Overture

by K R Schultz

  Once they reached the wall, Aibhera’s disappearance remained a mystery no more. A narrow cleft, barely wide enough for them to squeeze through, branched off and angled left. Kyonna went first, and Simea followed. Once through the gap, the cleft widened and plunged steeply downward. They stumbled and fell on stones worn smooth and slippery by ages of erosion and arrived bruised, battered, and rubbery legged at the gorge Kyonna had seen from the air.

  Even in the early afternoon, the sun no longer penetrated to the canyon floor, and most of the ravine lay in shadow. Sunlight only reached partway down the rock face on the east side. Scrubby vegetation clung to the canyon walls in clumps, and small shrubs sprouted on the vertical rock faces on either side. The air in the gorge seemed frigid by comparison to the heat of the ravine.

  Around a sharp bend, they spotted Aibhera kneeling beside a pool of water. “I don’t think we can drink this water. It smells awful, but other pools ahead might be drinkable.” She stood and brushed sand from her knees. “Let’s go farther before we stop for the night.” Her voice filled the air with sonic ghosts as it echoed off the stone walls.

  The young Sokai shivered, enervated by the chill air, as they picked their way through the broken stone and gravel. Aibhera stopped and looked back. “It must be late afternoon. We should stop for a meal.”

  “And a rest.” Kyonna rubbed her hands together. “A fire would be nice too. I’m so cold I can’t feel my fingers.”

  Simea had brought up the rear but heard Kyonna’s complaint. “Most of the chasm is already in deep shadows, and it’s getting colder by the moment. I hear squeaks and chirps coming from the canyon walls occasionally, but I still haven’t seen anything.”

  “I’ll gather the wood this time,” Aibhera said.

  “Keep alert though, we still don’t know what’s making the racket.” Kyonna dropped her pack and sat on it.

  After Aibhera had scrounged enough brush for a small fire and the youngsters had eaten, they resumed their journey among the scattered boulders. The clatter of pebbles tumbling from the heights kept them on edge.

  Eerie echoes bounced off the rocks, so they remained silent and hoped to avoid whatever predators lurked in this gloomy fissure. When night approached, they made camp and lit another fire. The small fire lifted their spirits and warmed their bodies. Once darkness fell, loud squeaks and grunts echoed up and down the gorge, but Simea and the girls couldn’t see anything outside the circle of firelight.

  The next day’s journey proved as grim as the previous days. The shade in the canyon was welcome after the heat of the lava plain, but uncertainty dampened their spirits, and bitter cold at night sapped their strength. Without Kyonna’s supplies, they would have run out of water by nightfall of the day she arrived. There were pools of water in the canyon, but most smelled like the underground sewage treatment facilities in Abalon and looked unsafe to drink. On the third day, Kyonna found a spring trickling from the canyon wall. It took a long time to fill their canteens with the cold, clear liquid, and after they drank their fill, they moved on.

  After six days in the gorge, the three youngsters grew accustomed to the nightly chorus of unseen animals. On the seventh morning, Aibhera awoke with a shriek. A stampede of furry creatures raced away from the campsite. The canyon exploded with their high-pitched squeals as they streaked across the canyon floor and scurried up the walls.

  Simea shot out of his bedroll and scrambled to his feet. “Aibhera, what’s wrong? Why did you scream?”

  “Something fuzzy brushed my face. When I awoke, eyes the size of my fist stared at me. When the little beast bared its fangs at me, I screamed. You would too. Look at them covering the walls.”

  The little animals had reached safety. They clung to the rock face and scolded the Sokai with a cacophony of echoing barks and squeals. Finally satisfied they had berated the Sokai interlopers long enough, the skittish little creatures swarmed over the rocks and nibbled plants on the rock wall as if nothing happened.

  “Well, you scared them off, so let’s have breakfast,” Kyonna said. She yawned, stretched, and walked over to where their packs lay near the embers of the fire. She picked up her bag. It’s lighter than it should be. Her fingers found a tattered hole in the canvas. She unfastened the top flap, turned the pack upside down and shook it vigorously.

  “Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is my pack is lighter. The bad news is those evil little bastards have eaten everything in my bag. You’d better check yours. If they stole your food too, we won’t have breakfast, lunch, or any other meals unless we catch and eat a few of them.” She pointed at the creatures clinging to the rocks around them. “I wonder how they’d taste roasted over an open fire.”

  CHAPTER forty

  Captured

  Rehaak awoke with an aching head. It is blacker than midnight in a mineshaft here. I do not remember how I arrived here, wherever here is.

  All Abrhaani avoided the darkness. If deprived of sunlight for too long, they weakened and became ill. Darkness bothered Rehaak more than most Abrhaani. He had feared it since childhood—that, and rats.

  Rehaak lay on his side, the musty mineral scent of soil wafted up from beneath him. When he tried to move, he discovered that someone had bound him hand and foot. His arms fastened at the wrists, and securely tied behind his back, sent pain shooting through his neck and shoulders. Because of the awkward placement of his arms, he could only roll onto his face to relieve the discomfort in his neck and shoulders. Rehaak’s change in position did nothing to ease the pain in his ankles, which were also bound, nor did it stop the throbbing in his head.

  Footsteps approached. A faint glow brightened as the steps came nearer. The flickering light allowed Rehaak a closeup view of a dirt floor and rough rock walls. Stalactites hung like monstrous teeth overhead, and stalagmites poked up from the cave floor, evoking the image of a creature holding him in its jaws. He now knew where here was—a cavern. Unseen hands seized him, wrenched his overstressed shoulders, and forced him to sit upright.

  One of his captors untied Rehaak’s ankles and wrists. “Get on your feet, the master wishes to see you now.”

  Rehaak wobbled to his feet like a newborn lamb and staggered a single step before he fell to his knees. His feet were numb and refused to obey him, and his hands prickled and stung as his circulation returned. His captors dragged him to his feet, pushed him forward, and cuffed him whenever he stumbled.

  Their flickering shadows preceded them, and rocks of all sizes, barely visible in the dim torchlight, tripped Rehaak several times as the two men pushed him forward down a dark hall.

  The passage ended in a chamber lit by many torches. Many men knelt, stripped to the waist, facing forward. Rehaak lost count of the number of men bearing the familiar Odium tattoos across their shoulders. There were many.

  His guards pushed him through the kneeling crowd. He raised his eyes from the crowded floor to notice what held their attention. Dreynar Asan, the young nobleman he met on his way to Dun Dale, stood over an altar fashioned from a truncated stalagmite. Drey wore a black ceremonial cloak covered in embroidered silver runes, like the tattoos on the other men’s backs. In his hands, he held one of the long knives with which Rehaak had gained an unwelcome familiarity.

  Isil was right, they use the knives to offer sacrifices to their Nethera gods. On the altar, a lamb, its legs bound, awaited the knife stroke to end its life.

  Rehaak stumbled again and fell to his knees. Neither the uneven floor nor the sight of the impending sacrifice caused his fall. What sapped his strength was the sight of the entity behind the altar. The nightmare creature from his childhood lurked there while the tattooed men worshiped it. Rehaak wanted to rise and run, but fear paralyzed him as it had in his nightmares. Even if my legs obeyed me…I am surrounded…I could not escape. Unless I am mistaken, I will be next on that bloody altar.

  The Dark One loomed over the altar. Its form was total darkness that flowed and shifted so his eyes could not focus
on it. It reflected no light; it devoured the illumination. The torches near the altar shone dimmer than the ones farther from where it hung motionless behind the slab. While the Nethera awaited the knife stroke ending the innocent creature’s life, Rehaak sensed its hunger and hatred.

  The men’s chanting built to a frenzied crescendo, anticipating the sacrifice. The knife in Dreynar’s hands descended, and blood spurted from the lamb’s severed throat while Drey caught the flow in a chalice. Once the last of its lifeblood dribbled into the goblet., the lamb twitched and became still.

  The men shouted as though they had accomplished a magnificent victory instead of an act of depraved butchery. The Dark One moaned in ecstasy and expectation. Rehaak suspected it received sustenance both from the debauchery of the men and the sacrifice on the altar.

  The Nethera gains strength from them because it demeans and twists them into the opposite of what the Creator intended. They do not realize the creature draws nourishment from them, nor do they know that their participation in this sacrifice weakens them while it strengthens the Nethera. They believe it feeds on the lamb’s blood, but their corruption gives it more power than any animal sacrifice. I feel the Nethera’s pull on my life force too, but the Creator shields me from the Nethera’s hunger. It can’t draw strength from me because I do not serve it.

  Drey stepped from behind the altar and raised the chalice of blood overhead. He chanted in an unknown language, and the men joined him. Their voices built to a crescendo of incoherent rage and hatred. When the noise of their voices peaked, Dreynar lowered the chalice to his lips and gulped the warm lamb’s blood. When he finished, he extended his arms and held the goblet out, offering the contents to the assembled crowd. “My brothers, drink deeply. This offering is blessed by Ashd’eravaak’s presence today. We are the Odium, chosen to rule Aarda under the benevolent gaze of our god.”

  The men jostled each other to be first to drink as if it were an honor rather than a disgrace. Dreynar passed the cup to them. He turned, lips bloodstained, eyes unfocused, and approached Rehaak where he knelt on the gallery’s floor. The Nethera followed Dreynar. It rent the air and left a void in its wake. Rehaak grew faint from the horrific stench of rotten flesh that emanated from it. He did not know how any man tolerated its company without vomiting. Although the Nethera was still halfway across the underground chamber, Rehaak’s gorge rose, his vision blurred, and bile burned his throat. His stomach spasmed, and he spewed its contents onto the cavern floor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Welcome to Sethria

  The Swordsman and Swallow Inn, like the rest of Sethria, had seen hard use over the last sixteen years. A thick coating of soot, dirt, and grease covered the stone facade. Aelfric had seen the building’s former glory, but it would take years of scrubbing and scraping to expose the flawless white marble underneath the thick layer of grime. Aelfric pulled open the door and found the interior only slightly less grubby than its exterior. Patrons in various stages of drunkenness lounged at the tables while harlots flogged their wares to the customers.

  Aelfric wrinkled his nose at the stench of unwashed bodies and stale beer. He made his way to the bar where the bald, hairy-chested innkeeper in a greasy apron wiped the bar with a dirty rag. “I have rooms reserved under the name of Kett,” Aelfric said.

  “Oh, do you now? You are not one of Kett’s regulars. How do I know the room is yours? We are swamped this time of year.” The fellow’s eyes narrowed as he took Aelfric’s measure. “The hotel is fully booked. Perhaps we could come to some arrangement.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and licked his lips, anticipating a payoff.

  Aelfric scanned the room before he turned back toward the innkeeper. “I’m certain that hogs stand in line outside the door to rent rooms in this pigsty. Let’s negotiate an arrangement now.” He reached across the bar and grabbed the innkeeper’s tunic and a handful of chest hair with it. The innkeeper squealed like a stuck pig.

  “Perhaps you misheard the name. I have rooms reserved under the name of Kett,” Aelfric growled, shaking the innkeeper like a dog shakes a rat. The threadbare tunic tore, and Aelfric ended up with a handful of cloth and greasy chest hair. “Is our arrangement satisfactory?” His hand drifted toward his knife, and his lip curled in a sneer. “If not, we can negotiate at greater length.”

  “Oh, aye, sir. More than adequate. The boy will show you to your room immediately, sir.” He rubbed his wounded chest with a filthy paw. “Vim, show this fine gentleman to his room.” He waved his free hand at a young fellow who sprawled on a bench behind the bar, cleaning his nails with the tines of a dinner fork. The motion, intended to motivate the youngster, took effect only after the innkeeper added a hiss and a curse to his gesture.

  By his appearance, the youngster, who looked about Laakea’s age, was one of the innkeeper’s offspring. Vim indeed. Glaciers move faster than this dolt. “I believe this belongs to you.” Aelfric placed the torn cloth on the bar, wiped his hand on his thigh to rid himself of the fellow’s chest hair, then followed the young man. The youngster slouched up the broad stone stairway ahead of Aelfric. When the boy reached the top landing, he grunted and pointed at the door to his left.

  Aelfric pushed the door open with his shoulder, and rusty hinges emitted a squeal that set his teeth on edge. Beyond the open door lay a simple room containing an Eniila-sized bed, a small table, and two shabby wooden chairs. Rusted pieces of decorative metalwork, festooned with cobwebs, hung above the bed. Light-colored rectangles on the walls indicated where tapestries had hung during its Abrhaani occupation. Thank the gods I can sleep in comfort tonight if the place isn’t bedbug infested. “This is acceptable.” Aelfric sent the innkeeper’s boy away with a dismissive wave. Have I spent so much time among the Abrhaani that I no longer am at home among my own people? If I feel so out of place in my homeland, how can I expect to rule it? He shrugged and threw his gear onto the table in the middle of the room.

  Sethria had changed, and he no longer recognized the city. Remnants of many Abrhaani buildings lay where they had fallen, forming blackened piles of stone. Wherever there was space among the ruins, shacks had sprung up like dilapidated wooden mushrooms feeding on the decay. The well-ordered streets of the Sethria Aelfric knew had become a chaotic maze of alleys and passageways, choked with rubble and stinking garbage.

  Did we conquer Sethria to replace it with this? Is this stinking cesspool of shacks and shanties the best we Eniila can manage? May the gods help us if this slum is the best my people can salvage from my most significant victory, or is this a portent of some sort? A tap on his door interrupted his morose thoughts.

  “It’s me, Kett.” Aelfric opened the door, and Kett sauntered into the room. “What do you think of our beautiful city, friend Aelfric?” Kett closed the door behind him. “Are you fond of what they’ve done with Sethria? Are you impressed with the improvements?” Sarcasm tainted the words. Kett flopped into a rickety chair near the table, while Aelfric stood by the window overlooking the dirty street below.

  “Not exactly.” He turned away from the scene of disorder and decay and faced the Abrhaani lounging in the chair. Aelfric couldn’t identify the emotion in Kett’s eyes and hesitated before he chose an honest answer. He hoped it cemented their relationship.

  “My blood burns to see how they have misused this city. Is that what you wanted to hear? I am disgusted by the filth and poverty. Does that answer your question?”

  “More than adequately, my friend.”

  “So—what’s next?”

  “Here is what we’ll do.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  New Offer

  “We meet again, Rehaak, scholar, troublemaker, and heretic,” Dreynar sidestepped the pool of vomit in front of Rehaak and lifted his chin with a bloody hand. “It would have been easier on both of us if you accepted my offer and came with me.” He squeezed Rehaak’s jaw and shook it before letting go. “Instead, you forced me to send Odium’s disciples to bring you here.�
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  Dreynar’s words refreshed Rehaak’s memory. He had remained hidden in the Dancing Dog’s woodshed until Breisha approached with the leather straps for Laakea’s breastplate. When he slunk out of the shed, someone put a sack over his head and grabbed his arms. Rehaak remembered nothing more until he awoke on the cavern floor. An ache in his temple confirmed they had clubbed him unconscious.

  Behind Dreynar, the disciples renewed their chanting after they emptied the chalice.

  “What do you want with me, Dreynar?” Rehaak spoke loudly to be heard above the voices chanting Ashd’eravaak’s praises.

  “We wish to convince you of the error of your beliefs. My master’s master, Ashd’eravaak.” He nodded toward the evil creature behind him, “Ashd’eravaak, our rightful master and god, hoped a demonstration of his power would convince you to serve him.”

  Rehaak shuddered at the idea of serving the abomination before him. His eyes bulged. He could not blink, nor could he look away from the blazing red eyes of the Nethera who lurked behind the young nobleman. This was his childhood nightmare made real.

  “Now that we have your attention, we would like to reason with you and lead you to the correct path. The Odium wishes to free the last remnants of mankind from its bondage to the Nameless One. We will achieve our goal once we reunite mankind under the benevolent leadership of Ashd’eravaak and his brethren. Ashd’eravaak and his kind, under the guidance of S’ek’zekaar, have fought tirelessly for our freedom for countless millennia.

  “We seek to bring the Eniila and the Abrhaani together, so we might enjoy harmony and fruitfulness like we did in ancient times. Surely that is a noble goal and one you would support. Isn’t that your wish for mankind?” Dreynar stopped and waited for Rehaak’s answer.