so?”
“He said undead this time, as opposed to an undead.”
Jikun knocked Navon’s hand away from the Sel’ven, readying to assist in the deed. “I swore if he pulled that… Eldaeus, give up!” he roared as the Faraven retreated a step, fright and surprise still audaciously ingrained into his features.
“REALLY!” he choked. “LOOK BEHIND YOU!”
“Can I just put us all out of our misery?” Jikun groaned, glancing over his shoulder to pacify Eldaeus.
Navon dipped his head, finally appearing ready to agree.
Jikun’s boots dragged to a stop, his breath frozen in his chest. ‘Wait, that was not present before!’ he thought, his mind slow to grasp the sight. He stumbled, instinctively leaping aside in disbelief and alarm. “NAVON!” He swung his hand, magic tearing from his body and erupting through the earth before him.
Framed in the path loomed four men unlike any Jikun had seen, weighing the air with a thick, suffocating aura. They were hardly distinctive from one another: ashen pallor, sunken cavities devoid of eyes, and sparse, stringy hair flowing down beneath their dented helmets. Jikun’s ice shattered against their breastplates, but pierced through the leathery flesh inside their boots with a sickening squelch.
As Navon turned, his countenance shifted to panic. “Sel’ari protect us!” he cried.
“I told you! I told you!” Eldaeus shouted. “And you did not believe me!”
“Silence, you crazy bastard!” Darcarus thundered as Jikun formed a spear in his hands.
But as swift as
they had come, the wraiths vanished.
Jikun remained locked to the barren path, head swiveling wildly, his breath emerging short and ragged. “Those were dead soldiers,” he exhaled. “Did we kill them?!”
Eldaeus shook his head. “No, they will be back. But do not worry. They have to appear before they attack.”
“Attack?!”
“Those were scouts,” Eldaeus spoke rapidly, his face twisted between a smile and a grimace, as though unsure whether to delight in his knowledge or fear it. “They will be back with their infantry brothers. Do you not understand anything about war?!”
Jikun reeled around, his face contorting in anger at the merry grin reflected to him. “How can you smile at this moment?! We have to move!” He forced his legs into a run, kicking up dirt as he caught Navon by the arm. “Run, Captain!”
Eldaeus’ face grew solemn as the pair dashed past him. Darcarus was at their heels, flinging the Faraven back against the wall as he went. “Hm…” the Faraven mused. “You are right! I do not know how my luck works against an entire infantry unit. Someone is bound to kill me.”
“Then imagine those of us without your nonsensical luck!” Jikun hollered.
Eldaeus’ voice broke with surprise. “You are right! Emal’drathar above, we must hurry! I will give you a peapod when we get out of here!”
“I DON’T WANT A DAMN PEAPOD!”
Navon let out a shout of panic beside him, and Jikun quickly twisted his head over his shoulder.
His stomach dropped.
Where once the path had contained nothing but their own footprints, now there lay a writhing mass of pallid, surging corpses. They were attired in their ancient, battered armor, burned and scarred by dragon fire. Rust-colored cloaks once drenched in blood twisted about their bodies in the tattered remains of scorched material. The air was so heavy with dread that it seemed to press down upon Jikun’s body, slowing his attempts to flee. At the front of the horde clanked a male in shattered plates, the metal held to his form with mere remnants of leather.
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 30
