They looked to him for leadership, though he couldn’t see why. They would’ve been better off following Serina. At least she had experience in battle. No one had ever depended on him before. He’d never intended to lead anyone. He’d spent his life looking for answers to life’s mysteries. He’d thought finding answers would give him purpose. He didn’t like the ones he’d found. He hadn’t told them any of that. What could he do?

  Several dark shadows passed over them. They looked up, but whatever it was moved too quickly, immediately obscured by the treetops. The shadows had been big – too big to be a bird.

  Serina put tension on her bowstring, arrow nocked. He watched her become a different person in the blink of an eye, the vulnerable woman disappearing, replaced by a calm and deadly warrior. It gave him comfort to have her with them.

  The large shapes flew over again, black silhouettes against the dark clouds. The wingspan of the creature looked enormous.

  “What are they?” Lara asked. She kept her voice barely above a whisper.

  “More importantly,” Serina said, “Are they already dead?”

  She presented a horrifying truth. What if this zombie curse spread to everything, including animals? Including monsters? The world, piece by piece, crumbled and died, consumed by the spread of a living entropy. They fought for survival for what? Did they even have a future?

  He held his sword at the ready, noting out of the corner of his eye that Lara too had hers drawn. The beasts, for there was more than one of them, landed just out of sight beyond a thick copse of elms. One of them let out a loud shriek, much like the cry of an eagle, though far louder.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and Taegar fought to keep from running. Serina stood her ground, waiting, targeting foes none of them could see. When she ran, he would too. But not before.

  Taegar expected a monster to charge. Instead, a man stepped out of the foliage, with arms raised. He wore strange clothing that hugged his body, combining metal and leather in something that could not quite be called armor. It appeared more decorative than practical.

  “Who are you?” Serina called.

  “I am Vichak,” the man replied, “of the Third Circle. Lower your weapons.”

  Serina and Lara immediately complied. Taegar lowered his a bit slower. “Third Circle?”

  “He’s a wizard,” Serina said, “Likely from Levia.”

  “Then we are saved.”

  “Maybe.”

  Vichak approached, still with arms raised. He carried no weapons, though Taegar knew a wizard was never truly defenseless. Out of the trees, four others followed. They were dressed much the same as their leader. He looked Taegar over, quickly dismissing him as a threat, and turned his attention to the women.

  “Both of you carry enchanted blades,” Vichak said. He quickly dismissed Lara too, and faced Serina. “I know you. Lady i’ Neshar. You are a long ways from home.”

  “I have not been home in a long time,” she answered.

  “No, I suppose you haven’t. I saw you in Doramwall last year. These were not your traveling companions. The others were more… impressive.”

  Serina’s expression darkened. Vichak pretended not to notice and continued. “Indeed, I heard your father arrived, bringing along a suitor. He was quite disappointed to find that you had already departed, somewhat hastily.”

  “You know much about me,” Serina said, “I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, though I was at court the day you and your companions held council with the king.”

  “One of Theondrin’s entourage? He surrounds himself only with boot shiners, or young apprentices to handle his… staff. No, I would not have remembered you.”

  Vichak’s face turned red and he momentarily stopped breathing. After nearly a ten count, he said, “Enough pleasantries. We are to bring you to Levia.”

  “You were looking for us?” Lara asked, “Why?”

  Vichak’s eyes narrowed as he looked to her. “We detected strong sorcery in the woods. We went looking for it and found you. As I suspect neither of your companions are wizards, I assume you had something to do with it. Regardless, these are dark times, and we are accepting all refugees we come across. Even those with misguided hostility.”

  The wizards turned back to where they had landed, expecting them to follow. Serina did so without hesitation. Lara fell in behind her, leaving Taegar hurrying to catch up. They entered a clearing with the ground torn up as though the trees had stepped out of the way of the five beasts awaiting them.

  Taegar recognized them immediately, though he’d only heard about such creatures. They were rare, and creatures of legend. The hind torso had the legs and tail of a lion. The front half had the powerful anatomy of a giant eagle. They were griffins.

  Serina accompanied the wizards without hesitation as they mounted the magnificent, and slightly terrifying beasts. Taegar and Lara approached with a bit more apprehension. The eyes of the predator were cold, studying the two of them as though a potential meal. Each talon was as long as his hand, and looked sharper than Serina’s swords. The mighty beak looked as though it could take his head off with one quick snap.

  He admired Serina’s bravery and trust. Nothing that mighty could act like some typical domesticated mount, even with magic. One of the wizards, a young man with the face of a teen, extended a hand to help him up. He mounted the chimeric beast, and pushed his fear aide. He could feel the griffin’s powerful muscles in its haunches, supporting the two of them easily. He had nothing to hang onto but the wizard’s shoulders.

  “Vichak,” Serina said, climbing up behind the wizard, “There are others. Two of our companions, a young girl and her brother were separated from us. Can you find them?”

  “Of course,” the wizard said, “We can find anyone. You keep company with quite a different crowd now. I suppose though, that in these times one cannot always choose their friends.”

  Vichak gestured to one of the wizards, an older man with shocking white hair. “Caridan?”

  “I’ll find them.” The man hopped onto his griffin. The beast leaped into the sky with a terrifying speed, its wings caught the wind and soared away.

  “Do you have news of Renhold? Of my family?”

  “Renhold fell. Your father is a resourceful man though. They might have survived. It’s hard to say. It will be some time before we learn the extent of this plague.”

  The griffin beat its wings, forcing Taegar to turn away from their conversation and hold on tightly as its body moved with a strange feline grace. He had never considered riding a cat, no matter how large. He realized with a sense of longing, just how much he missed horses.

  The ground fell away at a breakneck speed. He felt his head spin from the vertigo and focused on the back of the wizard’s head until he regained control of his senses.

  “Look at that,” the young man said. His voice held a hint of awe, interlaced with fear.

  Taegar forced himself to look. Thick black smoke rose from the forest, mixing with the dark storm clouds. The Enthelm Forest burned. He prayed to whatever gods still listened that the wizard would find Lysa and Mykel.

  CHAPTER 10

  Dorian knew only darkness and motion. The woman held his hand, guiding him ever down. Her hands were soft and cold, and even with constant contact they did not warm. She spoke little, warning him of obstacles in their path, or areas where they had to climb down.

  He couldn’t tell how many days he’d spent in the prison. He had no way to measure time. It felt like an eternity.

  The monsters could still be torturing him for all he knew, though it didn’t feel like it. The air was fresh, though not quite right. It had a hint of rot, like there was ever a dead animal somewhere nearby. The breeze too felt different from the tempest. It felt weak in comparison, and carried the chill of approaching winter.

  The woman never stopped to rest, and pushed him for what felt like hours. His stomach growled as body functions denied him began to return. He put his trust in her, though he only had the slightest idea of who she was. He could almost picture a woman shrouded in darkness, standing behind Lara as he said his goodbyes.

  “How much further?” he asked.

  “Not much longer now,” she said, “We are nearing the base of the Watcher.”

  “And what then? What’s the world like now?”

  “It doesn’t look good. When we entered the mountain, the dead were everywhere, and spreading. Unless something’s changed, I don’t think it’s gotten better.”

  “So the god I stopped. It made no difference?” He still didn’t quite understand how he’d done it. He’d stolen a book of ancient writings from a necromancer. He’d destroyed it, sensing the evil it contained. Destroying the book had affected a god, one that made the dead rise and hunt for human flesh. In that moment, he had hoped he’d stopped the army of zombies, that he’d given his life for a purpose. He’d clung to that hope throughout the eternity of torture he suffered. It almost had made it bearable. Almost.

  “Not as we’d hoped,” the woman said, “They’ve lost their direction. They’re freed from control, though now it appears as though they only exist to kill.”

  “I failed. And now those… those things are freed. I’ve made things worse.”

  “Things are always worse,” she said, “There’s always something darker, more evil, springing up from the ashes of its predecessors. As long as someone will stand against it, the sun will continue to rise. There will be hope for the next generation.”

  “You sound sure of yourself.”

  “I’ve been around a long time.”

  They continued on in silence. The ground suddenly leveled out beneath his feet, causing him to stumble.

  “We made it?” Dorian asked. He could hardly believe it. He’d began to believe the mountain was infinite.

  “Only the first part of our journey.”

  “And now we must face the dead. How many thousands of them are there between them and our destination?”

  “There are hundreds of thousands of them,” she answered, “But none of them zombies. From here we enter the underworld, my kingdom.”

  “Then you really are Death.”

  “Yes. Beneath the Watcher is a tunnel. It is but one passage of many that a soul may take to the afterlife. No one living has walked this path for many thousands of years. You will not want to stray from me.”

  “Where would I go?”

  She led him on. Without his eyes he could not tell a change in light, though the air instantly changed. The chill of the wind disappeared, and it actually grew warmer. His hearing compensated for his loss of sight, amplifying sounds such as his footsteps, and even his heartbeat. For the first time he realized he could not hear her in any way. She moved like a ghost. She had no sway to her walk, and her feet were silent as though they never touched the ground. Did she float? He did not know how to ask her.

  He also could not hear her breathing. If she were Death, perhaps she and Mykel were something similar. Dorian still attributed Mykel’s sanity to the Fates. It seemed forever ago that he had stood within the ring of Destiny Stones, beseeching the Fates to intervene, to save his family and his love. He’d felt their influence, though he’d lost his parents.

  He’d assumed he’d fulfilled his Destiny upon stopping the fallen god. That thought made him feel adrift, free from his fate. His story had ended, leaving him broken and without a future.

  The ground gradually sloped more and more. Sometime during their journey, Death stopped and fed him. She didn’t tell him what it was, and he didn’t ask. It tasted spongy and smelled of earth. They didn’t rest long, and though his legs ached, he didn’t complain. There was no other option than to keep walking. He liked this future better than the one she’d taken him from.

  “We are nearing the entrance,” Death said, “There are three guardians we must pass, that keep the living from my realm. You must stay close to me always. They will let me by, but you they will seek to kill.”

  “I understand.”

  They came to a stop. Death let go of his hand, leaving him to lean against the stone wall of the tunnel. He had spent so much time underground since this whole ordeal started. He’d journeyed through ancient pipes below his hometown of Briar’s End, searching for a way out of the city, hoping not to be killed by goblins. He’d then been lost in the tunnels within the Watcher, with the feeling of the mountain pressing in on him from all sides.

  This felt little different, though he felt no will to go on. The largest known mountain loomed above his head, while he stood at the entry to the underworld. Perhaps this was where his journey was supposed to lead. He felt remarkably calm, considering their destination. He did not have the urgency to escape. He felt… safe. The underworld did not scare him, and he would accept whatever came along. It wasn’t despair. It felt more like inevitability. He didn’t know why, but this felt like his final journey. Death would leave him there. Maybe he would be whole then, in the land of the dead. He hoped his parents would be waiting for him.

  He hoped for their forgiveness.

  Somewhere before him, he heard stone scrape on stone as a doorway opened. Long trapped stagnant air blew out, carrying along with it whispers. Even with his sensitive hearing, he could not quite make out the words. He wondered if he only thought the voices were real. It almost sounded like…

  “Welcome home.”

  The dead were welcoming their goddess back. The air brushing against his cheek felt almost like fingers. Could there be ghosts about him? Strange that the thought didn’t bother him. He’d encountered spirits once before, and they’d sought to do him harm. A fool man by the name of Taegar had angered them, and they’d barely escaped with their lives.

  He wondered if the man had gotten himself killed yet. He had probably run off somewhere to hide.

  Death took his hand and led him forward.

  “Welcome to Purgatora,” she said, “Here was the first kingdom of the dead. The dwarf king Kolbolt built it for me. It is a glorious example of his people’s engineering.”

  “Describe it to me.”

  She walked forward, pulling him along. “It is a massive city built directly into the walls of a vast catacomb, with every structure made from polished white granite. Across every surface is a story of that age, and of the times before, depicted in hieroglyphs. Within are homes for thousands of souls to dwell in comfort for all eternity. The light of a thousand astral crystals grow from the stone, bathing the streets with their ethereal light.”

  He couldn’t quite picture it, though he could feel its inhabitants watching them, and hear their whispers as they walked among them. They were eager. “Who are the ones that still live here?”

  “This city is empty,” she said, “We eventually were forced to go deeper, abandoning this city and walling it off forever. When the living discovered it, they sought out their loved ones that had preceded them. I had Purgatora built as a refuge and place of rest for the dead, to leave behind the cares of the mortal life. And there were… complications… when the living and dead interacted.”

  “No one stayed? Not living or dead?”

  “No one.”

  “What of the guardian?” Dorian asked.

  “It resides at the edge of the city.”

  Dorian tightened his grip and pulled her close. Lowering his voice, he said, “We are not alone. How much further?”

  “Impossible. I see no one. How do you know?”

  “I can hear them,” he said, “I feel them.”

  “Impossible,” she said again, but she could not completely hide the worry from permeating her voice. “We have to reach the center of the city. The gates to the Second City are there.”

  They picked up their pace. The whispers turned to laughter, a high-pitched eager sound not unlike that of a child. She pulled him along faster than he felt comfortable. He knew he had to trust her, that she wouldn’t let him trip. The roads were remarkably free from debris, as though maintained. If not that, then they had not been disturbed since their abandonment.

  He wished he would’ve had the strength to keep his eyes, to withstand the constant torture of the naitkilari. At the time it felt like the only way to escape. He couldn’t kill himself, and they’d had an unknown interest in keeping him alive. They toyed with him and appeared as loved ones. They played with all parts of his memories. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shut them out.

  It left him depending on the mercy of a woman that had no reason to help him. Her concerns far outweighed taking care of him. She was the goddess of Death and he was a nobody, a broken individual that no longer had a purpose.

  The shadows pursued them. They stirred the air, whirring about them like a plague of flies, brushing against him as though just to see how he would react. He tried to ignore them, just like he’d tried to ignore the naitkilari. How could she not sense them?

  “Not much further,” Death said.

  Her hand jerked out of his.

  He stumbled to a halt, thrown off balance. She screamed and sightlessly he turned to face the direction of the sound. Her voice faded quickly as though she’d been carried away.

  He remained perfectly still, waiting. The whispers laughed again, in that strange chilling way, coming from all about him at once.

  One struck his shoulder nearly sending him sprawling. He swung a fist, though if he connected he had no way of knowing.

  Feeling more in danger standing alone in the middle of an abandoned city, he made his way in the direction Death’s scream had come from. He stepped carefully, expecting any moment to fall into a pit. With arms extended, he searched for the buildings she spoke of.

  They could’ve taken her anywhere, not just into a building. There could be alleys, or caves, or even sewers.

  The panic welled up in him and he lost his balance. He dropped to his knees and crawled.

 

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