by Jon Kiln
“Sadgast…” The words punched through Vekal’s mouth, unbidden. They were spoken in a low and warning tone.
“Well, my little Sin Eater. Your host has sought its way up into the Garden for a long time. A very long time. For millennia perhaps. Is that right, Ikrit?” The creature laughed to himself. “Every time he got near to the surface, he failed. Every time he managed to attract the attention of another half-rate sorcerer or cultist, he failed. And he was punished by the gods. They drove him further and further down into the depths, certain that he would forget his own true name before he ever managed to climb his way out again!”
“Sadgast…” Again, Ikrit used Vekal’s voice to warn the creature.
“Clearly, however, little Ikrit is made of stern stuff. He managed to make his way all the way back again, and somehow found a window into the world. And eventually into you! Now, down in the many hells you Sin Eaters have a bit of a reputation, you see….” Sadgast gloated over being able to reveal each morsel of fact. “The gods have smiled upon you, and you are their beloved pets or something. Or maybe you have learned the trick of it, the way to keep us out. To see us and to hold us at bay.”
“Clearly not true,” Vekal-Ikrit said, unsure which of him was saying it.
“Perhaps. But usually a devil can take control of their host so completely that, in a mere few days they could have them throwing themselves under a sword just so they could get at another, a better host. But we heard rumors that with Sin Eaters, it would be different. That they are so used to being half between this world and the Undying realms that they could seal a spirit in, never to leap from the body, to die with their host,” Sadgast said, peering at Vekal and sizing him up as if he were a prize heifer at a market. “My, oh my,” he continued. “What an interesting conundrum!”
“Enough of your theatrics, Sadgast. Are you going to give me the keys or not?” Vekal-Ikrit said at last. “It makes no difference whether I am trapped inside this Sin Eater or not. I have brought the Menaali to Tir, and the city of the gods is theirs. It is only a short matter of time before they look westwards towards their next great prize, and then you and all of your beloved city will be gone. All of the networks that you have built, all of the contacts. All gone. It will take hundreds of years to regrow all of that, to find a suitable place for the keys once more.”
The keys? The keys to what? Vekal thought, as the devil inside of him kept on speaking.
“This Sin Eater I got here proves it! I proved to the whole cosmos that I could do it. I deserve those keys now. Who else? Who else has ever done this?”
“And you are sure that is what you want? The Lockless Gates?” Sadgast asked. “You are certain? You could stay, you know, in this body. In this life. You could stay here like me, become a contact. Become a guide to other imps seeking recompense for their time in hell.”
“I am sure. You know what I want, and what I can do to get it. I have already threatened all of the southern lands in my quest, and I will not stop now!” said Ikrit.
What quest? What are the Lockless Gates? Vekal was starting to feel ever more out of his depth.
“Very well,” Sadgast said. “I will tell you what you need to hear, and then Sadgast will liquidate all of his assets and he will move his business. Maybe somewhere a bit cooler north of the Inner Sea. Maybe I will travel eastwards, see our brothers amongst the Dragon Isles.”
“I don’t care where you go…” Ikrit spat back.
“The Lockless Gates are held by the High Council of Fuldoon, although they do not know it,” Sadgast responded. “They are in a tomb on a small island in the Shattering Coasts of the Inner Sea.”
“What?” Ikrit said. “How could you be so stupid as to let them take it?”
“You know full well that we only have limited power here. How could I stop them from occupying a coastline?” Sadgast laughed. “The island is little more than a rocky outcrop with some trees on it. The Council have never used it for anything other than a look-out post, and do not know that underneath is a tomb with one of the most powerful artifacts in the entire Garden! It is called the Isle of Gaunt, and any map will be able to tell you where it is, although no sea captain will sail willingly through the Shattering Coasts to get there.”
“I’ll get there,” Vekal-Ikrit said, his voice half hope, half agony.
“Ha. Well, you have got this far, I suppose. And brought an army at your back. The lords of hell will be impressed, I am sure.”
“Screw the lords of hell,” Ikrit said, turning and leaving the soldier-devil standing in the weird ab-light, below the city.
“They’ll stop you, you know, Ikrit! No devil has ever got that far! You should stay here!” Sadgast shouted after him, but Ikrit simply walked to the exit curtain of the coffee house, and strode out without saying a word.
19
It was night time in the city by the coast, but that didn’t mean for a second that it was any quieter. Instead of the sun, the streets were lit by torches or, in some cases, lanterns. Revelers spilled in and out of the taverns or sat smoking and drinking in the squares. There was a feeling of light-hearted liveliness to the air, as far more people were coming out in the cooler climate of the night then there had been in the scorching mid-afternoon.
Dogs were barking and somewhere someone was singing. People were drinking light wines or having their dinners on the stoops of their houses as the Sin Eater walked past. He felt surrounded by humanity, and full of questions.
Just what the hell was that all about? Vekal demanded of the seething spirit inside of him. What are the Lockless Gates? What is so special about us Sin Eaters? Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?
For a time, Ikrit was silent, before a pulse of a headache like it was clearing its throat.
“Yes, I had planned to bring Dal Grehb to Tir. I am the architect of your demise, Vekal. But seeing as we are stuck together, we might as well enjoy our time. Don’t worry, if there is anything that I can do to make it shorter, I will,” the devil said, for once leaving Vekal to march under his own volition.
“I have told you that we spirits are like you. That we could be reborn. Or, if a human is evil enough they might be cast so far down as to become one of us. That is true. It is an endless cycle, Vekal. The system of the worlds is unfair, and cruel…
“But there is a legend amongst us spirits, that there is an item called the Lockless Gates, which allows you direct access to the heavens. The Higher Planes. The Fields of Tranquility. Whatever you want to call them. Countless of my kind have been trying to find them to escape our hellish existence. What do we need of gods and pardons and favors and being judged? No! We will go there ourselves.”
“But why the Menaali? Why destroy my city? Why?” Vekal found himself saying, even though he didn’t believe what he had just heard. A doorway to the heavens? To the realms of Annwn and Iliya themselves? Impossible.
“Many of us devils do not want to get there, afraid that it would trigger a war or that the gods would ferret us out or, like Sadgast, have too much of a good thing going on down here. I needed to show them that I could do it. That I would break the world if I had to, to get it. Every devil respects a bit of stubborn determination, and destroying the most ancient city in the world and threatening all of the south is mine.”
“So… you just want rest? You want to die and go to heaven?” Vekal knew that the words were heretical and disgusting in his mouth, and every fiber of his being rebelled at the thought of the devil in heaven, but he still had to ask it.
“Yes. Of course. And the sooner we get to the Isle of Gaunt and the tomb, then the sooner you will be free.”
The Sin Eater was silent for a moment as he wandered, dazed and amazed through the city, before finally nodding. Heaven. Release. Not made of this world, but belong to another. “Yes,” he said. “I will take you to this Isle of Gaunt, and this tomb, to find these Lockless Gates of yours.”
Together, the devil and the Sin Eater felt a sense of matching rel
ief.
20
Talon awoke in the early hours of the morning to the sound of rough banging on the door of Aldameda’s house. For a wild moment, half full of dreams and nightmares, he imagined that it might be the gypsies come to steal him back, or perhaps it would be leering, spitting demons with faces just like Vekal…
“Vekal?” he said, struggling out of the low platform bed that was little more than a wooden board and a few blankets, but still more luxurious than any bed that he had had for years. The gypsies had fed him well, but that was about the limit of their generosity, and Talon thought that they only fed him to make sure he could work harder.
Maybe the Sin Eater has come back. Maybe he has found a way to calm the devil inside of him, Talon thought as he threw on some clothes, grabbed a knife from the floor beside the bed, and padded to the door.
Outside were muttered voices, a man and woman’s, but not the gypsies’, nor Vekal’s. Talon swallowed nervously, wondering what he should do, just before there was a loud knocking on the door itself, and it was thrown open to Talon’s startled gasp.
“Oh! You’re up. Good.” It was Suriyen, looking with surprise at the fact that the boy was holding a knife defensively. She nodded, as if what she saw was an improvement. “Well, at least you are learning. A good Friend has to always be ready, in case they or their colleagues are attacked. Come. Gather your things, we need to leave now.”
The tall woman turned without seeing if the boy complied, and a moment later Talon was hurrying behind her into the main lounge room, where two new people had apparently arrived.
Aldameda was busily packing wrapped parcels into hessian and cloth packs. “You have a day’s food, water for three, and a few other useful items,” she said, heaving the first square pack and then a smaller one onto the table.
Suriyen gratefully accepted the larger, pulling the leather hoops over her shoulders and showing Talon how to affix his. The boy, however, couldn’t take his eyes off of the new arrivals, who were just as consciously regarding them all with a piercing gaze.
It was a man and a woman, both with the dark skin of the south, but they appeared much better dressed than anyone that Talon had ever seen before. The gypsies who had employed him had worn extravagant clothes, but none were as finely made as the ones that adorned these two.
Both man and woman wore turbans, with the man wearing soft cream robes of cotton, edged with delicate golden threadwork, tracing what looked like stylized river flowers. At his belt, there hung a full longsword in its scabbard, with a hilt like woven steel.
The woman was similarly dressed, but her robes were of a deep blue and edged in gold and cream, and whilst she had no sword at her waist, she had instead a tall, heavy pole that was a little taller than her, and shod in gleaming steel. It had cord bindings down its length, and trapped between the cord handgrips were tiny sparkling stones.
It was clear to see that these two were wealthy, but not the extravagant wealth of garish colors. Talon couldn’t see any rings, medallions or jewelry at all save for one golden hoop at the man’s ear.
“Talon?” Suriyen slipped another, smaller knife into the boy’s boot, before taking up her own staff. “This is the Counselor Maaritz, and Herald Allura; they are our Friends.” The guard placed a heavy emphasis on the last word, and Talon knew that meant that these two must also follow the same strange bull-god of Suriyen and Aldameda.
“They work for the Council of Fuldoon, and will be able to aid us in our quest,” she continued, before the man called Maaritz interrupted her, frowning.
“As good friends always do for each other. But that is not what brings us to your door, Mother Aldameda.” He bowed to the older woman, who remained silent in the background. “As I was saying to the Mother of this house, the Council has received word of a sizable force heading this way, over the desert. Dark riders can be seen on the horizon; scouts, some are saying. They could be here by midday, if that is their intention. Luckily, perhaps, we also received your message about your recent… situation,” Maaritz chose the word carefully, and it was clear to Talon that he would have rather said something like ‘catastrophe’ or ‘accident’. “We have been able to organize a meeting with the rest of the Council of Fuldoon, but you will not go there as Friends, and neither do the Council know that we two are Friends. You must tell them everything you know of the enemy that threatens us all.”
“What about Vekal?” Talon asked, starting to wonder if this Counselor, for all of his fine clothes and fine words, did not hide the fact that he might be just as controlling as the gypsies were.
“Vekal?” the woman, Allura said, her eyes calculating. “So that is the devil’s name?”
“No,” Talon replied, as Suriyen tried to hush him. “Vekal is my friend. He is not the devil.”
“Son, if Vekal is the host, then believe me, by now he will be the devil.” The Herald Allura stamped her staff on the floor in annoyance and dismay. “We will help you search for him. We are a part of the ruling Council, and we can get things done in Fuldoon. One devil we can track and find. But an entire army we have no hope against, unless we find out as much as we can, and we prepare now.”
Suriyen put a warning hand on Talon’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly. When the boy looked up, he saw her mouth the words ‘not now’. He wondered if that meant that Suriyen was on his side, and wanting to find and save Vekal, or whether she was just telling him that he was being foolish.
What do I know about the Menaali? Talon thought, as Aldameda bid them all goodbye, and they hurried out of the low door and into the nameless street in the early morning glare.
“Hurry!” the Herald called Allura said, gesturing to where a carriage waited for them, tethered to two horses.
A carriage? the boy thought. They really are not sparing any expense… Talon had occasionally been hoisted onto the back of one of the gypsies’ wagons to make a speedier passage across a difficult terrain, but he had never been given a place in a city carriage, and didn’t know that they were so finely furnished.
The carriage was made of wood over four wheels on a sprung axis, giving it a slight wobbling movement that eased out any kink or jags in the cobbled streets below. Windows made of a fine lattice-mesh of bamboo strips allowed air in and the occupants to view out but remain secluded from the watchful eyes of outside. Two opposite benches with leather cushions and deep fur blankets gave them room to sit comfortably, as Allura ascended to the driver’s seat on top, and flicked the reins of the horses into a fast trot.
Talon saw that her finely-made staff doubled as some kind of baton as she fixed it into a banner-holder at the side of the carriage, and any time a civilian saw it they backed away from the Herald of the Council quickly.
But despite their haste, the carriage could not press through the throng of markets and sheer number of citizens as quick as Maaritz would have obviously hoped. He drummed his hands along the window ledge impatiently, eyeing the outside with a grim scowl.
Outside, the city passed by in a confusion of cobbled streets, colorful clothes, and shouting voices. Talon saw rivers of people dressed in white robes—clearly some religious order—weaving their way through the crowd, bearing one of their dead. The boy saw the omnipresent fish merchants, burly men or thin, trying to entice sellers near and far. Their carriage went through districts where the houses were blocky and ochre-colored, carved from the gigantic soft stone of the region, looking like they had grown from the desert sands rather than built with human hands.
People sat on porch steps, smoking pipes, or cultivated tiny gardens. Soon, their path started to get easier as the streets widened and they started to gently climb the gentle rise to the austere Council Building of Fuldoon. Talon saw it long before they neared it, as it was the tallest building for many blocks, raising its flat head into the skyline like an imperious giant. It was made of interconnecting square buildings, many stories high, with the exact same tall, oblong windows like darkened tooth sockets up and down its lengt
h. It didn’t look like the sort of place that Talon thought that he would enjoy going to. It looked more like a prison than the highest office in the land.
“Halt!” someone was shouting outside, and their carriage slowed to a walk, and then stopped. Talon looked at Suriyen nervously, who put her fingers to her lips with one hand, the other sitting lightly on her own longsword.
“What is it?” Maaritz was hissing up at Allura, trying to get a better look out of the slatted windows.
There were feet clattering towards them, and Maaritz put his hand to the door of the carriage, ready to leap out or hold it shut, whichever action was required, but with the sudden flickering of shadows across the doors, the running people separated and passed the carriage in two rivers. Talon saw a momentary glimpse of cream and white robes, and studded leather jerkins, men and women wearing helmets and carrying pikes.
“Soldiers?” Talon whispered.
“The soldiers of Fuldoon,” Maaritz said, with a look of alarm and surprise on his face. He explained quickly as he opened the carriage door when they had all passed. “Fuldoon is run by a council. We cannot command people to join the army, so all of our soldiers are employed citizens, or they are criminals given the chance to fight for the city or work in the mines. We never usually have to amass them for anything other than gate duty.”
Maaritz opened his side-door and jumped out onto the pavement next to their driver, the Herald Allura, who watched the large contingent of a hundred or so running down the hill, towards the outer gates of the city. Suriyen had already opened the other side-door, and helped Talon climb with her up onto the roof of the carriage, to stand and look down over the city below.
“Look!” the far-sighted Suriyen said, pointing into the distance.
Below them, the city was sprawled out with all of the confusion and disarray of an overturned child’s game. Streets turned and circled and knotted in mesmerizing lines, punctured by the many market squares and small parks, breaking the chaos and adding a little order to the crowded trading port. To the north, the city butted straight out onto the Inner Sea, its docks made of numerous piers and harbors, warehouses and stone slipways.
