ESKER V

  Once again Esker was nestled snugly in the womb of the world. She was curled up in the fetal position, far away from the violently bright over-world. She could feel the stone around her pulsing and shifting. She remembered escaping from the Harvestmen and their barbed forelimbs by calling upon the earth for protection. Something inside of her had awakened. Esker had been reluctant to leave the cave system, despite the dangers within, and recalled stumbling blindly for hours, due to the overwhelming light from above. The tiny Jot-man had taken her hand and led her safely, a reversal of their dynamics in the cave. Even more surprising was the kindness Ghee-omm showed in lending her its clothing to shield her sensitive eyes. Esker remembered the immediate relief she felt under the shade that the towering plants of the over-world provided: she was able to open her eyes once again and take in the bizarre sights. The last thing she remembered was Ghee-omm’s terrified reaction to the geometric construct of plant matter that twisted and danced in the wind.

  Esker watched her own body fall to the ground as her mind opened in impossible ways, shifting her perspective. She saw metallic ore reaching out from a molten core. She saw veins of precious metals mirroring those of the roots of the tall plant-life so common on the over-world. The strata of rock, each layer whispering the history of the world to those who knew how to listen. The vast cave systems that were bored through stone naturally by water and those made by the hands of Tengu. Gems twinkled like buried stars, held in a deep embrace within the earth. She traveled through one precious stone that opened like a pupil, a spectrum of green expanding and enveloping her. The emerald refracted light from its core, as if it stored energy deep within its memory. Esker felt the gem’s durability and admired how it could be sharp as a blade or softly faceted, nearly without edge.

  Everything around Esker moved faster now, swirls of topaz, ruby, and amethyst. Each captured eons of knowledge imparted by the incredible pressure on the rock. The histories of animals long lost, the only evidence of their existencewas the absent space their bones left behind. Some were horrifying in their size, with teeth as long as Esker’s arm; others were curled up gently as if only sleeping. She took a brief detour up towards the over-world and the ball of blinding heat that beat down upon it. She found the exit from the caves that she had escaped through with Ghee-omm and traced her progress backwards. Past a colony of Harvestmen, busy at work clearing the collapsed cave, hunting and expanding their territory. Past the lifestream she had washed in, its shore lined with Springtails, warily watching for predatorslike the Harvestmen. Esker could see the twists and turns the underground river took as it flowed, eventually terminating in a vast aquifer. Esker returned once more to that hallowed chamber beneath the Jot-man stronghold, the domed cavern with the petroglyphs, interspersed with Tengu characters that wereetched in warning. She became one with the stoney floor and tried to enter the protected area, yet was expelled even in this spectral form. She heard the protests of animal guardians, pleading for her not to disturb what was imprisoned within. She also felt a presence stir from inside the warded area, something ancient and terrible. She raced away from that sacred site in horror, as a voice spoke within her soul with honeyed words, kindly asking for release and promising power in return.

  Esker followed the tunnel that led to the dungeon where she had been confined. Already Jot-man investigated the secret passage, smokey torches in hand, drawing near to the warded cavern. She saw the quarry from which they clumsily drew their stone from the land. Her heart ached as she saw where her work tunnel had collapsed and Loess had sacrificed himself so that she could live. Jot-man busied themselves here too, removing rubble and clearing a path down to the carefully chiseled passageway that she and Loess had spent so many work-spans creating. Much of it was still clogged with debris and rubble, yet the Jot-man were dangerously close to excavating the work tunnel and gaining access to the network of Tengu mines. Esker worried for her people as she traced the work shaft back to where it connected with the main artery of tunnels thatcrew chief Vug oversaw. Other workmate pairs had formed their own branching passages and Esker could see how they gravitated towards veins of valuable metal ore, as if drawn by magnetic forces.

  Esker traced the larger artery that connected all of the work tunnels to other networks of mines. These central hubs contained simple housing for the Tengu workers. The bare essentials: a dormitory, a mess hall, and latrines. These arteries were not chosen at random, each either had a lifestream flowing through it, or was close to one. Tengu needed to bathe and while systems had been developed to pump water through pipes, rinsing in an underground river held deeper cultural significance than purely hygiene. The water was purifying, it nourished the souls of all who ventured into its currents.

  As the work arteries branched out into larger and larger thoroughfares, small Tengu outposts became increasingly frequent, along with refineries and forges. A near constant chain of goods flowed towards the nearest Tengu city, Tama, while a stream ofsupplies returned to the workers. Unlike the over-world, Tengu used large docile insects as pack animals.Tama was not the largest city in Esker’s civilization, but it was impressive in its own right, acting as a heart or brain for local Tengu industry. An expansive magma chamber had been drained into the cooling reservoir below. This provided thermal heating for the Tengu and allowed for natural forges. The city was structured around the intrusive igneous rocks formed by the cooled magma. That process created large crystals in the stone, which made the entire city glitter and sparkle. The bioluminescent fungus used as an illumination source only heightened this lustrous quality. Glow worms were also cultivatedfor their bioluminescence and were carefully raised on the roof of the cavernous magma chamber. The wealthier members of society could afford to have private worm farms, while the majority of the population depended on glowing fungus for light.

  The brief glimpse of Tama made Esker homesick and when her perspective shifted once more, she nearly cried out. The shining beacon of a city glimmered as it got further and further away. Once again she traveled through the rock strata. She whipped past the Ordovician system of rocks, dotted with fossils of strange spineless creatures that would not be suited to life on land. Large swaths of the strata were volcanic and one dormant pillar of magma rose towards the over-world. Jot-man were busily constructing a large complex at the summit of where the land bulged. They drew stones from the same quarry as the fortress in which she had been imprisoned. One of Tama’s arteries of work tunnels wrapped around the magma tube, carefully harvesting its vast resources.

  Esker felt a presence embedded deep within the magma, it acknowledged her and she could feel dark, powerful energy reaching out towards her mind. This alien force spoke of progress and the necessity of industry. There was an answering call far to the west, this voice was wilder and chaotic, its emotions unfiltered. Even from this distance, its intensity dwarfed the two other beings she had disturbed. An ancient voice spoke in her mind, hissing like the quenching of forged metal in a lifestream, “Free me and I will give you more than you could ever need!” She was granted a vision of her body, now suspended in an inky void. She looked to be deeply focused and in immense agony. Esker watched herself silently scream, while the severed stump of her arm twitched and pulsed. The skin on her arm burst open as rock erupted from within. The stone enveloped the remnant of her arm and coalesced around her shoulder. As it exploded back downward, a craggy arm took shape. She once again had a hand, a fist made of stone. She flexed it, feeling its strength and power. It began to warp, its proportions ballooning grotesquely. Rock continued to pour out of the left side of her body like water from burst dam. Esker’s eyes shot open. She was drenched in sweat and found herself in an unfamiliar place.

  LIADAN IV

  Liadan struggled to separate reality from her dreams. Her encounter with Sir Marin and her communion with the Broken Man felt like incongruent realities. Her memories were fragmented, as if they needed to be pieced back together like a puzzle. She had defended herself from Sir Marin’s attack, but had been stabbed in the process. In her badly wounded state, she felt a calling towards the grounds of the cathedral and could see how glorious it would become. She was shown another vision as well, the truth of the church’s corruption. The abbey had been infiltrated by vipers and she saw the senior sisters for the monsters that they truly were. She knew that she must help all of the young girls left behind and protect them from those who preyed upon their trust. Liadan felt a calling to show them the truth of the Broken Man and the compassion of the Holy Mother, guiding them into the light. She now felt as the Broken Man had when he submitted himself to be drawn and quartered: pulled in impossible directions, her entire being torn apart. The rumor of the massacre at the village of Gallowye furthered her turmoil. Her family lived nearby in a modest homestead and she needed to know they were safe. She knew there was serenity on the face of the Broken Man as his limbs and torso were rent asunder: the faith that love would always defeat hatred. A power rose within her, pulsating from deep in her soul. She once again was invigorated by the white hot heat of faith.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Liadan felt herself in motion, yet could not understand why. She flexed her feet, one after the other, yet still felt wind whipping against her cheeks. As her curiosity grew, so too did the brightness from within. A voice called out in pain, “Ach! Ay! It burns!” The momentum stopped and she was summarilydropped into the dirt. “My arms! What in the bloody hell was that?” a man’s voice called out in the Pechtish tongue. Liadan had not hit the ground hard, but it took a moment for her to catch her breath and assess her surroundings. It was night and she was deep in the woods. A mostly naked man was standing nearby and rubbing his biceps and forearms vigorously, as if trying to put out a fire. She felt a bit muddled and rubbed her eyes, she could swear the painted symbols on his flesh were moving of their own accord. She recognized him as the stranger she encountered at the cathedral site.

  “Who are you?” Liadan asked in halting Pechtish. The man turned and looked at her a bit wildly, there was something untamed about his mannerisms.

  “Your to prefer perhaps speakers in your tongue young lady,” he responded in grammatically atrocious Gaídel, but the gist was clear enough. “Name is Eógan.” He pointed a thumb at his chest and the owl carved in dark inkupon it studied her. It cocked its feathery head and turned it nearly completely upside down.

  Liadan stared at in wonder, she had heard stories of the Pechts and their animal protectors, yet had never seen one up close and unclothed.“Why have you taken me into the woods Eógan?” Liadan responded.

  “Told by witch, I was.” He furrowed his brow and ran a hand through his tangled hair. “That is sounded wrong…” Eógan looked liked he was struggling to express himself. Liadan pursed her lips. “Knew trouble would be in you. Came to help!” he said with a wolfish smile, looking well pleased.

  “I prefer not to be helped by strange, naked men,” she said evenly. He rolled his eyes and muttered in Pechtish. She could not understand everything he said, only catching the word ‘prude’ and an offensive term for Gaídel.

  “My apologize lady,” he said with a stiff bow. “I mean no harm you to.” Despite his flippant attitude, he appeared earnest. Liadan tried to stand, but groaned as pain tore through her left side. Eógan took a step closer and Liadan’s palm flared with white energy. “Your lass hurt. Lady Galdr tended you to, but said, ‘write upon your faith,’” he imitated a melodious female voice for the last bit and Liadan snorted. His waggish grin widened. Eógan looked at her expectantly. When she did not act, he pantomimed pressing his hands together in prayer, looked down at his side and shrugged. Liadan tried to adjust her position and once again felt pain shooting through her flank. She gingerly felt around the wound. She was surprised to discover that the dagger was gone and that it was now bandaged. She noticed a slightly numbing sensation around where the poultice was affixed.

  “How am I supposed to know what to do?” Liadan asked, Eógan shrugged once more. She was at a loss. The few times the strange light had manifested, it had been as an instinctual reaction. She had felt no conscious control. She thought back to the knowing look of serenity the Broken Man had as he faced his death. That gave her an idea. She placed one palm over the other on top of her wound and stood. She felt blood gush out of the where she had been stabbed, as the wound reopened, and gasped from the agony. At the same time, she felt warmth emanate from her hands and fill the laceration with a searing heat. Liadan staggered, but did not fall. She removed her hands from her side and tentatively touched where the blade had been embedded. It felt tender, but the gash appeared to have healed.

  “Holy shit!” Eógan said reverently.

  “I suppose it was,” Liadan replied with a wry smile. She felt incredibly exhausted, but forced herself to keep moving. The canopy obscured the stars and with no sun to guide her, she used her familiarity with the woods she grew upnear to orient herself. A rocky ridge rose out of the forest nearby, so Liadan went to check where the moss grew on it and was able to extrapolate which direction was north. “How long were you carrying me?” she asked the Pecht.

  Eógan shrugged, “Night and day.” Liadan now could see fatigue hidden behind his cheery bravado.

  “Thanks for helping me escape from the abbey Eógan. My name is Liadan,” she said as she started walking to the northeast.

  “Hey, wait! Liadan wait! Where are going you?” Beyond the occasional rustle of a branch, Eógan made very little sound as he ran up to her.

  “I am going home. I need to see if my family is safe, word came that the Pechts attacked my village.” Eógan stopped in his tracks and looked crestfallen. “Nothing to say?” she accused. He shook his head sadly.

  “It not was our doing Liadan, I swear the life of my mother.” Tears ran down his cheek, “I lost all of friends, ambushed by the Jotman after we battle their camp.” He made no effort to conceal his emotions, which was very unlike the more reserved behavior of the Jotman, who Liadan had spent much time with recently. She found this quality disarming. “We fought their warriors only and when us tracked more, we find Gaídel… they were all dead. Made to look witchy.”

  “Made to look like what?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Like the witch does it,” he tried to clarify.

  “Then who killed them?” she demanded.

  “The Jotman. The one with metal fist.” He pantomimed a gauntlet over his left arm.

  “Why? Why would they do that?” Liadan asked and Eógan shrugged without offering an explanation. She pressed her lips into a line and thought for a moment. “That only makes it more necessary to find my family.” She started to walk off again, when Eógan grabbed her upper arm. She spun around in anger, her palm flared with white light.

  “Liadan…” he said sadly. “I saw village, it burned to ground.” He released his hold and dropped his hands to his side. “I have sorry,” he said as he placed a hand over his heart.

  “I… I need to help my family.” Liadan was devastated.

  “We will,” Eógan responded resolutely.

  “How?”

  “Lady Galdr will know. We now need go see her.”

  ———

  After traveling through the dark woods for several hours, Liadan still did not know what to think of Eógan, or her decision to follow him. Her people, the Gaídel, had formed an ancient truce with the Pechts and part of that covenant was to respect each other’s borders: there had been minimal interaction since. Eógan had admitted that he had traveled with a war band to attack the Jotman and in the process hadviolated the sovereignty of the Gaídel. Why should she trust anything he had to say? What frustrated her the most, was deep in her heart, she already did. She could not explain this connection and perhaps it was born out of the bizarre circumstances under which they had met. The openness that Eógan showed, as well as the love and wonder he expressed for nature, was disarming. His broken Gaídel only reinforced that quality, she found his speech patterns endearing as they chatted, it was like speaking to a baby brother. Eógan had also saved her life back at the abbey.

  Abruptly, the dense forest opened up into a clearing and Eógan appeared to be reassured by this change; Liadan was not nearly as comforted. The ground became spongey and wet as they stepped into a fetid bog. Insects buzzed about annoyingly, while frogs croaked forlorn songs. A crooked tree with grasping roots dominated the flat expanse in front of them, while a fog blanketed the mire. The eeriest quality was the glowing witch light, it formed a haunting perimeter, equidistant from a small shack at the center of the bog. Some of this foreboding light adorned the limbs of the tree and Eógan approached the base of the trunk. With some reluctance Liadan joined him. Peering through the large gnarled opening in the tree, she could see a path snaking back and forth, eventually leading to the thatch roofed shanty. “It certainly looks like a witch’s house,” she said grimly.

  “It does that,” Eógan answered with a smile. He then gestured towards the opening through the root system of the tree, “Lady first!” She raised her eyebrows. The owl on his chest punctuated his offer with a hoot of its own. He shrugged knavishly and called out as he passed through the tunnel formed by the tree, “Anyone home? Your arrival of guests!” Liadan tentatively followed and was struck by how beautifully the large tree had been weathered. Five roots were exposed from the ground, each were as wide as her head. They had a quality that made them resemble, with uncomfortable accuracy, a hand reaching down from the trunk of the tree. Once they crossed through the threshold of the tree and were within the perimeter of witch light, Eógan called out another greeting in Pechtish,this time Liadan chimed in. The door of the dilapidated house opened with a creak and a slender young Jotman stepped out into the night. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and instead shyly waved. Eógan smirked a bit and took a step forward. The ground was neatly trodden down in a meandering path; Eógan took the most direct path towards the house, through the bog.

  “STOP!” the young Jotman called out in alarm as he gesticulated wildly. He repeated the word in accented Gaídel and began to run towards them, while carefully sticking to the walkway. “PLEASE STOP!” Eógan rolled his eyes disdainfully and took another step off the path and through the muck. Midstride, Liadan grabbed Eógan and yanked him back towards the tree roots shaped like a hand.

  “What the bloody hell!” Eógan shouted as they tumbled into a heap. Liadan pointed towards his footprint as mist rose out of the indentation, in the shape of a claw. It grasped around, testing the air, as more limbs emerged and began to flex menacingly.