Karilyne- Heart Cold as Ice

by Van Allen Plexico

  I looked back. The gates were closing again behind us. We continued forward, moving slowly, the banks of the river now stone and brick rather than earth and grass.

  “The Mosaic City,” Mirana said, to which the others stared back at her blankly.

  “Overall that is true,” I added, “and you will understand as we travel further into it. But—this particular location, here and now?” I smiled at the two women. “It was once the greatest city on Earth. Then it fell. But someone, somehow, went back and captured its essence before the fall and brought it here. And now, millennia later, it has grown well beyond those ancient origins and become something else entirely. Yet, among the mortal realms, it is still the greatest city known.” I gestured ahead of us as our little ship rounded the bend and the full extent of the city became visible to us. “Welcome,” I told them, “to Constantinople.”

  * * *

  The city was not as I remembered it.

  With the sunrise came for me a slow realization that something—many things—had changed since my last visit. Admittedly, that had been centuries earlier. Even so, the city had seemed so permanent, so enduring. Its streets had always teemed with colorful and diverse crowds of individuals from all across human space. The tumult of activity, the shouts of the merchants and the calls of the various religious officials, and the simple joy of the inhabitants and visitors had melded into a single low roar of positive energy.

  Now, though, all that had changed.

  My companions and I rose and dressed and departed our hastily-acquired lodging and moved out into the city with the coming of morning. As we ventured into the cobblestone streets, we saw that the gray fog of the previous evening had given way to a less dense but nonetheless persistent and somewhat oppressive haze. It floated lazily just above the ground and clung to passersby. The colorful throngs that had in days past filled the avenues and byways were not so colorful now, and nowhere near as large, the streets and markets not so crowded. All of them, too, were human, and while diverse within that species in terms of ethnicities, there was not an alien in sight. Those moving about carried with them not the customary excitement of another day in the greatest city of the mortal realms, but a kind of dull acceptance, a resignation, a trudging slowness and almost silence.

  It was strange. It was oppressive. I frowned at them all and I wondered what had happened.

  In the few spots where I could see beyond the immediate streets and buildings and courtyards, the fuzziness was back. It was so strange; as if the edges of the world were fraying away. I knew I would have to say something to Mirana, though I was certain now that she had noticed it, too.

  Most troubling of all, however, and of much more immediate concern, were the roving groups of men and women clad in dark red robes. As we entered a broad square only partly filled with merchants and traders and food stalls, I saw a group of them huddled together on the far side of the expanse and I nodded toward them.

  “Vorthan cultists,” Mirana gasped, her astonishment plainly evident.

  The two Templars moved their hands automatically to their sword hilts.

  “What audacity, what gall to show themselves—to walk openly among decent people,” Erin growled.

  “We should slay them all now,” Lydia added. She began to step forward.

  “Hold,” I said.

  The two Templars paused and looked back at me, frowning.

  “Clearly they are allowed to be here,” I noted, keeping my voice low, still attempting to comply with Mirana’s suggestion that my identity remain hidden. “For the moment, at least, we do not wish to cause a disturbance. And diving into a melee with a group of cultists would very likely attract a bit of attention—don’t you think?”

  The two women nodded and reluctantly released their sword hilts. They were not happy, and I understood that perfectly well.

  “Will we be moving on from this place soon?” came the voice of Binari as he shuffled between the Templars and me, his hood pulled up to conceal his appearance. “I am uncomfortable in a place where my technology fails to operate properly—or at all.” He scowled at the words. “And—now that we are free of pursuit, our goal is to catch up to Vostok and Cevelar, yes?”

  “No,” I replied to him.

  “No?” He frowned. “Then where—?”

  I drew my black cloak back and raised my right arm and pointed across the square to the buildings that enclosed its far side. Above and beyond them, somewhat hazy in the distance and with the lingering fog, was visible a soaring spire of black, streaked along its sides with marbled shades of purple and green.

  “There,” I said. “Our immediate destination. The tower at the heart of the city.”

  Binari looked at it, then back at me. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I am not at all familiar with this place. What is the significance of that tower?”

  Mirana turned to address him.

  “It is the hub,” she said. “The nexus. The center point of the entire city. The locus of all energies radiating outward, holding it all together. It is the major source of power in this realm of reality.”

  “Ah,” the little Rao said, eyes widening. “Like the Fountain in your fabled Golden City.”

  “Something like that, yes,” I replied, “though nowhere near as powerful.”

  “Still,” Mirana said, “it serves those here well enough, who know how to use it.”

  “The Mosaic City,” one of the Templars—Erin—gasped then. “I understand now.” She looked at her compatriot as she gestured about. “You heard the stories, too, Lydia. When we were children. Remember?”

  “A city of many cities,” the brunette Templar answered, nodding slowly. “A patchwork metropolis, crossing over into many worlds.” She shook her head. “I always believed it was merely a fable.”

  “It is true enough,” I remarked. “Mirana’s river and boat brought us to where we need to be. Now it is up to us to find what is doubtlessly hidden here.”

  “And what would that be, my lady?” Erin asked.

  “One of the cosmic artifacts. One of the weapons our recent captors seek. Those items that together might possess the power to reconstitute a god.” I clenched a fist in grim determination. “We must find them before Vostok and Cevelar do.”

  Mirana had closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. “Yes,” she whispered a moment later, looking up at me. “One of the objects is here. I can feel it. It hums—it vibrates. It shakes the aether.”

  I nodded, pleased with how well-attuned to the invisible forces of the universe my apprentice had become in such a short time. “We must find it—and all the others—before they do,” I said. “Only then can we be certain the massive might of the artifacts is not abused, or used to revive someone other than—”

  My voice trailed off as I realized the others were turning away from me. I looked then and saw why that was.

  The group of cultists in their blood-red robes had taken notice of us. They were approaching, their dark expressions visible beneath their hoods and their intentions obvious.

  My hand went automatically to the hilt of my sword.

  It seemed we would be creating a disturbance after all.

  EIGHT

  “Halt, strangers,” called the foremost figure in red, raising one hand. He stood directly ahead of us, there near the center of the square, and his cohorts spread themselves out behind him to block our way forward.

  I stepped back and allowed Mirana to move to the forefront, indicating that I wished for her to handle this if she could. I intended to maintain my anonymity for as long as possible, here in this strange city of mystery. The fact that I could only scarcely access the Power was a contributing factor as well, though I never would have admitted it.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mirana demanded as she confronted the leader. “Why do you hinder us?”

  “We are of the Red Bands,” the leader answered haughtily, “and we have every right to question anyone who—” His unnaturally narr
ow eyes widened slightly and his voice trailed off as he met my apprentice’s eyes, got a look at her face, and realized that she was not human. “You—” he stammered. “You are a—”

  “A Dyonari, yes,” she replied, her hand brushing the pommel of her deadly transparent saber. “And you are an annoyance.” She started to walk past him to his left.

  The insult must have overcome the Red Band’s initial shock that he was not speaking with a human. He scowled and moved to block her again. “We serve the lord of the red flame,” he growled. “And you will address us with respect.”

  Mirana appeared taken aback that anyone would have the temerity to step in her way a second time. She stared back at the robed and hooded man and opened her mouth to speak, but Erin beat her to it.

  “Lord of the red flame? You’re nothing but a stinking Vorthan cultist,” the redheaded Templar said, her own sword out now and held ready. “You’ll get out of our way and crawl back into the sewer that spawned you, or I will—”

  “A Templar!” the Red Band declared, grinning, seemingly ignoring her insults. He looked past her and saw me in my black cloak and hood, but paid me scant notice; without the full strength of the Power flowing through me, I’m certain my godly Aspect had dimmed to mere mortal dullness, rendering me unremarkable. Then his gaze fell upon Lydia, the other Templar, and his smile broadened.

  “Two of you! Well. How auspicious.” His tongue came out and daintily touched his upper lip for an instant; the act was somehow both reptilian and very human, and entirely repulsive. “Now I simply must know what brings you to our fair city.”

  The other cultists hadn’t spoken a word; they appeared content to allow the leader to do all their thinking and speaking. Perhaps a dozen in number, they stood in a broad semicircle before us, radiating ignorance, hostility and menace. No weapons were visible, but their robes were voluminous and could easily conceal such things.

  The leader of the Red Bands moved forward, past Mirana, and stopped only when he was face to face with Erin. He reached up and cupped her chin in his hand.

  “You are not unpleasant to look upon,” he remarked almost offhandedly, his eyes moving over her features and then down her front. “But you have no business wearing that armor and carrying a sword. You should join our cause and serve the master by breeding more followers for his army.”

  Erin’s face was nearly as red as the robes of the man who stood before her. She slapped his hand away and her sword was out in a flash, up and held at the ready.

  My own outrage at this affront must have nearly matched Erin’s, and I considered going on the attack. Instead I hesitated, and I did so for two reasons. One, I would not insult a sister by presuming that she required assistance to chastise such a pathetic lout. Two, with such a great distance separating us from the tower that was our objective, I still held out hope that we might extricate ourselves from this situation without some measure of violence and thus remain incognito a bit longer.

  Alas, such was not to be. The Red Band scowled back at Erin, his eyes flicking back and forth from her face to the deadly weapon she pointed at him. Meanwhile his hand disappeared beneath his robes as he plainly sought for some hidden weapon.

  I saw his movement and I cursed silently. A fight was imminent. There was no more denying it.

  And if fight we must, I would most assuredly do my part and more. No longer could I hold back.

  “Go,” I commanded our adversaries, stepping forward. “Return to the shadows that once devoured your vile master.”

  The Red Band leader blinked at this and his eyes moved from Erin to me. “Eh? Who dares speak to us so?” he demanded, rage distorting his blunt features. He glared at me. “Who dares speak thusly of a god?”

  “Another god,” I replied, drawing back my hood.

  For an instant, the Red Band faltered. He blinked, his eyes moving over me and studying my pale face, my dark hair, my ice-blue eyes. The scowl began to return, but then his gaze met mine, and I allowed him to feel something of the cold that is always within me. He flinched, and I knew what he was sensing then: the merest spark of the Power. I knew, and he knew.

  His mouth opened to speak.

  I was not interested in his words.

  My sword flashed out from beneath my robes and it struck with the force of a thunderbolt.

  Down went the leader, and the other Red Bands each stumbled back a step or two, shocked. In that moment, my friends around me moved to the attack. Erin and Lydia, the Templars, laid on with enthusiasm, quickly cutting down two more of the Vorthan-worshippers. Likewise Mirana wasted no time in carving into their ranks, her glasslike scimitar flashing.

  As I whirled about and launched myself at a second enemy, my thoughts turned to our other ally, Binari. As a Technologist, he surely based whatever martial prowess he might possess on his futuristic devices and weapons; devices and weapons that would not work in this zone of the city. I took my eyes off my opponent for a split second in order to glance over at him and, sure enough, he was fiddling with his little drone rather than fighting by other means or at least getting himself out of the way.

  With a quick array of attacks I took down my red-garbed opponent. Then I moved to protect the little Rao, only to discover that my concern had been unjustified. Binari must have realized quickly that neither his drone nor the weapons built into his bodysuit were functioning. Before I could get to him and offer my help or protection, he’d stashed his drone away within his robes and was engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the closest Red Band—and doing very well for himself, despite his diminutive size. In recognition of this I offered him a grim smile and nod before resuming battle.

  I missed my cosmic axe terribly, for it is power incarnate. But I have never relied exclusively upon the Power or upon advanced technology to fight my battles for me. Useful tools they might be, but I am a warrior to the depths of my soul, and whatever weapon lies nearest to hand, I will utilize to its fullest extent. Absent my most remarkable axe, my sword made a decent enough substitute as it sang its song of destruction and carved a swathe through the Red Bands. The others did their part as well, and none of my companions offered the slightest mercy to those death-worshipping cultists. Even Binari defeated his opponent with only his bare hands. Within two minutes all the Vorthan-loving scum were laid out on the cobblestones, most of them quite assuredly dead.

  I couldn’t help grinning at the carnage we’d created and thought to myself how, despite losing my connection to the Power and my teammates losing their technology, we’d still taken down a larger force in mere moments.

  The few members of the public who had been in the square when our battle had begun had all withdrawn to the periphery. Now that it was over, they remained back from us, staring with suspicion and open fear.

  “The authorities will be on the way,” Mirana pointed out. “I am surprised they have not arrived already.”

  Nodding, I gestured toward the far side of the square and was about to suggest that we get moving, but I was interrupted by a sudden wordless exclamation from Lydia.

  I turned just as she retreated past me, her expression aghast.

  Then I saw why.

  The Red Bands, or at least the ones that were most definitively dead, were rising from the cobblestones.

  “By the Above and the Below,” Mirana gasped.

  They rose. All bloody and broken, twisted and ghoulish, they rose. Vacant of eye, mangled of limb, they rose. Crimson lightning crackled over their flesh and over their robes as they shakily stood and then advanced upon us, one shambling step after another.

  “Unholy!” cried Erin, and she and her fellow Templar moved involuntarily backward a step. They drew their only-recently-sheathed swords and stood ready, though plainly the sight before us unnerved them.

  “This is impossible,” Binari argued. “What is dead is dead, and shall never live again.”

  “They do not live,” I stated, falling into a fighting stance. I watched the red forks of electricity r
acing over their bodies, and I recognized it. “It is the power of Vorthan that animates them.” And as Binari looked up at me with a mixture of surprise and fear, I added, “Vorthan the nihilist. Vorthan the long-dead god of death.”

  “The dead serve him,” Binari whispered, aghast.

  “What has died once can die again,” Mirana cried as she surged forward, her curved sword held high above her head. She slashed into the nearest two undead Red Bands with enthusiasm.

  Pride in my apprentice and her manifest zeal apparent, I followed her into the fray, the others quickly joining in behind us. Quickly we formed into a semicircle formation facing the oncoming attackers, and we hacked and slashed with fervor.

  Blank-eyed and with mouths yawning agape, the undead Red Bands received their blows and recoiled from our assault, often losing entire body parts as they did. Just as quickly they recovered, though, and came at us again and again. It is one thing to fight a dozen foes who are weaker than your own party; it is altogether different to have to keep facing those same foes over and over, even after you have dealt them far more than fatal wounds. The grotesque damage we were dealing out scarcely slowed them, and only with decapitation or near-complete dismemberment did we persuade them to stay down—though, even then, they squirmed and moaned where they lay.

  Time and again the now-horrifically-scarred zombies assaulted us. Any semblance of intelligence gone now, they had become naught but single-minded drones, animated only by the raw power of Vorthan, desiring nothing beyond our deaths. Their weapons dropped and seemingly forgotten, they clawed at us with bloody hands and bit at us with broken teeth when they managed to get close enough. I put my blade through the face of one, the point protruding momentarily out the back of his head, then drew it out—and the shattered creature came at me again, scarcely noticing the damage.

  My sister warriors and little Binari were clearly horrified by what we were experiencing, and I knew we had been fortunate to go this long without losing anyone and without the city guard arriving to further complicate matters. Calling out to the others, I ordered a strategic falling-back.