EóGAN IV

  Debris rained from the ceiling after a concussive blast rocked the temple. The source was close and Eógan feared another cave-in. He scrambled off of his sleeping pallet without bothering to dress and crept down the hallway towards the main chamber. Liadan was stirring in her similarly austere room near the end of the corridor. When he tapped the stone door frame with his knuckles, she groggily asked, “What was that?”

  Eógan shrugged, when she stared blankly at him, he realized it was too dim for her to see. “I am not sure, we should move quietly. Take my hand.” He did not want her to use her divine light until he had a better sense of what was happening.

  She groped about in the dark to gather up the outer layers of her clothing, then reached for his hand. As he pulled her to her feet, Liadan hissed, “Are you naked?”

  Eógan smirked. “Aye.” Liadan muttered unintelligibly, but did not resist his lead and kept pace with him. Upon entering the main chamber of the temple, Eógan saw Rhyolite crouched by the archway leading into the courtyard. A deafening boom nearly laid all three of them prone. His ears were ringing and acrid smoke wafted in the air.

  When the two of them padded across the expansive chamber to join the priest, he was distracted as he peered around the corner of the doorway and jumped with a start. After quietly rattling off a chain of complaints in Tengu, he composed himself. “Wait here,” he instructed. His tone and face were serious to a degree that Eógan had not seen before. The priest pointed at their feet and once more reiterated that they must wait. Voices carried from the courtyard, whooping cries that Eógan could not understand. Rhyolite nodded severely towards both of them, stood up, and straightened his robes, before sweeping out of the chamber.

  Eógan immediately moved to peer around the corner, ignoring Liadan’s whispered complaints. Despite her reservations, she was soon at his side, eager to learn what was occurring. Two of the five statues in the courtyard had been reduced to smoldering wreckages: the sculptures representing stability and mutability. An unfamiliar Tengu was in the process of affixing an oblong object to the effigy of life, while a nearby companion supervised. As Rhyolite strode towards the strangers, Eógan’s eyes caught sight of two other Tengu hidden in the far corner of the courtyard. One of that pair seemed to be readying an object similar to the one now attached to the statue, while the other sifted through a satchel of supplies.

  Rhyolite loudly questioned the nearest pair of Tengu, the only word that Eógan understood was ‘temple’, yet the tone of his sensei was unmistakable: whoever these interlopers were and despite the elaborate etiquette of Tengu manners, they were not welcome.

  “We should help him,” Eógan whispered.

  “He told us to wait, in no uncertain terms.”

  “Wait for him to die?” Eógan looked into Liadan’s eyes searchingly. “We both know that this will not end well.”

  Liadan pressed her lips into a line, clearly torn on how to respond.

  The priest commanded something. When Eógan glanced to his friend, she translated, “I believe he is asking them to leave. There are other words I do not understand, but he is insisting that they must go.”

  The two Tengu in the courtyard looked chastened. They bowed deeply in deference first towards the obliterated statues and then towards Rhyolite. After combing his fingers through his long scraggly beard, he crossed his arms.

  As the pair rose, one of them scraped a device against the side of the effigy of life that trailed a shower of sparks onto a rope in its other hand. With a sizzle, the rope was alight with flame. It snaked back towards the object strapped to the statue. The two Tengu raced away as Rhyolite bellowed and gave chase. The priest raised his hand with his fingers curled and the stone floor erupted beneath one of the fleeing Tengu, toppling them to the ground. Their accomplice whirled to look at them, then their eyes darted to the sizzling rope. They ran away, leaving the pleas for help unanswered.

  Eógan’s eyes widened as he saw one of the lurking Tengu set fire to the rope leading out of a similar object. He was moving before he could think, darting to Rhyolite as the object was hefted in an arc towards them. He did not have Ronan’s spear or any other weapons on his bare person: he would have to make do with instinct.

  Rhyolite was in the midst of chastising him as Eógan ran up and launched himself off of the back of the priest, snatching the object, with its trailing tail of fire, out of the air. Before his feet touched the ground, he cocked his arm back and heaved the gourd shaped device back at the Tengu who had launched it.

  Time slowed to a still as Eógan flew through the air. The Tengu he aimed the object at openly gawked. Eógan initially thought it was the sight of a naked stranger that so alarmed the aggressor, but as the Tengu’s massive eyes trailed the trajectory of the object, the source of fear became clear. The nearby Tengu who had been sifting through a bag of supplies, barely had time to look up: it cringed and tried to protect its body with its arms. Rhyolite had been knocked to the side when Eógan jumped off of his shoulders. The Tengu who had been tripped by the priest’s geomancy crawled desperately away from the statue, while its companion sprinted towards the two others.

  As the object spun, suspended by time dilation, it neared the stone tiles at the feet of the Tengu sorting through supplies. The one running towards the others skidded to a halt and changed course. The gourd shaped device made one more full rotation before shattering apart as it struck the ground. The gout of flame was enormous, it engulfed Tengu who had its arms held up protectively. The one who had launched the object was initially knocked clear, but a second detonation was more profound. That entire quadrant of the courtyard vanished, raining shards of rock and ash in a wide radius. The shockwave was powerful enough to send both Rhyolite and Eógan flying, which ended up being a blessing. There was a third explosion nearby, one that he could not hear since his ears were deafened, as the effigy of life shattered. Countless fragments of stone pocked the tattered remains of the courtyard and eviscerated the prone Tengu who was attempting to crawl away.

  Eógan’s lungs burned and his head rang. He weakly raised his head to see Rhyolite unmoving to his left. Eógan’s neck went limp and his head bounced off of a stone tile. He was in shock and felt like he was floating: the sensations of his body detached completely from the reality of the situation. Far down the walkway, a lone Tengu staggered to its feet. It moved on wobbly legs towards him and unsheathed a long straight blade from its back. Murderous intent was an expression that universally translated.

  Eógan lay on his back, struggling to catch his breath and to find the strength to move his limbs. The Tengu with the sword stalked towards him, weaving past boulder sized shards of rock and through curtains of smoke.

  This was not how he wished to die, skewered helplessly in the bowels of the earth; he wanted to die under the warmth of the sun, in glory. His lips twitched, trying to form a smile, dying in a debauched climax would be acceptable as well. It was agony watching the Tengu approach, Eógan was unable to lift even a finger to protect himself. His perspective was limited to what he could see between his drooping eyelids, as he no longer had the strength to turn his neck. Rhyolite was outside that field of vision.

  The Tengu warrior towered over him, wrinkling its long nose in disgust. I find you plenty ugly as well, Eógan thought to himself. Must be hard living life with a penis on your face. Endless quips bounded across his mind, it was frustrating to be unable to voice them. Not that this bloody devil would understand his wit.

  The blade flashed towards him. Eógan ruminated on the strange details his mind noticed in what looked to be his final moments. He appreciated the craftsmanship of the sword, its well honed edge, the soft ripples patterned into its sheen. He did not close his eyes, he accepted this fate. When the killing blow stopped and was held trembling in place, it took a moment for Eógan to understand why. Skellum had scuttled up from behind him and clutched the blade in both of its pincers.

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  The sharp blade bit into the hardened chitin of the pseudoscorpion and milky ichor dripped from the wounds. The strength of the arachnid was impressive, however, the difference in size between it and the far larger Tengu was too significant. The Tengu soldier grasped the hilt of its sword with both hands and ground the blade through the smaller portion of Skellum’s claw, spraying pus like fluids and breaking the pseudoscorpion’s hold. Before the weapon could be brought down again, Liadan stepped in.

  The Gaídel shifted easily on the balls of her feet, moving fluidly. As she danced away from the reach of the Tengu’s sword, Liadan moved in and out of Eógan’s sight. All he could hear was a buzzing in his ears, it was heart wrenching not to know what was happening. A flash of brilliant light, sent the Tengu staggering into view. It covered its large eyes with a crooked elbow as it wildly swung the sword into empty space. Liadan closed the gap, calm and collected. Eógan blinked through the tears in his eyes, trying to clear the amorphous shapes they filtered the world into. After a wild swing that opened up its guard, Liadan stepped in close to the Tengu. She caught the elbow of its sword arm with a glowing palm: the joint collapsed and snapped in the wrong direction. Long limp red fingers released the hilt of the weapon. Her other palm flared as a small golden filigreed barrier manifested. She drove it into the stomach of her opponent, causing it to double over in pain. With its head now in range, Liadan joined both her hands together and smashed a glowing barrier into the Tengu’s face. Its nose crumpled, spewing blood as the soldier dropped senselessly to the ground.

  Liadan ran to Eógan, kneeling in front of him and mouthing words that he could not hear. Blinking was his only response.

  LIADAN V

  Outwardly Eógan had few injuries, yet his body was limp and he seemed unable to speak. Liadan was grateful to have been shielded from the powerful explosions by the stone archway of the temple’s main chamber. Rhyolite was sprawled a short distance away and while the blast had largely spared him, he looked more battered than Eógan. Fortunately, his breathing was deep and even.

  Near where she kneeled, Skellum writhed in the debris strewn remnants of the courtyard. One of its pincers had been badly injured by the Tengu’s blade and was leaking a milky substance. She approached the pseudoscorpion slowly, trying her best to project a calming aura. Skellum halfhearted raised its uninjured claw and snipped at the air several times. A spurt of fluids exited from the wound and the creature’s arm drooped. Liadan felt a wave of sympathy and was surprised how quickly she had grown attached to Eógan’s new friend. “I will try to help you,” she cooed, unsure if Skellum had the equivalent of ears. Whether it was comforted or weakened by its injury, it did not protest her administrations.

  Liadan laid her hands on the creature’s exoskeleton, easing them closer to the gouge that the sword had cut from the pincer. She knew nothing about a pseudoscorpion’s anatomy and felt at a loss of how to help it. Could she heal a being so different than herself? Given the dismal state of Skellum, there was little reason not to try. She drew forth energy deep from within, channeling her faith and visualizing Skellum’s injury like a severed thumb, in hopes that might bolster the effect of her healing.

  Liadan felt the taxing pull on her essence as vitality flowed from her fingertips, glowing and pulsing through the pseudoscorpion’s pincer. There seemed to no effect and a seed of doubt began to gnaw at her faith. Liadan chided herself for being so feeble in her belief that she needed constant reassurance. “I wish I could help you,” she lamented as she brushed her legs off and stood. Abruptly, she backpedaled several steps. Skellum’s pincer creaked and groaned, splitting in horrifying fissures. Liadan was aghast, “What have I done?”

  The pseudoscorpion appeared to be resigned to its fate, despite the violence of its metamorphosis. More and more of the chitinous plating broke free, oozing with slime. Liadan watched, unable to turn away from the horrid sight. With a sickening crunch, the claw split fully in two and separated from Skellum’s limb. Liadan peered between the gaps in her fingers as the creature dragged its battered body away from the damage that she had wrought. To her relief, a smaller, far paler pincer was revealed. Skellum tested it gingerly, first in the air, then on the leg of the Tengu who had been brought down by stone shrapnel. Apparently pleased, the pseudoscorpion switched to its large claw and began to disembowel the fallen soldier. Liadan turned away before she would retch.

  Eógan was sitting up, but was dazed. The only response Liadan’s calls to him received was a dopey smile. She walked up to him, maneuvering around rocky shards and avoiding the pocked holes in the tiles. Only two of the statues still stood and fully a quarter of the courtyard had become a melted crater. The armaments the Tengu soldiers had used were terrifying to behold. There were no remnants of the two caught in the center of the blast. The thought of armies wielding such power shook her to the core. Battlefields would become wastelands and anyone caught in the collateral damage, such as farmers or villagers, would be devastated. It was heartbreaking when a petty lord unleashed his warriors upon an undefended community; these weapons elevated the horrors of war to unimaginable levels.

  Eógan interrupted her spiraling emotional state by reaching out and patting her foot. When she looked down at him, he was trying to mouth a word. “Rye-o… rrr,” he stopped to compose himself. “Rhyo…”

  Liadan understood and saved him the extra effort. “I will check on Rhyolite, wait here.” She over enunciated while she talked and made sure to speak directly towards the Pecht as he shook off the remnants of battle fatigue.

  Rhyolite still lay where he had fallen, which troubled her. She was relieved to see that the priest was awake and was saddened by his tears. He faced away from the ruins of the courtyard, as if the blasphemous damage only existed if he could see it. Liadan sat at his side and took his hand in hers. With considerable effort, the ancient Tengu wiped at his face with a sooty sleeve. He groaned as he labored into a sitting position and took a long whistling inhale.

  Liadan quested within his body through her touch on Rhyolite’s palm and did not sense any immediate concerns. “Are you well, sensei?” she asked in Tengu.

  He grunted in response, which she had come to learn meant an affirmative.

  “Would you like help standing?” Liadan knew she did not use the correct grammar or verb forms in her question, but hoped that the meaning was clear.

  Rhyolite softly corrected her, teaching her the verb stem that denoted a shared activity. Liadan found Tengu to be a fascinating language, it lacked many of the irregularities of Gaídel and Jotman. The old priest sighed and his bones cracked as he stood, brushing stone debris off of his robe. “Unclean,” he chided, his large eyes twinkling with amusement. It was his common reprimand when he wanted Eógan and Liadan to do their chores and maintain the compound.

  “Where to start,” she muttered to herself in Gaídel.

  Rhyolite gave her a strange look, then limbered his body with a series of calisthenic stretches. “Baka,” he called out to Eógan.

  At first it did not seem that the Pecht heard him, when Rhyolite repeated himself, he reluctantly gave the priest his attention. “Not stupid, strong!” Eógan posed valiantly as he replied in Tengu.

  Rhyolite chuckled as he strode over to Eógan and tousled his hair. He looked over at the pseudoscorpion, who was deeply absorbed in its meal, and wrinkled his long red nose. After clapping his hands together in a brief prayer, the priest loosely extended his hands out by his sides and walked towards the shattered foundation of one of the statues. Chunks of stone and rubble skipped across the floor, congregating at the base of the effigy. Rhyolite took a spiraling path around and around: more and more shards of rock accumulated. A vein throbbed on his temple and perspiration dotted his brow. He lifted both of his hands, shaping the air with long red fingers. The pile that lay in a ring around the remains of the statue took shape, slotting together in an intricate dance. Some hung in the air trembling, while the rest slowly reconstituted into its original form. The result was not perfect, but nonetheless, the feat was breathtaking. The statue celebrating the life aspect of water stood once more.

  “Again?” Eógan teased, toeing at the base of what was left of the statue representing stability.

  Rhyolite shook his head and ran his hand through his straggly beard. “Next shift,” he suggested.

  Liadan shuddered as she watched several diplurans drag away the remains of the Tengu soldier who Liadan had felled with her barrier palm strike. Another dipluran pestered Skellum and challenged his kill, but was driven away by the pseudoscorpion’s large pincer. Neither Eógan or Rhyolite seemed especially bothered by the feeding insects; the sight made Liadan’s skin crawl. “Are we safe here?” she asked in Gaídel.

  Eógan shrugged.

  “I am not sure why I asked you, as you proved with intercepting that horrifying explosive device, you are a feckless fool.”

  “How unfair!” Eógan protested. “I give plenty of fecks!”

  Liadan begrudgingly smiled, she reluctant to reward the Pecht for his antics. “Stay in temple?” she asked Rhyolite in her limited Tengu.

  He grunted in affirmative. “Tomorrow, we leave.”

  Liadan was sad to depart the confines of the temple, she had enjoyed her time living here. An uncertain future was as daunting as the dark corners of this underground world.