The Seven

by Robert J Power

  “And why shouldn’t you have laughed?” Iaculous whispered in the wind, in his mind. The demon had tricked another young weaver into self-inflicted torment for its own pleasure. Or else in its hope that the right young weaver might rise to meet its presence.

  He had listened to that guttural, nasty laugh for an eternity, and he had tried to meet it. He never knew how long his body lay there upon the deck, smouldering away to ash, for his mind travelled far. The cruel dark of his blindness became a haze of mist, and he knew well of his passing. This was not the first time he had walked where men were not supposed to walk. Unbeknownst to his master, he had stepped into this world ever since he had come of age. Something had called him for many years, and only at the moment of death, had he finally met his suitor.

  “You knew I dared to step into the source and venture like Bereziel. You knew I was there, but you could not find me, could you?” Iaculous whispered in his mind.

  Stepping into the source was akin to inviting death openly as a friend, but he had always felt a connection to the darkness and the unknown evils within. In the beginning, he would take only a solitary step as a coward might when entering an unlit cellar hatch. A step was all he dared with the warmth of the living world at his back and cold eternity laid out before him. As he grew older, the will to step farther was too alluring, and eventually, he did. Every time he returned, he carried with him further ability, as though his body became infused with ethereal vitality.

  Though Iaculous had always been brave, he was also careful. He was no fool, for after taking a third step, the darkness became a hazy, fog-filled world of death and treacherous things. With heightened senses, he felt the movement of great monsters around him. Though he could not see them, he knew they were there. He viewed the shadows of large, spiked beasts with countless limbs and terrible trunks, as tall as mountains and likely just as old. They drifted in the haze, miles above his head, as only gigantic monsters could, but these creatures were little more than otherworldly beasts of burden to the true rulers who lay farther in.

  Though he had never known how he knew this, he had known, as though someone whispered it to him as he slept. Neither Eralorien nor any of his guild had ever walked beyond three steps into the night, yet somehow, he knew Bereziel had taken six. This world existed on another level of his thoughts and his notion of time, and even though it was terrible, he wanted it more and more.

  He desired to take seven steps in, for all fools and wise men knew seven was the strongest of all numbers. Perhaps he might have walked that far in but, though she never knew it, Arielle kept him steady, for that is the power of love. So, he had settled with what he had discovered. As his powers had grown, he had kept them secret from Eralorien, who struggled with demons of his own: demons of the rotting body, to be more precise.

  It wasn’t until the death of Heygar that Iaculous’s movements within the source finally birthed repercussions. Struggling to deny the inevitable with his futile calling of Heygar’s soul had finally drawn the demon to them all. Silencio had taken Heygar’s lured soul as it struggled to free itself of the enchantment. It was no small thing to feel the passing of a man, but it was worse still to see his soul denied its rest.

  Heygar should have enjoyed his eternal sleep in the place beyond even what Silencio and his six kin held dominion over, but the lure had been cast in soul stones, so it denied his soul free passage. A lost soul within the realm of Silencio was just too tasty a delicacy to allow to wander freely. So, it had taken what it was entitled to. Iaculous had seen all this and fled in terror back to the world of the living, for that is what any man or woman would have done. He had kept the truth of what he had seen and hoped to any other gods they could save their leader from a fate as terrible as this.

  “I hadn’t escaped your notice though, and you knew I would come when I burned,” Iaculous said in his mind.

  He had felt Arielle’s anguish in the barge's sway, and he had turned away from her. Though his body lay broken with fading breath, his soul had marched into the darkness. Unlike Heygar’s wild spirit, unable to comprehend its fate, he still had his mind and his ability. One step, two, three, and many more he had taken, and after twenty steps, he had stopped counting. His eyes had fallen upon a beacon of such silver beauty, and he had recognised Heygar’s soul for what it was. An energy of fierce power, linked eternally to all of their souls until Mallum was no more. Only then would the enchantment shatter.

  Iaculous had come upon the demon, and he had come upon it brazenly.

  “You expected me to beg like a dog, like a human,” Iaculous said in his mind.

  Even then, the demon had sensed the growing power in the young weaver, for as he drew near, the laughing had fallen silent, and things he had only felt finally came to his eyes. Though the demon never spoke aloud, it spoke in his mind as a crude voice in a maniac’s head. Iaculous allowed the beast to know his mind and had felt the veils of consciousness stirring with his own. Knowing his sealed fate, he had pushed right back through a river of resistant consciousness and found an ancient creature as old as the world, imprisoned and desperate to return to the world of the living.

  “You were just as they said you were, and you were beautiful to my eyes,” Iaculous said in his mind. The Venandi around him shuffled uncomfortably in their march. They sensed the coming of a beast fiercer than their master.

  Silencio had appeared as an upright figure at least seven feet tall, with horns atop its head and hooves upon each limb. Along its arms were long blades of serrated bone, likely for battle among dreadful gods. Even in appearance, this beast was bred for death and war but not for battles imagined by any great storyteller. Of its dark kin, Iaculous knew its number among its brethren, and even though he strained to see through the mist, he knew its menace was terrible.

  But it was a beast, and he was a Hound. So, he had formed fire in his thoughts and upon his hands, and he had thrown the sphere into the darkness and struck the beast across the chest as it stepped towards him. It was a strike capable of burning a grand cantus to nothing, but the demon took the strike and took it well. It did not cry out nor beg for a reprieve or peace between them. Instead, it merely held its march upon him for a moment before drawing near once more and laughing loudly.

  He had thought his power was being mocked, but as it grew louder, he realised it was not the laughter of a victorious deity but more of a child who had accepted a playful nip from a puppy. Untroubled, yet a little upset at the defiant act. He had not attacked again and waited for his silencing, only to meet the beast’s mind once more, when it spoke of its desires.

  And what pathetic pleas they turned out to be.

  45

  Walking With Giants

  Iaculous took a deep breath and walked into the darkness. His ethereal soul walked deeper, while his material body continued walking the path, though he took each step at a fraction of the speed. Time moved differently in the source's world and, from what he understood, not entirely in proper sequence. Mostly, time passed far slower in the veil of darkness. So, while a pulse of blood may have passed in the world of the living, an age may have lived and died in the darker world.

  Iaculous felt at ease in this place now, without the fear of death walking with him. He had a companion who had taught him so much, for that is what good companions were used for until they had no further use. His power surpassed that of the charred waif from the barge, and he could easily heal the ravages his body suffered, having the source bent to his will. Even as he had slept after the crustacuus’s attack and been attended to by Denan, his will had kept him alive until his mind recovered and returned himself to the world of the living. What weaver could claim such an ability?

  Iaculous imagined the blade in his hand, as it was in the world of the living. With all his might and those of his ensnared comrades, he willed it to pass into the source with him. Such an improbable thing took most of his energy, for inorganic objects could not pass into another realm. He knew this because the
demon knew this.

  Though they were never actually aware of what an incredible feat they achieved, most weavers could manipulate a blade to exist between both worlds using a simple illusion enchantment. Eralorien himself had frequently enchanted a blade to appear—invisible yet still deadly—for Heygar whenever he went to do business. The old fool never questioned what became of the weapon’s appearance to make it no longer visible. He did not understand he tapped upon the darker world’s door with the blade, and that simple enchantment could lead the way for very interesting weavings. Like his masters before, Eralorien never embraced the potential of the source or saw it as more than a tool for healing and hiding from battles. None of Eralorien’s masters did.

  Iaculous considered those who should have been peers were little more than inept children. Like little munkets learning fire for the first time, the weavers before never questioned. They accepted what was, and the fire warmed them and little else. They never challenged but accepted the mundane. Iaculous challenged everything. Perhaps the only one to weave as precariously was Bereziel.

  Iaculous looked to his wraithlike hand and watched the green sword attempt to appear in his grip, all the while knowing in the world of the living, the blade was shimmering and disappearing in his husk’s grip. Who knew a healer could become the most powerful wielder of the source Dellerin would ever know by following the teachings all acolytes learned in the first year of study? Everything was attainable through the eyes of a millennium-old demon as long as the apprentice would practice. Iaculous was willing.

  The demon wondered why he had returned so soon and so close to his quarry. Iaculous knew this because he sensed it as though it were a thought of his own. Their bond was strong, but age had weakened Silencio’s caution, and its sanity. Iaculous concealed his nervousness and marched into the darkness recklessly, doing all he could to ignore how fast his heart was beating in the world of living. It was so fast and so loud that he wondered if it could beat all the way across both worlds. Deep down in the husk of his body, it knew the peril it was in.

  “I had to see you before the end,” Iaculous said, and Silencio appeared in front of him.

  Spread out behind the creature was the world of darkness. Blurred and murky, yet Iaculous could make out mile-high buildings long since ruined, with broken roads leading out to the dark horizon, and great machines littering the landscape all the way. This was the world his eyes could see, yet the demon saw an entirely different world. Iaculous pledged to see it someday—perhaps when the demon allowed him.

  “Is it fear which brings you here, dirty little Iaculous?” it hissed, as though a snake itself had learned the common tongue of man. Iaculous winced at its tone.

  “You know the journey I face. You know the power. You know the treacherous path I have to choose,” Iaculous hissed in reply, and the demon revealed itself completely. Everything in this world appeared as a blur, but the demon was as clear as a goblet in his grasp, and he aimed to drink from it.

  “So, be done with the deed, shatter the lure, and continue our agreement,” Silencio said and stood over Iaculous menacingly.

  Its tail whipped back and forth, and its beastly nose snorted in disdain. A fine performance of dominance. Despite himself, Iaculous took a step back.

  “Or return to your pledge to march upon the six remaining monoliths,” Silencio said and poked Iaculous’s chest as a master would a disobedient pupil. Perhaps this was what the demon intended him to feel, but a lifetime under the watch of Eralorien had steeled him somewhat. Iaculous knew far more about the source than the demon did of the qualities of man.

  “I desire something else.” Iaculous felt his fingers take hold of a corporal handle in an ethereal world. The demon snorted and eyed the blade as it appeared, for it knew its strength.

  “You dare challenge one of the seven kin of the dark,” it hissed.

  “I will do what I must.”

  “I should tear you to shreds for this impudence.”

  The ground appeared to shake. Perhaps it was the world of darkness itself. Regardless, it was a fine display of intimidation, but Iaculous sensed the lie and the demon’s frustration. Silencio had much to lose in killing him, while Iaculous only had his feeble soul. Iaculous was the instrument of Silencio, was he not?—as he had been when the monolith had shattered at his touch. It was no simple rock that shattered. It was a godly lock sealing away the demon, its kin, and the others from returning to the world of the living. But there were more, weren’t there? Seven locks in total. Six now.

  Iaculous held Denan’s sword out in front of him, and Silencio could see its green shimmer. Venistrian steel. So pure and unique. Such a steel unaffected by enchantments, source weavings, or demonic misdeeds. To find enough of this precious metal to smelt a signet ring was rare. To find enough to temper a blade as fine as this would take the lifetimes of a dozen skilled miners. It was a sword for a king’s chosen son. It was one in a million. It was the one thing his father had allowed him to carry in exile.

  The demon swiped its tip away as an instructor would when facing a delusional apprentice. Iaculous summoned the energy from the three soul stones strapped to his bandoleer in the world of life. He wrenched what he needed from them and felt his former comrades’ dreadful torment as their cries echoed in his mind and soul. Their minds were crazed at the loss of their bodies, and for the briefest of moments, he felt ashamed.

  So, he closed his mind to their torment and gorged himself upon the re-surging energies as they flowed through him, and the shameful moment passed. He could feed upon them for a thousand years without reprieve, and they would lose little of their lustre or vibrancy. They would feel every breath passed, but it was a small price to pay for eternal life, he supposed. Was this not how the demons of this world leeched life from the departed?

  “I’ve come for their souls.”

  Silencio roared in anger, and Iaculous attacked.

  46

  A Difference Of Opinion

  He swung the Venistrian blade, and the demon locked its muscular arms in a defensive cross. Silencio deflected the blow away with the two protruding blades of bone running along its forearms. They were as large as a great sword on either side, as strong as any metal, and the demon wielded them masterfully.

  Iaculous hadn’t expected the lumbering opponent to be as swift as he was. He struck again and met the same stubborn defence successfully used by a creature for a millennium. The demon glided around him as if countering a human’s display of swordplay was the most natural thing in this world. Iaculous moved with him and pressed home his attack, eager to overpower the beast in the first few volleys and end the duel swiftly. But it never took long for a fight to turn on its side.

  Soon enough, after an over-extension, Iaculous suffered for his error. Silencio caught his wild lunge with a fierce block, and a surge of energy pulsed through Iaculous, fiercely enough to wind him. He stumbled away and narrowly avoided the counterstrike. Silencio swung like a pugilist in a contest with frantic combinations, where each potential hit was a mortal blow, even to an apparition. Iaculous ducked and weaved from the demon’s strikes, desperately knocking back any strikes that neared. The demon’s style was awkward, and Iaculous was no master, yet still, he somehow kept the serrated edges from cleaving a limb from his body. This was no impressive thing; his form would have enraged his first teacher of the blade.

  Heygar hadn’t spent so many evenings out on the march, instructing the younger man in the art of swordplay, only for his student to fall at the first hurdle when facing a superior swordsman. Or an eternal demon of the source. It really had not mattered to the legend whom he crossed swords with. “Every battle is winnable regardless of the opponent,” he had always insisted, and Iaculous thought them to be fine words from a dead man undone by a few feet of water. Heygar would be just as disappointed as Iaculous felt in surrendering the element of surprise without the benefit of any success at all.

  Silencio moved like a cantus beneath the waves
and slipped nearer with every strike. Iaculous retreated and felt his strength ebb away to the unrelenting barrage of brutality. “Read your opponent’s attacks. Rarely does any man, woman, or beast change their tactics which have kept them alive to this moment,” the voice of his old leader said, though less a memory and more an active thought.

  Iaculous held his ground as the beast moved around him. Its tail twitched irritably like a hunting cat in the moments before it launched a fresh assault. He wasn’t sure noticing such a thing would help him, but he felt a little better. He watched Silencio take deep, heavy breaths, and he wondered how long it had been since any fool had taken such a monster to war.

  Iaculous willed the souls at his chest to infuse him with strength and met their lamenting cries. He had gifted them a terrible fate. What type of man was he? Did it matter? Not at all, for they answered his will, and he felt a fierce stirring of power. Perhaps the three imprisoned souls knew a fate at his chest was greater than a fate to a demon. They released their energy to him, and all weariness left his phantom limbs. He felt renewed as before. He remembered his power and his confidence.

  He had come to this place knowing the demon would terrorise and bully but never kill him. He held that thought, and he opened his guard to allow the demon to strike his head clear from his neck. It was a dead man’s gambit, but it might be another thousand years before another human with his aptitude, his will, and his needs came upon the demon again. Not everyone was like the fool Mallum, who showed promise but fled in terror. He knew this because the demon had almost found fortune with the dark weaver.

  The tail twitched, and the beast came at him again, but it staggered the attack as it aimed far from his head, lest it be a killing blow. It snorted in frustration as he fell back, blocking each strike easily enough. Iaculous countered recklessly and sliced an inch deep all the way across Silencio’s chest. It was a fine strike capable of devastating any man, but there was no wild spray of blood upon the demon’s wound.