Raidon stepped up to the water and peered in. Or perhaps it wasn’t water—a crystal clear liquid lapped slowly against the edges of its containment, more like gel than anything else. But whether it was water or slime, phosphorescent images played out in the pool’s depths. Images that didn’t seem dissimilar to the visions his Sign had given him on occasion.
Seren and Thoster joined the monk at the pool’s edge. Both studied the confusing welter of lines and shapes of dull green and orange light visible in the fluid. Mharsan, the first mate, remained in the tunnel entrance.
“I can’t make any sense of it,” said Thoster. He turned away to look at one of the larger vine fruits. A worried frown grew on his face.
Seren wrinkled her brow but continued to watch the pool. “Do these glowing lights hold any meaning for you?” she asked the half-elf.
“Yes,” admitted Raidon. Against Angul’s stern insistence, he sheathed the blade. The moment the hilt left his grip, the monk sighed.
“What?” said Seren.
Instead of explaining, he pointed into the pool with one hand and lay the palm of his other hand flat across the Sign.
“This is some sort of meeting chamber. Were Xxiphu completely awake, this grotto would be swimming in aboleths.”
“Auspicious that everyone is still asleep,” said Seren.
“Or otherwise occupied,” said Raidon. “Ah yes. I can sort order from this chaos with the Cerulean Sign, enough so you can see too.”
He concentrated. The jumble of mismatched lines came together, creating a stylized image of a broad pillar. Within the pillar were packed lines, tubes, and spaces of all sizes.
“I see it! Is it an image of the city?” said Seren.
“Yes. Xxiphu. See there?” He pointed to the base of the wavering picture. A large space filled the entire lower fifth of the column. A convoluted series of spheres rotated around still larger spheres. One massive globe appeared to hover within the very center of the cavity.
“What is it? It looks like an orrery without the arms.”
“I don’t know what it looks like in reality,” said Raidon, “but by this simplified depiction and a sense I get from the Cerulean Sign, it is some kind of font of arcane magic.”
Thoster walked back up and gazed at the reconstructed image revealed in the pool. He asked, “What are those tiny little colored things flying around the spheres?”
Raidon concentrated his attention on one of the points the captain indicated. They came in all colors, though there were more red and blue points than any other.
The half-elf’s eyes widened.
“Aboleths!”
Seren sucked in her breath. “Are they really flying?”
Raidon slowly nodded. “The spheres apparently grant that power—at least the smallest ones. The largest orbs … could lift something far larger than even a very big aboleth.”
“Like a kraken maybe?” volunteered Thoster.
Raidon nodded, remembering Gethshemeth. But he suspected the black sphere around which all the smaller ones ultimately rotated could achieve something even grander … assuming conferring flight was its true function.
The monk wondered if, from this … council chamber, he could affect the connection of a given aboleth with the arcane power source and perhaps sever its ability to keep to the air. It seemed as if the functions were there, if he could devote enough time to its study.
“What’s most important at the moment,” he said aloud, “is that we can use this pool to track aboleths.” Raidon focused his attention higher in the column. The tumbling spheres were impressive, but not relevant to their purpose.
“Where are we on this schematic?” said Seren. “We docked fairly high up, right? Though we don’t know how tall the city really is since the top was punched into solid stone …”
Raidon didn’t answer directly, but slowly traced a finger up the side of the glowing map, his fingertip only inches above the pool. Doing so seemed to aid his concentration. As his finger moved, the area on the diagram near it came into better focus, while areas beyond blurred into far less detail. He was searching for the Eldest.
He discovered more and more points of abolethic light as he tracked upward through Xxiphu’s lower and central foundations. He found a particularly dense concentration of smaller, pale lights in a tangled maze of narrow tunnels about halfway up Xxiphu.
Within the tangle, a couple of points pulsed with particularly fell light that outshone all the aboleths he’d so far detected. The two were clearly powerful entities … but they didn’t seem to be aboleths. When he tried to focus his attention even closer, he was unable to get a positive fix on them. But neither was the Eldest. He moved on.
Above the maze, and moving steadily higher, he found another odd point of light. It seemed to pulse between great power and near extinction with heartbeat regularity. Raidon concentrated, then said, “Xiang’s Seven Principles, that’s Japheth!”
Seren’s mouth dropped open.
The monk turned to regard Thoster. “You were right!”
The captain raised his hands in an elaborate shrug. He said, “You don’t get to captain a ship like Green Siren if you can’t make a few lucky guesses.”
Raidon frowned. “This is a complication we do not need. Especially if he carries the Dreamheart with him on his ill-considered foray.”
“Is he close to us?” said Seren.
Raidon resumed his study of the pool’s schematic. He found where Japheth’s soul light glimmered again, then carefully continued his search up the length of the great city.
“Yes,” the monk said a moment later, pointing to a small chamber.
“We are here.”
“No more than a few hand spans from where you detected the warlock,” mused the captain. His voice held a tentative note.
Raidon said, “Yes. And see how many of the tunnels below converge here? If he continues his current heading, Japheth will come to this room eventually, perhaps in less than an hour. I sense no aboleths between him and us. In fact, this whole upper area seems remarkably clear of the monsters …”
The half-elf raised his attention to the final fifth of the great spire-shaped city of Xxiphu. He sucked in his breath.
The empty cavity that crowned the city nearly matched the one at its base, at least in size. Within it, dozens of abolethic lights burned, several of them far brighter than the ones he’d spied lower down. Probably old and potent aboleths who’d wakened early. The disturbing thing was how they were arranged in a great circle, a shape whose arcane significance was not lost on the monk. The circle of aboleths slowly rotated, hovering some distance over the great chamber’s floor.
“They’re performing some sort of ritual,” Seren murmured.
The magical reproduction in the pool showed how each aboleth brightened in turn, then dimmed as its fellow brightened, as if passing along some sort of charged object or concept. The pulse continued around the circle until a full revolution was achieved. The last creature in the ring directed the gathered energy to the roof of the chamber. Then the strangely regular dance of light began anew.
By process of elimination, Raidon knew what he would find when he concentrated his attention on the diagram’s apex.
Upon Xxiphu’s crown brooded the very absence of light. A dark, yawning emptiness there ate everything the creatures below were able to throw at it, leaving it hungry for more.
The Sign on his chest was so cold he lost feeling in his body. The vacuity could be none other than the Eldest, his foe, who sat the entire city as if it were no more than a throne.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)
Xxiphu, Gallery of Seeing
No more dallying,” said Raidon. “I’m going to the apex and putting an end to this.”
Seren’s pulse beat visibly in her neck. The captain’s breath came quicker.
“You two stay here and waylay Japheth when he comes through.”
Seren gasped.
“What?”
“The idiot warlock presumably has the Dreamheart with him. I can’t imagine how else he could have found Xxiphu without its guidance.”
“What does it matter now? You said the Dreamheart had lost its significance,” said Seren.
Raidon said, “To put it simply, I don’t want the relic and the Eldest to come back together.”
Thoster said, “So the stone still has some power after all?”
Raidon gave a half shrug. He said, “Yes, the Dreamheart is invested with a portion of the Eldest’s power. The relic has been in constant usage since Nogah stole it. The more it was used, the more it drew from the quiescent Eldest into itself. Though the relic’s theft may be responsible for prodding the Eldest from its deepest slumber, the stone’s subsequent and continued separation may be the only reason the Eldest hasn’t already opened all its eyes. The Dreamheart sapped too much of the Eldest’s essence, or at least its ability to regain consciousness. Why else this elaborate ritual the pool reveals?”
The wizard said, “That … is entirely possible. The flow of magic and influence can cut both ways. How ironic.”
“Even more ironic that Japheth is here just now,” said Raidon, “with the Dreamheart in hand, apparently oblivious that the aboleths are waiting for him at Xxiphu’s apex. He bears a terrible gift they are eager to accept. If he delivers the Dreamheart to the Eldest, nothing will keep it bound.”
“Seren and I can stop the warlock and take the Dreamheart from him,” Thoster said. The man looked visibly determined, more so than the monk had ever seen him. But his features also bore the slightest touch of doubt.
“Good,” Raidon said, “though I advise not touching the stone directly. Watch his approach through the pool—he’ll be here soon if he keeps his current pace.”
“We’ll stop him,” Seren said. Then her face pinched as if forcing out her next words. “You’re sure you won’t need help up there?” She waved vaguely toward the ceiling.
Raidon moved to the exit that the schematic showed spiraled in an almost direct route to the upper cavity. He said, “Thanks for your offer, Seren, but it’s better you stop and hold the Dreamheart here.”
“Very well. But don’t sacrifice yourself, do you hear? I mean to collect what you promised when this is all over.”
Raidon surprised himself by laughing. “I will endeavor to stay safe.”
Encrustations of ice coated the tunnel ahead of Raidon. It wasn’t so thick it blocked his way, but it promised to be a tight squeeze.
The monk approached cautiously and angled his body to slip between two frosted glacier faces. Sidestepping through the narrow vent, he paused and looked into the ice. It seemed empty …
Raidon drew on the Cerulean Sign, asking it to supply him with sight sufficient to see what was tainted.
His eyes widened. He saw that Seren’s earlier exclamation about the ice holding people was true. Raidon saw people of many races caught like flies in amber. And young ones too. He winced and looked away.
A child’s piping laughter sounded from somewhere ahead. He started, then said, “Who’s there?”
More laughter echoed down the cold vent, more distant than before. It was the innocent sound of a small girl—not unlike how his daughter used to laugh when she was at play.
But the sound he’d just heard was not a memory—it was real. Unless he was finally losing his mind.
“Did you hear that, Angul?” The bladed jerked in its sheath, angry at being confined and not in hand.
The monk increased his sidestepping pace through the chilly constriction. Then he was through. The corridor ahead diverged. One path was the one Raidon had charted; it led up to Xxiphu’s crown. The other passage he hadn’t bothered to investigate in the chamber of seeing.
It was down this passage a half familiar voice out of time asked, “Papa? Do you want to play?”
His core temperature plunged as goose bumps swept across his skin. Raidon’s mouth fell open. The light of the Cerulean Sign on his chest dimmed.
“A-Ailyn?”
A hint of movement flashed in the lesser tunnel. He spied the silhouette of a girl with unbound hair.
“Catch me if you can!”
“Who are you?” Raidon shouted down the tunnel. The girl’s voice was like his daughter’s, but not quite a match.
Fading laughter was his answer.
The monk sprinted into the corridor. It wasn’t the tunnel that led to the Eldest. He knew following this diversion was a bad idea. Yet he couldn’t stop. Despite being someone who fancied himself ruled by reason first and emotion second, sometimes emotion’s need was equal to reason’s. Or, he realized as the tunnel walls flashed past, sometimes brute emotion burst reason’s bonds.
“Stop!” he called.
“Only if you catch me!” came the voice—even fainter, as if the distance between them had increased.
Raidon doubled his already swift pace by deciding to throw all caution to the wind. If a pit or larger cavity opened in the corridor ahead, he wouldn’t be able to stop in time to save himself from a fall.
Angul twitched in the sheath again, as if trying to catch the monk’s attention. But he was determined not to be distracted from finding out what farce was being played out on his account. He hoped it was not a farce … His heart beat more swiftly than his exertion alone could account for.
He raced around a short curve in the tunnel and collided with a wall. He saved himself some pain by rolling into it and absorbing his excess momentum across his whole body.
But Raidon had come to a dead end, and it was empty.
The goose bumps returned. He shouted, “Who are you? Didn’t you want to play?”
“I’m right here, Papa.” The voice came from behind him.
Raidon whirled, his heart in his throat.
There stood, plain as day, a small human child, about five years old, with dark hair. In one hand she held a tiny, mahogany-handled mithral bell. She gave it a little ring.
“I love the gift you brought me,” the girl said.
“I …” Raidon’s mind refused to resolve what he was seeing. The girl looked like his lost daughter, at least in rough strokes. Long black hair, pale eyes, and upturned nose. But it wasn’t her. Was it? No, of course it couldn’t be.
Ailyn was dead.
“Many things are possible in Xxiphu,” the girl said.
Raidon released a short breath like the swift exhalation he made striking a foe. He said, “You can read my mind?”
The girl who reminded him so much of Ailyn cocked her head. “Don’t be silly. You’re silly!”
Raidon took a step forward. “Who are you really? You’re not my daughter. She died a long time ago.”
The girl’s face fell. She nodded dejectedly. “Yes. I died. All alone without you to save me.”
Anger warmed his face then. “You’re not Ailyn! You hardly even resemble my daughter! What are you?”
The five-year-old looked up and caught Raidon with her blue-eyed gaze, still watery with unshed tears. She said, “I know you’re not my papa.” The bell in the girl’s hand melted, becoming a rag doll instead, with silver buttons for eyes. “But I have lost my Papa. Can you help me find him?”
Raidon blinked, wondering just where reality ended and his own neurosis began. He wondered if his mind was being assaulted by some abolethic trick.
The monk relaxed his shoulders and shook his head. “I’m sorry, child. I don’t even think you’re real.” He began to move past the girl. “I have something very important I must attend to.”
“You don’t think I’m real?” the girl screamed, her voice taking on the hearty volume of a child’s tantrum. “I am here! I am alive!” The faux Ailyn reached forward and punched her chubby fist into Raidon’s calf. Her hand moved right through his body as if she were a ghost.
Pain exploded in his leg. He fell as the muscles in his limb gave out all at once.
Luckily the girl didn’t press her advantage. It took Rai
don a heartbeat to shut the pain out. He rolled away and stood in a single, smooth motion. Back on his feet, the monk swept Angul free of its sheath. The pain was smoothed away by the sword’s instant attention. Simultaneously, a portion of his anxiety dimmed, leaving him feeling clearheaded and calm.
The image of the girl remained. Not merely a trick of the mind then, if Angul could sense it too.
“You are real, in some sense,” Raidon allowed, keeping the blade between himself and the small form. “But I am not your father, nor do I know where to find him. But—if you let me pass without touching me as you just did, I can come back for you. How does that sound?”
The child’s face grew hopeful. “Promise? I don’t like it here at all. It’s scary.”
“Yes. That it is. Now, step aside so we don’t accidentally collide, all right? When I finish what I must do, I’ll find you here. Is it a deal?”
The temperature of the Cerulean Sign dropped. As it did, the girl’s features shuddered. She gasped as if in pain.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. He took a half step closer.
Angul said, She is a memory loosed by the Eldest’s unconscious to delay you. It will not agree to your bargains. Sweep it away.
“She’s only a little girl,” Raidon countered, his voice pleading.
She is a remnant of a little girl, a hollow shell filled with aberration that must be purged, said Angul.
“No!”
The child in question raised her head. She lifted her arms in a manner Ailyn used to in order to beg a hug. “My name is Opal. Take me with you?”
The temperature of his spellscar dropped further. He retreated a pace.
“When I’ve done what I need to, your mind will be your own. Can you just stay here until then? It may be hard. Perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But if you stay put and do not follow me, I can save you.”
The girl’s whole frame vibrated and she yelped. She blinked out of view for an instant, but then returned, her form translucent and hazy.
City of Torment Page 22
