Emethius looked down, seeing that the mist had reached his feet. With it came the tentacles, like a million hungry snakes. There was nothing he could do to fend them off. The tentacles bit at his ankles, burrowing through his flesh, knotting around his bones and coursing up his veins and arteries. He felt his heart go black as his insides were filled with their twisted and knotted bodies. Emethius’s mouth jutted open against his will, and foul words spilled from his tongue.
“The world will be smothered in brimstone and spoil, and all who remain will bend their backs in toil.”
A soothing voice echoed through the cave, contesting the will of the Shadow. “Repa maini lotali i motit oni mel nos.” Blue light flared in the darkness, forming a ring of fire around Emethius’s body. The tentacles convulsed in response, and then the flame was upon them, causing them to melt away. Emethius fell to his knees and vomited up the foul taint that had filled his body. The twelves figures vanished, replaced by the comely face of a woman. Emethius blinked, and his consciousness ebbed. He knew nothing but the pale blue light.
• • •
“Rewe seupe licoris bap.”
Emethius awoke gasping for breath. His first instinct was to leap to his feet and seek shelter — the Cul would not be far. But he was so weak he could hardly lift his arms. Standing wasn’t even an option.
Emethius looked about himself in bewilderment. He was lying atop a down mattress in a small room with a gabled ceiling. The only other furnishings in the room were a stool that rested near the door and a dressing screen that could be used to partition the room. The plaster walls were the color of cream, overlaid with auburn and gold designs that spiraled and looped to resemble sprouting vines; it was the kind of artistry one only found in the estates of wealthy lords. The ceiling was painted black, speckled with splotches of shimmering silver that twinkled like the stars. It took Emethius a moment to realize it was a replica of the night sky.
“This is definitely not a Cul prison,” he muttered to himself after taking in the craftsmanship. “So, where am I?”
Emethius pulled aside the sheet and was startled to realize he was naked. His body was crisscrossed with scars. There was a deep puncture scar in his thigh, and a furrow of knotted tissue ran through his right breast. He had a second laceration scar in his shoulder, and a third in his side. But it was the scar in his stomach that caught his attention most — it marked where he had killed himself with his own blade.
“Tried to kill myself,” he corrected.
He ran his fingers gingerly over the scar, half expecting it to split open and for black tentacles to come spilling out. The spot was tender to the touch and wreathed in yellow bruising, but it remained closed.
“How is this possible?” wondered Emethius aloud.
There was a noise beyond the door, and he sat up quickly. He regretted the action immediately. The old wound in his back awakened with a sudden fury, and a crippling pain galloped through his body. He flopped back onto the mattress gasping for breath.
A cool hand suddenly pressed against his brow, and for a moment all he saw was a pale blue light, like the color of the sky just after dawn. The spasm receded. The pain vanished.
“Oft do you find yourself in this position?” said a voice that was sweet to the ears. “In your own land, I imagine you are a warrior of some renown, but perhaps this is due more to boldness than prowess on the field of battle. I have counted no less than five wounds and one grievous scar. It was no small task to keep your soul on this plane of existence.”
Emethius’s eyes slowly focused on the speaker. His breath caught in his throat.
The woman standing beside his bed looked much like a talsani, only not. There was something distinctly foreign about the woman, although Emethius couldn’t precisely pinpoint what it was. Her features were longer, more drawn out, as if time had stretched her frame. She was tall, delicate, and beautiful. There was a sternness about her face, and when she smiled, the wrinkles wreathing her lips told Emethius that she frowned more often than not.
She wore a silk gown that shimmered like wind-swept water whenever she moved. A wool shawl was draped across her shoulders. She clutched it tightly to her body to ward off the chill that seemed to radiate from the walls of the room. Atop her head sat a silver coronet beset by two moonstones. When she drew into shadow, the pale stones issued a faint radiance.
Feeling embarrassed by his nakedness, Emethius pulled the blanket high about his neck and sat upright with great care. “Who are you? How did I come to be here?”
The woman laughed gaily, sending her golden hair swaying. “There is a quick answer and a long answer, but I see that there is haste in your eyes, so I will be brief. You are in the city of Bi Ache, Atimir’s palace to be precise. The healing hands of this house have been the only thing keeping you alive.”
“Bi Ache,” whispered Emethius in wonder. Somehow he had reached his destination. He looked up at her, regarding her with new understanding. “Then you are the Sorceress. Ftoril’s Sorceress. Am I wrong to assume you are one of the Cella?”
“I am that Sorceress,” she said, taking a seat beside Emethius on the edge of the bed. “Although I am not of the Cella, for none of those people remain. Still, a stalwart I might be. Against cold, against ruin, against the Shadow’s slow and steady creep. Come now, tell me your name, and what business you have in the Valley of the Cul.”
“I am Emethius, a Soldier of the Faith, and a captain of the Second Legion,” he admitted, seeing no reason to lie. “I have come through many hardships in search of the Sage of Bi Ache.”
“None dare to venture to his house — the journey is far too perilous.”
“So I have discovered,” said Emethius, gesturing to the wounds that covered his body. “But I had no choice. I was working with the dragon whelp Ftoril to save Prince Meriatis, but our mission went astray. Ftoril was captured, maybe killed. But before she was taken, she spoke of a cure and a fabled blade. I owed it to Meriatis to finish Ftoril’s mission, however dim my chances of survival might be.”
She nodded knowingly. “Much that you have said I sensed from afar. I have been watching you and your friend for many days, ever since you entered the forbidden Ador. The gaze of the seeing eyes of the Tower of Red Guard are long.”
Emethius was baffled by this. “No mortal can see such a distance.”
She stood, and the stones that beset her crown glowed with a fiery radiance. “Do you not find it peculiar that you are alive? Your wounds were grievous beyond the care of mortal hands, yet somehow you live.”
Emethius felt the blood drain from his face. She was not of the Cella people, nor was she even a talsani. She was a god.
Emethius averted his gaze and lowered his chin to his chest. “I apologize for being so bold. I didn’t know. H-h-how could I have known?” he stammered.
The goddess smiled. “Such keen bravery is not unnoticed, and grants you many privileges that might otherwise be denied. You may speak as you see fit in my presence, but be careful with the words you choose before the master of this house. The Sage may not see your worth so clearly as I do.”
“May I ask your proper name?” asked Emethius, his eyes still lowered.
“I have been granted many titles by your kin; the Keeper, the faceless god, the Savior of Vas Perloh, but my given name is Lillian.”
Lillian, thought Emethius in wonder. The faceless god has a name. He bowed again. “I will praise your name a thousand times, your holiness,” said Emethius, stunned that he was in the presence of so sacred a figure in the pantheon of his faith. “I shall turn all of my purpose toward your will. I will...”
Lillian lifted Emethius’s chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You and I are not equals, Emethius, but I am not to be worshiped and revered. I am akin to the Calabanesi in race, but not in spirit. Do not grovel before me. That is not my will. The Calabanesi would girdle the world in their dominion, while I would have it be free.”
Emethius said nothing; he d
idn’t know how to respond.
She placed the back of her hand against his brow. “I would like you to rest for now. At dusk you and I will have dinner and discuss why you have come here. Until then, I need you to sleep.” She stood, as if to leave.
“Wait, don’t go,” said Emethius, as a sudden frantic realization raced through his mind. “I wasn’t alone in the forest. My friend, Malrich. Did you find him?”
“Sleep,” said Lillian, the word sounding more like a command than a request.
An uncontrollable exhaustion washed over Emethius’s body. He tried to fight it, but it was a losing battle. He could feel every muscle in his body suddenly become relaxed.
“Sleep,” repeated the goddess, only this time her lips did not move. The voice was in his head.
Emethius’s body slumped back into the down mattress. His eyelids began to flutter against his will.
Sleep.
• • •
When Emethius finally awoke, Lillian was once again standing over his bed. She gripped his hand, and a coolness cast over his body, driving away all pain and stiffness.
“Get dressed,” instructed the goddess. “There is something I would like you to see.”
A white tunic and gray breeches had been set atop the stool. Emethius slipped behind the screen that partitioned the room and quickly dressed. He was surprised to discover that the clothing fit him well.
Lillian led him from the room and into an open flagstone court. Lilies lined the path that bisected the courtyard, while flowering vines crept up the perimeter walls. Everything had a faint crimson glow. Emethius soon discovered why. Through an archway he spied the setting sun falling into the sea.
“Only at dusk can one see how the tower got its name.” Lillian motioned to the far end of the courtyard. There stood a marble tower, its steeple rising higher than even the pinnacle of Imel Katan. Emethius recognized it at once; it was the fabled Tower of Red Guard. The setting sun set the white marble stone ablaze with fiery light. Emethius could only guess how the tower still stood after so many centuries of neglect. He supposed it was held aloft by the same magic that seemed to fill the air within the court.
There is a power here that I have only felt once before, thought Emethius with a cold shiver, a power I felt deep within the forest under the clawed grasp of a god. But unlike then, which was terrible and full of anger and fear, this moment was filled with beauty and life.
His lips parted in a smile. “I did not know such beauty could exist.” But even as he said this, an inkling of dread filled his heart. Something was wrong. He scratched at his forearm, finding his fingernails digging into flesh instead of the hard leather vambrace he had grown accustomed to wearing. It took a moment for his intoxicated mind to make sense of the sensation. Malrich.
Emethius’s legs threatened to buckle, and he had to reach out and support himself against a nearby pillar to keep from falling.
Lillian raised an eyebrow at his peculiar behavior. “You worry about your friend.”
Emethius nodded. “I was so shocked to be alive, I forgot what I did in my moment of desperation. My friend, Malrich..., surely you found his body alongside mine.”
Lillian nodded gravely. “Let me take you to him.”
The goddess held Emethius’s hand and guided him to a circular room in which a table was set with food and drink. Archways lined the eastern wall, and the room was open to the night.
“You said you were taking me to Malrich,” said Emethius in confusion. He had expected to be guided to a grave, but was instead led to a feast.
“I did not lie,” said Lillian.
As she spoke, laughter resounded from beyond the open archway. Malrich entered from outside wearing a wide grin on his face.
“Blessed gods,” cried Emethius, choking back tears of joy. He rushed across the room and threw his arms around his friend. “Against all reason you live!”
Malrich’s left eye was covered with a cloth and he walked with a crutch, but as sure as day follows night, he was otherwise whole. “And to think, you were the one I was worried about,” said Malrich.
They hugged each other and for several minutes reminisced, ecstatic to see the other alive and so fit.
“Your eye?”
Malrich pulled back the cloth, revealing the empty socket. “The goddess is good, but she’s not that good.”
“Sadly I can’t grow flesh anew,” said Lillian. “Now, as hardy as you both are, neither of you has completely healed. Please, have a seat before you aggravate your wounds.” She motioned to the table.
They did as they were told and Lillian poured each of them a glass of red wine. Emethius held up his glass and looked at Lillian. “How is all of this possible? There are fresh fruits and vegetables, yet not a field to be seen. The walls and ceilings of this ancient palace remain standing when all should have fallen to ruin ages ago. This land is entwined with magic, but how?”
“Am I not a god?” challenged Lillian. “Can I not bend all things to my will?”
“I’m sorry,” said Emethius, feeling foolish for even asking. “I just never knew the gods had such power.”
At this Lillian grinned. “Most do not. But the master of this house is someone quite special. You will learn much in the coming days if my lord sees that you are fit to behold such secrets. By reaching Bi Ache you have proven your worth to me, but the Sage is not as easily impressed.”
Malrich sneered and pushed his wine glass back to the center of the table without taking a drink. “May we at least know the Sage’s name?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
Lillian drummed her fingers against the table, and for a moment appeared as if she would not answer. Finally she sighed. “It’s a fair question, given the circumstances for which you journeyed here. The master of this house is Parius. He was once a god of great merit amongst the Calabanesi, although their paths have now diverged. He and I were excommunicated for our views. We fled to Bi Ache, knowing it would be the last place the Calabanesi would look for us.”
The Calabanesi were not afraid to kill their own, Emethius knew — they had done it before. Emethius’s mind wandered back to the legend of Ilmwell and Niselus, the god-saints revered by the Tremelese. The two gods betrayed the Covenant by intervening in the Culing War and were blasted into oblivion for their crime. Emethius imagined Lillian’s excommunication was more severe than she was letting on — why else would she and the Sage be in hiding? He decided not to press the issue. A Lunen is patient, he reminded himself. The answer would come in time.
“When Lord Parius and I arrived to Bi Ache the city had already been in ruin for many centuries, and in all truth it still is,” continued Lillian. “But Lord Parius’s power is great, and he can fashion the world as his mind envisions it. He has created within these shattered walls a vision of how this palace once was. What you see is what Parius wills you to see.”
Malrich knocked on the table with his knuckle. “So this table is not here, nor this food and drink?”
“As far as your mind will ever know it is real. Such is the power of the Sage.”
Emethius grabbed an apple from the center of the table and took a bite. The fruit was delicious. He immediately set it aside and collected a bundle of grapes from a tray. They were ripe and plump with juice. “Will this food actually provide nourishment?”
“Yes,” replied Lillian. “But Lord Parius’s energies do not stretch beyond these walls.”
“I did a bit of exploring while you were still recovering,” said Malrich, turning toward Emethius. “You may want to have a look yourself.” He motioned beyond the arches of the open colonnade. A white marble walkway led from the room onto a green lawn. But only a dozen paces beyond, the white marble turned black and the grass rotted to dust.
Emethius rose and walked to the brink, beholding for the first time the ruin of Bi Ache. The city was a twisted skeleton of shattered buildings, slanting walls, and rubble strewn pathways. The Cul destroy everything they touch, thought Em
ethius with a sudden rage. As he stood there, a snowflake lazily drifted by his head. More soon followed, and it momentarily eased his heart to see such a pure sight in amongst the desolate ruin.
Emethius held out his hand and captured a flake upon his palm. No, not snow, he realized as the flake turned to powder between his fingers. “There is ash in the air,” he called in dismay, looking over his shoulder to Lillian and Malrich.
“You must remember where we are,” said Lillian.
He noticed then that there were lights flickering in the growing dark. He spied moving shapes outlined by the light. A shiver ran down his spine. “There are Cul in the night.”
“Yes, but this is one place where the Shadow holds no dominion. They will not approach this bastion,” said Lillian. “Please, come back inside.”
Emethius complied, but he kept an eye on the ruined city to his rear, not quite trusting Lillian’s assurance of safety.
“What are the Cul doing?” said Malrich. “For the last several nights I have watched from my window as their furnaces burn.”
“Their furnaces always burn,” said Lillian, with a sigh. “But more so now than ever before. Something is amiss with the Cul. They have delved deep beneath Bi Ache. The chime of hammers striking anvils ring true to my ears even as we speak.”
“Are they preparing for war?” said Emethius.
“I know nothing for certain,” said Lillian. “And I dare not say more without my lord’s approval.”
“Fair enough,” said Emethius. “Then we will need to meet him soon.”
“What you and he perceive as soon may be two very different things. I have been instructed to see to your care until he has time to speak. Consider yourself a guest in his house. You may go anywhere within the compound save his court. That is the only door you will find locked. But I warn you, do not venture beyond where his vision gives way to desolation. I cannot guarantee your protection beyond his veil.”
Lillian held up her glass in a toast. “Now, let us eat this feast and talk of merrier things. You have both traveled through the Land of the Shadow to get here. Such bravery deserves celebration.”
Fractured Throne Box Set 1 Page 39
