Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  The dwarven woman rubbed her face in her hands, blinking to clear her vision. Had those been tears he saw? Then she seemed to regain her composure and looked at the two, giving a half-hearted smile. “I don’t remember a thing,” she whispered, laughing again past a small sob.

  “You have only just awakened,” Lilyth said. “Perhaps your memory will return with time and rest.” The demonlord’s sapphire gaze seemed genuinely sympathetic, but Arek remembered the barb in her voice when dealing with Niall. He knew Lilyth’s mood was mercurial, potentially turning in an instant, and he kept his face carefully neutral.

  Brianna seemed to collapse in on herself. Her attitude was one of intense loss, a curious reaction for someone with no memory of losing anything. Arek filed this away to speak with her later when they were not in front of Lilyth. For some reason, he had a feeling that perhaps Brianna’s origin should remain a secret for now. In order to deflect Lilyth’s interest, he switched the topic to one he’d already intended on pressing.

  “You said I’d meet my father.”

  Lilyth looked back from Brianna to Arek and said, “You will.”

  “Where?” Arek pressed.

  Lilyth seemed to consider her answer before speaking. When she did, it was undercut by a conspiratorial urgency, as if the information was for his ears alone. “He has set himself to find you. I doubt he knew you would make your own way here.”

  Before any more could be said, one of the alabaster angels appeared, stepping from thin air. It waited for the demon-queen’s acknowledgement and permission before saying, “Visitors, my lady.”

  Lilyth’s eyes went distant, as if she looked at something they could not see. Then a small smile appeared on her lips. She looked back at Arek and said, “I will answer your questions, my son. Now, however, we have other guests.”

  His first thought was Niall. It was unclear anyone else could have made it into this realm from Bara’cor, at least not through Lilyth’s gate. He didn’t like the interruption but curiosity got the best of him and he found himself grudgingly agreeing.

  Lilyth gestured and a portal opened in her garden to what looked like an audience room. She smiled and then waved her hand, allowing Arek and Brianna to go through first. He hesitated, but she said, “It is safe. No harm will come to you here, my son.”

  Something in her gaze reassured him though he did not know why. He glanced at Brianna, who looked happy to be moving rather than sitting still with her thoughts. Then he steeled himself and stepped through the portal and into what looked to be Lilyth’s empty throne room. Nothing moved, and at first he thought perhaps this had been a trick.

  “Arek!”

  The shout came from behind and when Arek spun he felt rather than saw someone leap and crush him in a bear’s hug. His arms fumbled to figure out what was going on when whomever it was dropped out of his grasp and held him at arm’s length.

  Yetteje!

  “By the gods, you’re alive!” she exclaimed, evidently caring little that more than one of those “gods” was in the room with them.

  He stood there, dumbfounded, literally at a loss for words. What was she doing here? Finally, he managed to say, “Tej?”

  “We’ve been looking for you since you disappeared!”

  “We?” he asked, numb.

  She nodded, beaming from ear to ear. “Your masters and Ash, we’re all here looking for you and Niall! I’m so sorry for being angry at you before.”

  Arek didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been abandoned? A sudden joy filled him and before he knew what he was doing he’d grabbed Yetteje and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

  She was caught off-guard but let the kiss linger. It even seemed to him that she fell into it a bit before pushing him back and saying, “Easy there… good to see you too.”

  Arek, red-faced, stepped back and said, “I…I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  Yetteje laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him. “Don’t worry, I get it. You’re glad I’m here to rescue you.”

  Arek nodded, feeling even more stupid. Then he looked around, his eyes falling on two armored angels in silver and gold and a man leaning on a staff, who strangely reminded him of a gaunt version of the lore father. These were not his friends, though they looked to be part of Yetteje’s party. Rather than guess, he asked about Silbane and the rest.

  Yetteje’s smile melted away. “I’m not sure. We got separated.” She looked at him then and asked, “Where’s Niall?”

  “Same.” Arek couldn’t help but look glum as he added, “He went with Valarius and his elves.”

  Yetteje was quiet at that. She looked back at the man and pursed her lips. “I’d heard but was hoping it was a lie.” Then her smile slowly reappeared and her eyes almost glowed with happiness. “Well you’re okay, and at least Niall’s alive!” She looked at him, her amber gaze searching his face as if trying to read the events of the past few days there. Then she said, “These people were kind enough to bring me here.”

  “Princess Tir is very persuasive,” commented the dour man with the staff.

  She rolled her eyes a bit at that, then said, “Let me introduce you to my companions. These two are the Watchers Orion and Helios,” she said, pointing to the silver and golden angels who bowed in response, “and the man with the staff up his—”

  “Keeper Thoth,” Lilyth finished. “Welcome back to my humble abode. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

  The room seemed to grow colder, but Thoth moved forward and bowed. “Yes, my Lady, we do indeed.”

  The Giant’s Step

  A few folks stay late, probably to avoid the drumming they’ll get at home from the missus.

  My advice has always been to take the small spats,

  Before they build into something you can’t fix.

  - Alain the Farflung, A Guide to Westbay

  The king’s party left the medical station and supply room without incident, having replenished their supplies. None of the weapons here would be of use against the Aeris, but Sparrow had commented on the abundance of herbs and other necessary aids, as if she’d been surprised such medicines would be found at all. To Bernal’s great sorrow, there were no survivors thus far. In fact, there were no bodies either. When he commented on this, it was Malak who answered.

  “They’re part of Lilyth’s army now,” said the firstmark flatly, his face looking troubled.

  That brought to mind watching Sergeant Stemmer fall, and he knew what he meant. Had not Baalor showed him the dead of Bara’cor when he faced him earlier? He looked down at his liquid silver blade, Azani, and then back up at Malak and nodded. “We’re not going to find anyone, are we?”

  Malak shook his head slowly. “It is doubtful.” The firstmark looked around and then asked, “Where to now?”

  Bernal took stock of their surroundings, then made his way to the landing from which Yetteje and he had come up. He and Malak went to the edge and looked down into the blackness below. Something had snuffed the torchlight. “We head down, Firstmark. Three levels and then exit to the vault doors that lead to the cisterns and the underdark of Bara’cor.”

  Malak motioned and the elves reformed, some lighting torches. At his signal, three detached themselves and moved down the stairwell, lighting torches as they scouted ahead. When they had descended a level below, the firstmark gestured and the main body of elves along with the king began moving down the circular stairwell.

  Bernal watched for signs of anything amiss but the surrounding area was silent. Even the elves barely made a sound as they glided down the stairs. The scuff and tromp of his own boots made him feel ungainly, like a plodding animal trying not to fall. None of the elves commented and Malak did not seem concerned, still the memory of being on this very same stairwell fleeing something from below left him feeling uncomfortably exposed.

  To distract himself, Bernal appraised the firstmark again. The man was focused, his blue skin had a light sheen to it, as if fear was not unknown to him. That made t
he king feel better. The lack of fear held hands with foolishness, as Talin used to say. Those who did not fear took unnecessary risks, and Bernal was in no mood to deal with the outcome of bravado.

  They continued their way down past the second level, finally exiting on the third. The elves had created a small perimeter, alert for any sound, but silence still reigned. Given his position in the center of this horde, the king tried to relax a little but something within stayed as taut as Valor’s string on the draw.

  Malak motioned to Sparrow and then came over and knelt beside the king and asked, “Which way now?”

  Bernal gestured with his chin. “Fifty paces up you’ll see a door with crossbars secured by a wheel. Turn it left to open the door.” Malak nodded and was about to order them forward when Bernal grabbed his arm. “The other side is not patrolled and I do not know exactly where Lilyth’s gate lies. Have care.”

  Malak nodded once and leaned over to Sparrow. He relayed his orders and she nodded to both he and the king before disappearing in the direction of the door.

  The king watched her go and then said, “She’s impressive.”

  Malak’s white smile shined brightly in the dark light. “From her birth I’ve taught her how to lead.”

  The king heard the pride in Malak’s voice and asked, “She’s your child?”

  Malak watched a contingent of scouts follow Sparrow to the door and then the rest of his men moved forward to support them. He smiled and looked at Bernal, clearly waiting to be sure everyone’s position was good before answering the king. “We elves do not give birth as you mortals do. Our lives are given to us by the highlord.”

  Bernal looked down, not able to keep the sadness from his voice. “Then you can’t understand my position.”

  “On the contrary, I have felt love caring for a child. Even before Sparrow, the boy you think of as Arek was my ward, nurtured by my hand each day he was in Arcadia.”

  “Arek?” The king looked at Malak wide-eyed. “How is that possible?”

  “Why do you think the boy looks like you, King Galadine?” the firstmark asked.

  Bernal leaned back, trying to create a physical distance from his own thoughts. “I don’t know. We wondered the same thing.”

  Malak clasped the king’s shoulder and said, “He was raised by Valarius Galadine in the resplendent realm of Arcadia, in the apple-city which grew to become Avalyon, where dreams come true. How could he not be shaped to resemble his own maker?” The elven firstmark smiled again, then his visage grew more somber. “It was not until the queen saw the baby staying forever a babe that she bade me send him back to Edyn. Something in the eldritch nature of Arcadia gives any living thing everlasting life.”

  “And you brought him here?” asked the king, moving slowly forward to follow the firstmark to the door.

  “Nay,” Malak replied. “I have not the power to transfer between realms. Only Lilyth can achieve such miracles.”

  “But you’re here…” trailed off the king, not fully appreciating the importance of what Malak had just said.

  The man did not meet his eyes then, and his lips went into a tight, grim line. Then he said tersely, “As I said before, much was sacrificed for this one chance. Now stand ready, we are about to breach the underdark.” He shouldered past the king, effectively cutting off any reply. He clearly wanted to say no more on the subject.

  Bernal turned, frustrated by the firstmark’s reaction, still he decided to hold his tongue. He stood many rows back from the lead scouts who would open the vault door. When the king tried to push his way forward he was held back by unyielding hands. Clearly these men had been ordered to keep him by their side.

  To Malak’s credit, he did not stand with the king but rather up front with his men. At his brusque nod, Sparrow spun the wheel and unlocked the crossbars. Everyone readjusted their missile weapons with a sound like the rustle of leaves.

  Largely due to the diligence of Bara’cor’s men in the care of the fortress, the wheel spun smoothly on tumblers and in a moment the iron bars disengaged with a clang. Sparrow gave Malak a nod then pulled on the door, swinging it silently inward on well-oiled hinges. She quickly flitted to one side of the rectangular blackness and out of the line of fire, drawing a short, curved blade better suited to fighting within these cramped spaces if the need arose.

  Nothing emerged screaming from the dark, no specters of Aeris erupted from below. One of the men threw in a torch, which bounced on hard granite and landed some distance away, a lonely pool of orange and yellow light flickering and bringing to life new shadows on the cavernous walls. Bernal knew the landing well, and also knew it would extend some distance downward before turning back on itself.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Firstmark, there’s a steep drop to the left. Your men would be wise to hold close to the right wall.”

  Malak nodded, then motioned. The squads formed up and entered quickly, with the king positioned somewhere in the middle. The firstmark joined him, one hand on his shoulder. They moved swiftly down the tilted path, lighting torches to see their surroundings better. As each glowing ember was struck, more black shadows danced up and down the crags, giving the walls a jittering macabre form of their own.

  Bernal let his eyes quickly scan the gloomy interior. Normally he’d have mentioned the natural luminescence, however the insubstantial nature of the mist-like Aeris made him feel more comfortable with real light to guide them. With his eyes tuned for any movement, the shadows were an unpleasant distraction for the want of that comfort. They proceeded for some distance before the convoy stopped and a moment later a runner appeared out of the shadows. He motioned for the king to follow him, then ran for the front of the line.

  When he arrived the firstmark was looking out over the switchback landing. Bernal did not remember the man leaving his side, and realized much of his attention had been consumed straining to see enemies in the dark. He looked to where the commander gestured and realized the switchback ended sharply, turning into a room. The king’s brows drew together in consternation.

  “It wasn’t like this before,” he said, almost to himself.

  “Sparrow noticed something move,” said the firstmark. “At first I thought it to be our enemy, but it seems the fortress itself can change.”

  Bernal looked at Malak, remembering the fight with the dwarves. “The bodies of some enemies we fought earlier disappeared. Perhaps there’s more to Bara’cor than we know.”

  “Nevertheless, can you guide us from here?”

  The king looked down the path, which now turned sharply to the left and seemed to go back under their original path. His eyes scanned the rest of the area until he finally came back to the firstmark, to whom he said, “Yes. The path may have changed but I still know the direction to the cisterns.” He held out a hand, pointing. “We follow this general direction downward and we should come to them soon.”

  “Very well,” Malak motioned to the king to step back, “you’ll stay behind the first squad and scouts and we’ll relay your instructions forward. We’ll go slow, so don’t worry about mistakes. We can always double back.”

  The king nodded, shifting his shield onto his back. When they were ready the column of elves moved forward. The sharp curve did lead to a tunnel under the original path, sloping downward to a number ofT intersections. Bernal kept his path oriented to the same direction, switching his turns alternately to keep them essentially moving northeast by his reckoning.

  Turns gave way to straight paths that led farther down and the air began to cool, a wet chill that slowly soaked in through his armor and soft clothes. They continued on, though Bernal could see these elves did not like the cold at all. More than one rubbed a bare arm or hugged themselves. Clearly they were not bred for this environment and he wondered what the place they called home felt like. Still, they were sure-footed and agile, with not even one slipping or losing ground to the slick wet rock they trod upon.

  After what seemed an eternity they came to a lan
ding that had two paths from it. One led downward to a place he thought he recognized, called the Giant’s Step. The other pointed to a small landing from which he heard a rumble, the first sounds he’d heard since entering this place. He motioned for Malak, then pointed and said, “I’d like to see where this leads.”

  Malak nodded, motioning to two squads to accompany them while the rest held their ground. Then they made their way down to the landing. The sight that greeted them elicited gasps of wonder as it opened up into an underground valley. They stood on one side looking down a sheer cliff, a dark gash in the rock. Streaming from the far side was a ribbon of silver-white water, falling endlessly into the black void below. It fell with a dull roar, fanning out in the darkness like a horse’s tail caught in the wind.

  “No doubt from Shimmerene,” said Malak without emotion. The king looked at him in surprise, to which Malak answered, “Bara’cor is known to us, my lord.” He smiled. “Remember from whom we hail.”

  Bernal nodded but then added, “This wasn’t here before.”

  Malak regarded him for a moment, then said, “There has been a cataclysm of force rendered upon the rock. Perhaps Lilyth broke open some channel for the water to flow. Regardless, is this important to our goal of achieving the gate?”

  The king sighed, unsure if this was important enough to note or a natural result of the battle above, as Malak suggested. Still, something about it nagged him, and he found himself looking down over the cliff edge.

  Just then a scout ran up and said, “Sparrow hears something.”

  Whatever doubts the king had disappeared as the prospect of fighting Aeris took primary significance. It wasn’t that the king was looking forward to conflict, rather quite the opposite. Indeed, having expected some resistance as they descended below Bara’cor, it had been disconcerting to have encountered nothing. The utter deadness of the underdark filled him with an unnamed dread, as if they had truly left the realm of the living when they had entered these tunnels.