Death's Reach, page 7
part #2 of Hungry Gods Series
From deep within him, he felt something stir, like a serpent. It awakened from its sleep at the base of his spine, traveling up and into his head. He stopped and grabbed his temples with both hands, and the whispers stopped.
His body tingled as though filled with electricity as the force within him fought for control. He struggled internally as the energy spilled through his limbs.
He knew what it was, he remembered the thing slithering into him through his mouth, merging with his spirit to share his body. He had a naitkilar within him. He hadn’t been able to tell her, she might’ve left him with them.
Or killed him.
Through gritted teeth he managed to utter, “No…” The thing within him thrashed as he fought it with every ounce of his will. There was nothing physical to the battle. His soul battled for its existence.
“I. Am. My. Own. Master.” His mouth filled with blood.
The struggling stopped.
Dorian sat up, testing his arms and legs. They were his own. Something had changed within him. By suppressing the naitkilar’s attempt of possession, he had changed.
He could see.
Sort of. He reached up and stuck his fingers into his scarred and empty eye sockets. He didn’t see with eyes, he saw with the spirit within. But was it his? He could feel the thing’s tendrils wrapped about his soul. He could feel it like a second consciousness, an extension of his mind, though alien in its mindset.
And he saw through its eyes.
He could see the city, though only where he focused his consciousness. Anything he chose to ignore faded away with almost a dreamlike quality. The spirits though, he could see all of them clearly. He saw them moving about, like gelatinous entities of etheric blue energy. They grinned maliciously, circling closer and closer.
Dorian stood up. They resembled people, though with eyes wide with madness and not bound to the earth. A woman with a rictus expression swooped toward his face emitting a horrid scream.
He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, choking out her cry.
“Well isn’t this interesting,” he said.
The woman struggled, her cold hands gripping his wrist and fear chased away her amusement. She had no more strength compared to him than a child. And they couldn’t hurt him anymore.
He released her and she shot away. The other spirits hesitated for a few seconds more, before they too fled.
Looking around, he saw the tell-tale glow of multiple spirits around a yellow glow. He walked quickly, no longer doubting his steps. Buildings faded in and out of view as his awareness required it. As expected, the yellow glow formed an aura about Death.
The spirits held her down, feeding upon her radiance. The glow marked her as one of the divine. The light rose from her toward the spirits’ gaping mouths. She writhed in agony as her light diminished.
In their focus, they did not see him approach. He grabbed them one by one, his fingers finding purchase easily in their diaphanous forms. After he cast the first two away, the others noticed him, and they quickly fled into the darkness.
An alien energy filled his limbs, merging spirit with flesh. He had no time to think on it. He knelt down next to Death. She shuddered and hugged herself. She still possessed a subtle golden glow, but it was faint. It nearly made her fade away in his new spirit vision.
“It’s okay,” Dorian said, “They will no longer bother us.”
She stared as though seeing him for the first time. He wondered if anything had changed about him visibly, but didn’t ask. The fear in her eyes was not from him. It faded away, replaced by relief and tears.
She threw her arms about him, her tears falling upon his neck. He held her awkwardly. He never imagined that gods would cry, or even that they could. Then again, little remained of her divinity. Her aloof presence had crumbled, taking with it her confidence.
When Death finally released him, she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, and all expression disappeared, leaving behind only calm composure. “Thank you,” she said, “Those spirits had become feral. Their solitude has changed them. How did you stop them?”
“I can see again. Somewhat.”
“How?” She reached up as though to feel his face. Catching herself, she lowered her hands.
“I don’t know,” he lied, “It doesn’t matter. It’s not real sight, it’s some sort of spirit vision.”
She studied him, waiting for him to explain more. “We should continue,” he said. He couldn’t tell her about the thing within. He had bested it, but what if it came back? If he were seeing through its eyes, he could not tell it apart from himself.
“Yes,” she said. Death grabbed his hand and then realized what she’d done. “I guess you don’t need to be led.”
“I don’t mind, it brings me comfort.” That made her smile, and he realized that she needed it more than he did. In an instant, she’d become vulnerable. Everything she’d known had been stripped away from her. Her fall from the divine had broken her, and she was starting to see the cracks for the first time.
CHAPTER 11
In the center of Purgatora stood a modest building, barely larger than a cottage, and made of the same white granite stone. Death released his hand and stepped forward, running her hands along the smooth wall. It looked not unlike a mausoleum.
“This is it,” Death said, “Beyond these doors lies my kingdom, the underworld. You must stay close, the guardian will kill anything living.”
“What is it?”
“Have you heard of grimm wolves?”
Dorian nodded. “Yes, scavengers that eat the fallen on the battlefield.”
“Yes, I suppose you would see them as such. They make their dens in entrances to the underworld. They lead the dead home, and they keep the living out.”
She placed her left hand upon the door. From her fingertips Dorian saw waves of ethereal energy travel like slow lightning over the door. He wondered if she could see it too. It surrounded the stone until the entire entrance radiated with it. Only then did the door swing open by itself, as though an invisible watchman granted them entry.
The entry gaped open to a wall of darkness. His awkward sight revealed cold, rough stairs descending downward. If the air had smelled stale in Purgatora, the air they released from this door smelled ancient.
“Shall we?” Death asked.
He took her hand again and they began their descent.
“Be careful,” she said, “These steps were not made for the living. They are an access for the designers, nothing more. The feet of the dead never touch them.”
The stairs spiraled ever downward. Though his spirit sight allowed him to see each step, there was nothing else to see but the two of them. The walls pressed in, barely wide enough to walk side by side, with a ceiling only a few feet over their heads. If a grave plot had stairs, this is what it would feel like, he thought.
The stairs curved one last time, and they emerged from the side of a stone cliff onto a vast plain. He could see no roof overhead, and if he didn’t know better, he would never have known they were underground. He could see the underworld with amazing clarity. This world was not for mortal eyes, the likes of which he no longer possessed. It existed for spirits, and his new vision gave him a clarity as though he’d grown new and improved eyes.
The earth dropped sharply down into a great valley split by a mighty river with dark waters with easily a mile between each of its shores. A forest of dark trees covered the miles between them and the river. On the far side, barely visible in the gloom, a massive city stretched across a barren plain.
His mouth must’ve been hanging open as he caught Death staring at him.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I can see everything. Are… do you think my parents are here?”
“Yes,” Death said, “If they sense you, you might see them again.”
He shivered. He had to believe he had made the right choice. None of them had known what the bite of the dead would do. He had done what he’d had to, to save the life of his sister. They hadn’t been his parents when he’d dealt the killing blow, yet he’d stared into the face of family when he ended their existence. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself. If he saw them again…
His thoughts were interrupted as dark shapes moved out of the forest. Grimm wolves. Their fur was black as soot, and they stood as tall as a war horse. He’d seen wolves before, even a dire wolf once, but these were different. When they moved, they shifted. He didn’t know how else to describe it. It was as though they teleported a short distance with each step, covering at least twice the ground they otherwise would have.
Death stood proudly, with head held high. Despite her weakened state, she presented herself like a queen. She met the eyes of the largest wolf in challenge.
Dorian stood behind her, edging closer to the door. She had told him to stay close, but he found himself doubting that the monstrous beast even recognized her. As it shifted closer, he was sure of it. The wolf’s eyes spoke of murder. Neither of them were dead, and the beast no longer saw Death as his mistress.
Death had not given up yet though. She stepped forward and held out a hand low, palm up. The wolf, still baring its fangs, lowered its head and sniffed.
The grimm wolf threw back his head and howled. The pack, moving as one, turned and disappeared back into the forest.
“For a moment I didn’t think they knew you,” Dorian said.
“For a moment I didn’t either. Let’s go.”
He hurried to keep up with her, despite her weakened condition she still walked with purpose. The forest waited for them expectantly, silent and massive dark sentinels. He hoped the worst was behind them. They had only the dead left to face.
CHAPTER 12
Taegar had never seen a city like Levia before, and he’d traveled through much of Medanholm. Though the size of Doramwall dwarfed it, the wizard city bypassed it in grandeur. He had not thought it possible.
As were many of the great cities of Medanholm, Levia was divided into districts with their own traits, though he could not tell them apart. The entire city rose to the heavens with towers so high he had to strain his neck. The griffin skirted dangerously close to the walls as it weaved between them.
Many of the buildings had spires, stabbing violently into the sky, and some with strange giant lenses poking from the rooftops. Others were flat with runes and symbols painted over the surface. The very air tingled, making the hairs on the back of his arm stand up as though they flew in an electrical storm.
The buildings were polished stone, and seamless – in so many unusual colors it reminded him of tumblers and jugglers with their multicolored scarves and vestments. As close as he could tell, they might have been rare gemstones, but that was impossible. The value of such a structure would be immeasurable.
An imposing wall surrounded the city, with smaller jagged towers packed tightly together. The shape of the city, from the sky, reminded him of a giant mouth with draconic teeth. As the griffins swooped in, it gave him the uncomfortable sensation of dropping into that enormous mouth.
They landed in a large courtyard surrounded by short exotic trees with leaves of bright purple and yellow. As he dismounted, the other two griffins landed with Lara and Serina. The wizard, Vichak, pulled a small diamond from his belt pouch and spoke into it.
A few seconds later, the air shimmered and a man appeared. He wore long purple and black silk robes with embroidered patterns crawling across the fabric as though alive. In his left hand he held a staff nearly seven feet high of black wood that crackled with energy barely visible within the grain. Two other wizards materialized next to him, their robes a solid red with collars that extended up several inches above their heads.
Serina and their accompanying wizards bowed low. She caught Taegar and Lara’s eye, and they quickly followed her example.
“Rise,” the wizard said.
Vichak walked over to the robed leader and said something in a low voice. The man nodded, and ignoring Taegar, spoke directly to Serina.
“Serina i’ Neshar,” he said, “Of Mendreth’s Fist, companion of the pyromancer Aleran Starshade. I welcome you and your friends as guests to Levia.”
Serina bowed in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Archmage Theondrin, we graciously accept your hospitality.”
Taegar suddenly realized that he stood in the presence of one of the most powerful men in all of Medanholm. The archmage served as the advisor to King Domaran, as well as controlling this city.
Somehow, he didn’t look how Taegar imagined. He didn’t look nearly old enough, maybe in his middle years, and still with most of his dark hair. He had facial hair, but not the long beard many older wizards chose to sport, as though their power was measured by the inches of their beard. His was short and well-trimmed.
“Where is Aleran?” Theondrin asked, “It has been nearly a decade since I last saw him. Is he well?”
Serina stared down at her own hands. “He has fallen, as have Sir Ilandar, Priest Ranodan, and Hadar Blackstone. I am all that is left.”
Theondrin sighed. His shoulders slumped with the news. “I am most sorry to hear of their loss. I would ask how, but I am afraid I know. Few have survived this war.”
“Your city looks untouched,” Serina said, “How did you survive?”
“Alas, we saw the trouble coming. I personally warned the king, but he thought he could stop the enemy with might. I’m sure you are well-aware of how that went. I offered what aid I could, but the stubborn man would not abandon his throne. Right to the end.
“We had our own troubles,” Theondrin continued, “Someone brought the curse in through a bite, before we knew what we were dealing with. The entire East District is restricted, we’ve walled it off to prevent it from spreading further.”
“Why don’t you use your sorcery to kill them?” Taegar asked, “Surely there are enough wizards here to destroy the zombies.”
The other wizards frowned at his boldness, but Theondrin didn’t seem to mind. “We could,” he said, but they appear to adapt. The more we kill by magic, the rest change. It’s as though they undergo some sort of evolution. The more sorcery we use on them, the less they are affected by it. We have necromancers studying the phenomenon.”
Serina nodded. “When Ranodan fell, he was not like the other dead. The priests at the Watcher put out a gas, like a fog. It altered the dead about them.”
“Yes,” Theondrin agreed, “We see a similar reaction with zombified wizards. And now we find that the forest spirits are no longer immune. It’s unprecedented.”
“It’s the gods,” Taegar said, “Not even they were immune.”
“Careful,” Vichak said, “Your words border on heresy.”
“It’s true,” Serina said, “We saw it. Many of them are zombies.”
Theondrin rubbed his chin, considering their words. “If such a thing were true... I must meditate upon what you’ve told me. Vichak will provide you all with your own quarters. You are welcome to stay as long as you like, as long as you stay away from the East District. If that is all?”
Lara, who had remained quiet up until then, spoke up. “We had two friends, a little girl and a soldier, her brother. Vichak sent a man looking for them. Would you let us know when you find them?”
Theondrin nodded. “Vichak?”
“Yes, I sent Caridan. He will find them.”
Lara almost smiled. “Thank you. And… one other thing. I saw a camp outside the walls. Are there actually people still out there?”
“Yes, they arrived a week ago. Interesting people, they don’t seem to be all there. They wanted in, but it’s hard to trust those whom zombies won’t attack. We brought in a… diplomat… that we are studying. They might have answers for us, or they could be part of the problem. I don’t know yet. I’m not taking any chances, regardless.”
With that, Theondrin and his two guards disappeared. Stable hands arrived to take the griffins away as Vichak gestured for them to follow him.
Serina stopped the wizard with a hand on his shoulder. He turned with a scowl.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” Serina said, “You saved our lives.”
Vichak’s expression softened. “You are welcome. Times have certainly changed, haven’t they?”
“Yes.”
“I am truly sorry for the loss of your friends. You should know that Sir Ilandar was a good friend of mine. I hunted with him for years.”
“He spoke highly of you,” Serina said, “Even when I didn’t.”
“I know he was more than just a companion,” Vichak said. He resumed walking, with Serina by his side.
“We both knew the risks,” she interrupted. With that she would say no more.
They did not walk far. He led them through the city, with the majestic towers rising all about them. To Taegar, it appeared as if day to day life continued seemingly oblivious to the nightmare outside their walls, with tradesmen going about their business, areas set up with individual gardens, and areas cordoned off where they could hear the sound of livestock. The streets were full of men and women, humans and elves primarily, with the rare dwarf and even a giant, going about their business. Most looked scholarly, and books were everywhere.
Vichak noticed his gaze and said, “Levia is the greatest center of knowledge in the world. We welcome anyone, of any race, here as long as they pursue knowledge.”
“But so many books,” said Taegar, “Everyone has them. How is that possible?
Vichak laughed. “Anything is possible here. We have many scribes here, with over ninety percent of our population literate.”
He stopped next to a young girl perusing a book on a shelf. The girl smiled and nodded to Vichak, walked over to the merchant and paid him three silver, and left with the book. If he’d known that he would’ve become a book trader years ago. They sold for much more in every other corner of the kingdom.
“It is in our best interest to have knowledge as accessible as possible,” he continued, “Though Levia has the Great Library, we also make smaller books readily available to any that wish to own them. We do try to keep most of it in the city, however.”
