by Jack Conner
The Order-men hung back, giving Abayan space. He swayed rhythmically as he chanted, and Stevrin noted that his movements were subtly wrong, as was his general shape. It seemed ... well, lumpy. Knotty. Portions of him bulged out that should not bulge out. Just like ...
At last the man finished his chant and reached a hand toward something on the altar. It was a grayish blob, bite-size, and the man placed it reverently in his mouth. He chewed with much moaning and swaying, swallowed, shuddered in pleasure, and chanted some more. Stevrin was relieved to see there were no other pieces of gray blobs to be eaten. Hopefully this little performance would end soon.
It did. The man finished his chanting and stood, slowly. He had obviously known he had an audience, for he turned to them—again, slowly, as though he delighted in making them wait. As soon as he turned, Stevrin gasped. He started to jump backward, but the two Order-men caught him and held him tight.
What set him off was the robed man’s face. It was still dark, and when the man turned away from the candlelight his face fell largely into shadow. Even so, it was enough—enough for Stevrin to see it was hideously misshapen. Strange bulges stuck out from it, on the forehead, cheeks, one half-covering one eye, and the bulges did not stop at his face. Stevrin realized what had struck him as odd about the man’s movements: the deformities extended to the man’s arms and legs and his back, as well. He was a hunched and twisted being, and his skin, even by the dim light, shone grayish. And there was a strange smell about him ... it reminded Stevrin of the trees at the mansion in the Ivies, the trees here in the Dead Hills. It almost smelled like … mushrooms.
“Ah, what is this?” the man said, smiling. As he smiled, Stevrin saw that the gray lumps had replaced several of his teeth as well, and more had fallen out. His tongue, too, was lumpy and awful, and it looked drier than it should.
“A new recruit, Father Abayan,” said the man that gripped the back of Stevrin’s shirt. “Or so he says.”
“There is some doubt then, Brother Lius?”
“We caught ‘im sneakin’ about the grounds.”
“I wasn’t—” Stevrin started indignantly.
He hardly saw the blow coming. No matter how deformed Father Abayan was, he was fast. One moment, he was just standing there. The next, his arm was a blur, and Stevrin’s head rang, and he tasted blood on his tongue.
“You will not speak unless spoken to,” the priest snapped.
Spitting blood, Stevrin nodded and glared at him.
“That’s better,” Abayan said. “Now I will give you leave to reply. Were you not indeed sneaking?” When Stevrin waited stubbornly, Abayan sighed and said, “Speak now. Do not try my patience.”
Stevrin obliged. “I was comin’ to join your Order. I’d snuck past the homuncs and was just comin’ on the temple when I heard weird sounds and such, and I wandered down the hill aways to see what looks like a fuckin’ mine goin’ into a cemetery. I was tryin’ to figure it out when Lius here catches me.”
Lius grunted. “Could be.”
Abayan stroked his lumpy chin. “True, many lately are drawn to the Call. Grand times approach, like a growing blaze in the night, and the little moths swarm toward the flame in droves.”
Stevrin didn’t much like the sound of this, but with the taste of blood in his mouth he decided to keep quiet about it.
“Well, little moth, are you ready to prove your devotion?” Abayan asked. His eyes glittered as he said this, and a cruel quirk twisted his mouth.
Stevrin supposed he had permission to speak. “Yeah. I guess. If I have to. Do I have to? Maybe I could do this on a trial basis?”
Abayan laughed. “Come!”
He strode past them, back toward the main hall. Lius and the other man shoved Stevrin after him. Abayan clutched a candle in one of his powerful, gnarled hands, and it provided the only illumination. By its tiny leaping light Stevrin could see little but a polished black stone floor and Abayan’s back.
Stevrin stared at the lumpy, misshapen figure ahead of him. Could it be? The more he stared, the more certain he grew. Yes, he thought. It had to be. Abayan—or someone very much like him—had acted as high priest the night Stevrin had witnessed the sacrifice in the Ivies. Fuck fuck fuck.
He felt air stirring, and heard the echoes on the walls, and knew the cavern was opening out a bit. At last he felt it must be larger even than the main room of worship in the Magnarist temple above.
Father Abayan stopped, and Lius brought Stevrin sharply to a halt. Abayan spoke reverential words to the darkness ahead, then bowed to something Stevrin could not see. Where were they?
“Unclothe and chain him,” Abayan said harshly, turning back around.
“Unc—” started Stevrin. He did not finish the word before Abayan cracked him across the face. Stevrin reeled. Sparks flared and dimmed in his vision. Rough hands tore off his jacket, shirt, and pants. Air stirred over his naked body. His scrotum shriveled in fear. He heard the rattle of chains, felt Lius shove him a bit forward, then felt manacles snap around his ankles, wrists.
“I’ve ch-changed my mind,” he said.
They ignored him.
The chains drew tight, and he found himself lifted up and dangling naked, spread-eagled a foot off the ground. He tugged and kicked at the chains, but they proved too tight to admit much slack. Shitshitshitshitshit.
Smugly, Abayan stood before him. “Are you truly ready to embrace the Savior?”
Stevrin tried to speak, but fear had paralyzed his vocal cords. He coughed and started over. “I ... I ...” He swallowed. He thought of Sasha and Balard, Agatha and the lumpy boy, the quakes and the yellow mists. He forced himself to nod. “I am.”
“Good. Then you shall wear His mark.” The priest nodded toward the side. Until now all Stevrin could see was the few feet the candle illuminated, and that was mostly Abayan’s twisted, knotty face, made even more evil by the leaping shadows cast by the candle. But suddenly a new light source sprang into being, and Stevrin felt the blood drain from his face. Lius and the other man were lighting a brazier, and even as Stevrin watched Lius laid a brand over the coals, the sort of brand that might be used to mark cattle.
It stretched six inches across, at least
Stevrin stared. He felt a squirt of urine leak out onto the floor. He tightened his muscles and willed himself not to release his bladder. Shitshitshitshitshtshit.
Abayan laughed. “I see you did not know about the Initiation,” he said. “It makes me wonder just how much you do know about the Order. Just why did you decide to join us, young one?”
Stevrin was hardly paying attention. His gaze was riveted on the brand just then heating over the coals. It was shaped like the crest Yreg-ngad priests wore on their robes, a barbed spiral with a round, unblinking eye in the center, an eye that was almost too round to be human. Smoke curled up from it. He tried not to imagine what it would do to his flesh.
He wrenched his gaze away, forced himself to look at Abayan. By the light of the brazier he could see now what the priest had bowed to earlier, and he flinched. A great statue or carving had been hacked out of the cavern wall itself. It represented some great being, perhaps, a great amorphous thing with reaching pseudopods and limbs that had no discernable purpose or shape. It was just a huge confused mass of bulges and knots and things that may have been tendrils or legs or arms or heads, or even stalks of vegetation, and it rose out of sight into the darkness overhead. The carving must be fifty feet or more across and even taller. The leaping red light of the brazier caused the heads to stir and the limbs to writhe. The light coated it in tones of blood.
“Tell me,” Abayan said. It was almost a growl.
Stevrin tried to recall the priest’s question. Smacking his suddenly dry mouth, he said, “I heard the Call.” It had been what Abayan had said earlier. Maybe it would suffice.
Abayan stared at him thoughtfully. “Yes. The Great One grows restless. The time comes. He stretches out His mind and calls those who would hear Him, for soon
it will be too late. Those who have felt such contact directly should feel blessed.”
“I ... I do.” Instantly Stevrin realized he should have waited until being addressed, but Abayan seemed not to have noticed. He seemed thoughtful, quiet.
“The grand times ...” he muttered. “The Great Labor ...”
Stevrin hung there, trying not to think, trying to ignore the smell of smoke, trying to ignore the great god-thing depicted before him on the cavern wall, and of the strange, lumpy priest standing before it. He hoped Jack and the others had gotten safely away.
At last Lius lifted the smoking brand from the hot coals. It was white with heat, and by the glow it radiated Stevrin could see Lius’s hard smile through his bristly beard. Their eyes connected. Lius smiled wider. He stepped forward, bearing the brand with obvious joy. It looked heavy.
“Repeat after me,” Abayan said to Stevrin. He sounded half bored now, as though he had performed too many similar rituals for this one to completely hold his interest. “Igna leb ifru’an ulisteg.”
Stevrin mumbled the words, or a close approximation.
“Niqab aeli a-ta bagu.”
Stevrin tried his best. Lius was right behind him. He could hear the big man’s breathing, almost feel it on his neck.
“U es tum Yreg-ngad!”
Stevrin said the words. The smoke of the brand filled his nose, stung his eyes. He could feel its heat on his back.
“U Yreg-ngad!” shouted Father Abayan, eyes blazing.
“U Yreg-ngad!” echoed Stevrin. No no no!
Just as he finished the last syllable, Lius plunged the burning brand into Stevrin’s back. Smelling his own flesh searing, Stevrin screamed.
THE END
OF PART ONE
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
City of Shadows: Part Two, the conclusion, is now available here . . .
. . . in the US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0091TGIHK
. . . in the UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0091TGIHK
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