He knew the beast was real.
Somehow he managed to find his voice. “I agreed to no Pact. I want to see the Denizens!”
Yellow fireflies flickered from the skeletal sockets and the serpents hissed in amusement. “You ate from the tables. You danced to the songs. You gave your word to work, and work you will; with all the other fallen, misbegotten, lost, foolish boys and girls who came before you.”
It grinned, a rictus snarl of polished fangs as its iron-clawed hand seized Talan by the hair and yanked him shrieking from the bed. As it dragged him across the cracked and broken flagstones, he saw that the room had altered. No longer glorious, it was lined with bones and filled with the sighs of broken dreams, a prison cell that whispered with voices of the damned.
No one arrived in time to save him. No gentle, smiling, graceful Denizens fluttered down to impede his downward spiral as he was ruthlessly dragged further under the magnificent city. The jagged teeth of the stairs gnawed hungrily, scoring gashes and bruises the entire length of their descent. Although lit by flickering torches, the darkness only grew stronger even as cries and screams grew louder along with the dreadful clanging sounds of blunt tools striking objects of colossal indifference.
At last the stairs ended and he was thrown sprawling to the dusty floor. He managed to raise his head and gape at his surroundings.
It was a massive cavern; an underground city interlaced with scores of tunnels and petrified bridges. Endless throngs of moving bodies shuffled along the cracked, dusty passages. The air was thick with the sounds of frightened feet scurrying, the clanging of tools, and screams of anguish. Most of the figures were small and pitiful; children like him with scrawny limbs and harrowed eyes. Dirty, haggard faces stared at nothing, their gazes swept by unnoticing as they passed.
Twisted creatures like his captor waded among them, brandishing whips of fire that would lick searing stripes across the flesh of any who they felt deserved them, as well as others who did not. The screams of the tortured went unheeded as well.
Talan’s breath fled his lungs when his captor slammed a clawed foot into his back. Serpents flailed and hissed as the creature threw back its wasted head and howled.
“A new volunteer has accepted the Pact! Shall we give him his just payment?”
Other Twisted Ones turned with flashing grins and strode over on their gangly, knotted limbs. Their fiery whips lashed, and Talan screamed as they bit into his flesh. With every shriek their blows quickened, until his entire body became encompassed by the roaring voice of pain.
He knew then that he would die. But just when darkness clouded his eyes, the blows ceased. The creature’s shambling footsteps faded in his ears, and he was left shuddering uncontrollably, enveloped in a cocoon of suffering.
It took a long time to realize that protective arms were wrapped around him, that a voice hummed gently in his ear. He opened his eyes and tried to penetrate the crimson haze that clouded his vision.
A girl around his age gazed at him. The eyes that practically glowed from her dirty face were the bluest he had ever seen. She was as wasted as the others, but her arms had determined strength as she held him tightly.
“It will be all right,” she said softly. “They will beat you every day until they are satisfied of their mastery. You will have to be strong, or they will break you.”
Speaking was agony, but he had to know. “Who… are you?”
Her lips almost curved in a smile as she continued to rock him. “My name is Skye,” she said.
Chapter 4 –The Taste of Hate
Skye had told the simple truth. Every morning he was roused with a beating, and received another at the end of the day before he could lay his weary bones down to sleep. After some time he realized that the creatures didn’t hate him personally. Hate was all there was to them; all they had flickering behind their amber eyes and hissing serpents. They hated the way a normal person breathed; they hated every living thing, every ray of light that penetrated the darkness of their world.
And so he was scourged daily with lashes of fire and spite until the well of his tears was spent, until his skin hardened under the layers of calluses and he could scarcely feel the blows. The beatings ceased only when they were convinced of his obedience, save for when they lashed him for no reason as they did from time to time to all their captives.
“They are the Gigeron,” Skye told him soon after his capture. They seldom had a moment when they were not watched, so snatches of hurried whispers were all they could savor. Sometimes they spoke, other times they simply clutched each other’s hands while trying not to crumple in an avalanche of tears. Those rare, precious moments were the only reasons he had for living.
“They are the servants of the Faelon, those who live in the city above. The Gigeron are your gods now, just as the Faelon are theirs. Your life is in their hands; they decide who lives or dies. Do as you are told, and it will go better for you. Be obedient, but do not let them have your mind or you will end up like the others.”
He had already seen that most of the children were walking dead; submission and indifference having long replaced the bones of their existence. He tried to resist the indoctrination of suffering, but found that the endless days of mind-numbing labor threatened to drive him to madness. Things would have been so much easier were he to become numb like the others, if all that his world consisted of was the demands of his masters.
“Why do they hate us so much?” he asked in a stolen moment with Skye.
“Because they used to be us.”
He stared. “Impossible…”
“It’s true. You have to understand, this mine… it has a power. The mineral feeds the city. It is what causes the walls to glitter, what gives the Faelon their beauty and power. Without it, the city would be nothing.”
She looked around warily and lowered her voice further. “Sometimes it does… things to some of the children. Changes them. They start to do things that can’t be done. When that happens, they are taken. They are… turned into the Gigeron.” She tilted her head, listening. “We can talk no more. I must go.” She scurried away as the familiar grinding sounds of the Gigeron grew closer.
He did not get to see Skye again for a long time. All the while he toiled, working until his hands hardened and his muscles burned with fire. He was beaten for nothing, beaten for defying his captors, beaten until the color fled from his eyes and they shone like brightly polished mirrors. And in his heart something flickered faintly until it sparked into a raging flame.
Hatred.
He savored the flavor that lingered in his mouth, the incessant desire to slay his tormentors. He took his beatings with barely a sound, and walked about the caves as though he was the master. His toils shifted as the Gigeron sought more strenuous tasks for him, until at last he worked the forges, broiling in the unbearable heat as he pounded out tools upon the anvil. With every strike of the hammer he would imagine a deathblow; he would dream of blood and vengeance and wake up smiling.
Skye found him there at last, and beckoned that he come with her. He immediately dropped his tools and followed. She led him swiftly through a labyrinth of tunnels until a sound like a fierce and angry wind drew closer. She put a finger to her lips and pointed.
Below was a massive hollow, lined in iridescent hues like the inside of an abalone shell. The Gigeron shuffled in streams of constant movement; twisted insects that scurried frantically. There were no children present, something Talan had never seen before. But what drew his eyes was the center of their attention.
It was disgustingly gargantuan, almost large enough to fill the chamber, and appeared immobile, as though a misshapen growth from the floor had somehow gained sentience. The sound that Talan had heard earlier was its irate shrieks, which rattled the hollow in their fury. Streams of Gigeron lined up carrying deposits of the mined mineral, which the creature ingested without any signs of being satiated. It was enveloped by hardened mounds of its own feces and regurgitation, an ever-growi
ng tomb of excrement. More of the Gigeron labored at the bottom of the petrified waste, extracting what appeared to be slime-covered, wriggling larvae as long as Talan was tall.
“It is the Queen,” Skye whispered. “This is why we are here. All she does is feed and give birth. The larvae grow into the Faelon. They are her children. Remember this, Talan. If ever we could escape, it will have to be with her death.”
They quickly returned, yet Talan was beaten once again for abandoning his post. But the blows fell unheeded for his mind was still in the tunnels, staring down at the cause of his suffering. The fires in his heart had a target beyond the Gigeron for the first time.
He knew what it was that he hated.
Chapter 5 –Muse
He lost track of the days. Time ceased to have a meaning as his recollections of sunshine and the sound of the wind became a thing unsure of, a dream that ghosted in the cemetery of his memories. Sometimes he thought of the life Beyond as his imagination, that his thoughts of the townspeople and the Man in Grey were what he conjured up to keep from succumbing to the listlessness that affected most of the other children.
In the end it was only his transformation that truly saved him.
He spend countless nights shivering as ice coated his marrow until it shattered, as fire raged across his flesh in a conflagration of agony. Yet he did not scream as the other children did; those who were inspected and snatched away by the Gigeron. Those who would in time return as Gigeron themselves.
For he found that he could do… things. The hammer lifted from the anvil at his thought, the flames in the forge raged brighter at his command. He learned a crude control by mastering the focus required to bind himself to his surroundings. He learned despite the torture and suffering, for he knew that in time he would use his newfound abilities to destroy his captors along with all the beautiful, graceful, malevolent Faelon who dwelled above.
Skye had crept away from her place and found him shuddering uncontrollably after a day at the forges, his body racked by spasms of ice and fire. She wrapped him in her arms as she did when he was soft and helpless. The pain gradually subsided until all he felt was the pressure of her protective form.
He knew then that something besides hate existed. What he felt for her was something far away from hatred, something that lapped against the walls of his heart like a calm, summer sea. He knew that somehow she made the darkness brighter even in the den of depression that he was resigned to dwell in.
A clattering noise startled him as he lay alone the next day. He squinted at the movement in the darkened corner of his cell. Almost imperceptible was a large, gray-colored lizard. Its long tail was wrapped around a dull object that clattered metallically against the stone. It blended so well with the drab surroundings that Talan had a hard time seeing it. But its swiveling eyes fixed upon him knowingly.
Talan sat up. Something about that gaze was familiar…
The lizard gave a start and skittered upward into the dark crevices. As the creature vanished, the heavy object it dragged dropped beside Talan’s head. He lifted the object in his palm, knowing already what he would find.
It was a key. A large, heavily rusted key…
“They mock me,” he said the next day. Skye had snuck away for one of her brief visits.
“Who mocks you?”
“Reynar. The Man in Gray. He and his… pet beast. I know it and the fox were the same creature. This is a jest to them.” He showed her the key. “This is what they gave me to enter this place. Now they mock me with it. They laugh at our affliction!”
“You don’t know that, Talan. If the key could get you in, perhaps it can get you out.”
He grimaced bitterly. “How? It worked for the gate, but I’ll never get close to it again. And even if I could, do you think that I would leave you behind? I would never escape without taking you with me.” Bitter tears stung his eyes, but he cut them off viciously. Tears were for the weakling that he was. He was forged of iron, and iron did not cry.
“I am not the only one trapped here. All the others are with us as well.” Skye placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Perhaps Reynar gave it to you for hope, Talan. There might yet be a way to leave this place.”
“Hope?” Talan’s muscles tensed. “There is no such thing as hope, Skye. Not so long as we are trapped in this place!”
With a cry of rage he turned and hurled the key into the depths of the forge. It hissed as it sank into the molten ore.
Skye gazed at him with unwanted pity on her face. “You should not curse the choices that you make, Talan.”
“Leave off. It is finished.” Flames reflected in his mirrored eyes. “We’ll never leave this place. It would have been better if I had drowned in the stream than to ever have entered this hell.” He turned away to the forge, unable to face the disappointment in her shining blue eyes. What he saw in the fire was impossible. He heard Skye gasp.
The key had melted, but did not dissolve. It had formed a perfect glimmering orb, flashing atop the ore. It shimmered brilliantly, much like the walls of the city, a star in a sky of fire. He hesitantly took the tongs and retrieved it, setting it upon the anvil. It seemed to hum just beyond the range of sound, a whisper that floated across his mind and murmured softly of retribution.
Skye spoke in a hushed tone, as though she thought her voice would shatter the moment and deposit the pieces into the familiar pit of despair. “What… what is it?”
“The way out,” he said as the light flickered across his vision. “You were right, Skye.” His eyes never left the glimmering metal. “You’d better get back. We don’t want to get caught, and I have a lot of work to do.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I will forge something new. A sword, Skye. I will forge a sword. And I will call her Muse.”
Days upon end he toiled, working for the Gigeron and secretly forging Muse whenever he was left alone. The forging was long and bitter, for he wrestled with metal far more resilient than the mineral that he normally worked. He poured all of his fury, his hatred, and his newfound focus in its creation. His sweat fell sizzling from his brow as he lost himself in a trance of concentration, day after day; honing his weapon until it was keen enough to slash the wind. He affixed the shimmering orb in the center of the crosspiece, and immediately the entire sword flushed with light as if the entire weapon were made of crystal. Only then did a small smile crack the granite of his hardened face.
He held the sword aloft. It glittered with the promise of absolution.
With a wild howl he smote the great anvil that he had pounded upon for so long. He was rewarded by a thunderclap that rattled the entire cavern. The reverberations rippled, toppling stalagmites and splintering petrified bridges. When the dust finally cleared, the obsidian anvil was split in two. Muse shone brightly from its heart, unmarred and oblivious of the violence.
The hissing of serpents alerted him before the Gigeron arrived, brandishing their whips of fire. As they struck in a furious barrage of fiery lashes and shrieking curses, Talan smiled.
Then he slew them.
Muse parted sinewy flesh and bone like water and Talan delighted in the shower of inky blood that spattered across his face. Their screams were honey to his ears as he danced among them, a smiling nightmare that held a blazing star in his fist. Their shrieks were cut short as they toppled in heaps of twisted limbs.
Talan raced through the tunnels, striking down any Gigeron that he ran across. As he battled, some of the children who still had their senses struck the chains from their comrades. The tunnels filled with rivers of fleeing bodies. The Gigeron beat them viciously, but the children’s numbers were too great, and the Gigeron were afraid. Talan sought the twisted creatures out, his translucent eyes shining with rage.
He struck with Muse, cutting into their numbers heedless of their whips and serrated blades. He struck with his focused mind, calling to the ceilings of jagged stone and dropping them upon the heads of the Gigeron. The fires of the forge
obeyed his will, serpents of liquid flame that devoured the knobby-limbed creatures. He attacked relentlessly until all he encountered thrashed in their death throes, until the halls and chambers rang with new sounds.
The dying shrieks of the Gigeron.
Chapter 6 –The Price of Vengeance
Fleeing children ran everywhere. Talan caught sight of a horde of them attacking a group of Gigeron, trying to stop the creatures from assaulting someone. He moved to aid them.
Then he heard the anguished shrieks of the Queen.
He paused and casually turned to stride into her glittering chambers. Hosts of Gigeron fell upon him, but they were no match for the power of Muse. Talan flowed from one to the next, cutting them down until none dared to face him.
He turned and beheld the Queen in all her hideous magnificence. She writhed in impotent fury; her unheard screams echoed in his ears. When her tantrum finally resided, she fixed her thousand glittering eyes upon him. Her face was more insect than human, sheathed in dull scales and full of wriggling, protruding feelers.
Foolish boy. The plow blades of her voice dragged across his mind. Bitter, vengeful, angry boy. Why do you rebel against your masters? I can taste your anger, your need to kill. Look what you have become. You seek my destruction because of your enslavement, because I hold you and the children in this hive to serve me. And what do you do? Slaughter my children without mercy. Whose crime is the greatest, boy?
Talan wavered for an instant as the words sank deeper into his mind. He shook his head to clear the fog that surrounded it. “No… you’re wrong…”
I know that you can Focus, boy. You should have been brought to me when your powers were forming. I would have removed that curse from you, freed you of your agony. Now, it will destroy you. Your mind has betrayed you, has warped your thinking. Only I can complete your transformation.
Glass and Ashes Page 2
