LIADAN VIII

  Bloodshed in such claustrophobic quarters challenged Liadan’s constitution. The walls and floor were slick with Tengu and arachnid blood. She did not want to live in a world filled with such brutality, yet as she faced her masked assailant, she knew there was little leeway for mercy.

  The Tengu she had knocked the floor reached into its sleeve. Before she could react, the ninja flung several small vials onto the ground. When they shattered, thick smoke flooded the passage. Liadan doubled-over coughing, her eyes blurred and watered.

  A large rough hand grappled her tightly and pinned her arms to her waist. She was completely helpless. She could hear Eógan’s war cries growing more and more distant as she was dragged away. The sharp clash of metal on stone rang out, followed by a jarring motion that pulled Liadan off balance. A heavy thud followed.

  The smoke continued to sting her eyes, she blinked through tears. She stumbled forward, taking awkward steps. An unseen hazard tripped her, one that was soft and giving. The sudden downward motion broke her out of the grapple.

  She toppled face first to the floor, below the layer of smoke and landed on the sprawled body of a ninja. Blood leaked from the assassin’s shattered head. She screamed as sandaled feet scuffed towards her, disappearing into the haze from the knees upward.

  Liadan readied a barrier in her palm and cocked her arm back to strike.

  “Lia-chan?” Rhyolite’s voice asked, followed be a series of hacking coughs.

  Her relief was short-lived, multiple sets of legs wearing split toe boots fanned out, tracking the priest’s voice. The smoke began to dissipate.

  With her barrier crackling in her palm, Liadan rose to a crouch and brought her hands together. She sent the nearest ninja flying with a bone crunching strike to its torso. “Sensei,” she called out in Tengu, “two ninjas!”

  Rhyolite’s hand shot down to the floor, the fingers flexed.

  Silent split-toed boots edged towards the priest. Liadan readied another warning, but there was no need. Long needlelike spikes of stone shot up from the ground, clustered in the area around both ninjas. The pointed projections pierced their feet at varying angles, making it impossible for them to free themselves.

  Rhyolite grunted as he hefted Guillaume’s sarcophagus in both arms and swung it as he emerged from the cloud of smoke. The ninja braced its sword to absorb the impact. Liadan could see the assassin’s eyes widen in terror as the stone coffin knocked them flat. One foot tore free in a gout of blood, the other leg broke as the bone snapped and tore through its shin. There was no further movement from that assailant.

  Several cracks fissured along the smoothly shaped stone of the sarcophagus, marring the delicate finish. The priest readied it for another blow.

  Sharp pain radiated from Liadan’s right shoulder and arm. Confused, she was aghast to find two of the ninja’s thrown weapons embedded in her flesh. The star-shaped points cut deeply, but were relatively small. As she tried to ready herself for the assassin’s next volley, her movements became sluggish and clumsy.

  “Kitanai!” Rhyolite yelled to her as he summoned a thin barrier of stone to shield her from further damage.

  Unclean? What could sensei mean by that? Liadan asked herself. She clutched her left hand to her right arm, questing for what ailed her. She was overwhelmed by a foul presence. These projectiles are poisoned! she realized and drew upon her healing gift to purge the rot. Her skin healed, pushing the weapons up and out, followed by a wash of fouled blood. Liadan felt immediate relief.

  Metal rang as a sword clattered off of Guillaume’s sarcophagus, the ninja had thrown it in desperation. That heavy blow widened one of the fractures on the coffin. The brown clad assassin raised both arms in a futile attempt to ward itself from Rhyolite’s overhead blow. Liadan looked away, shuddering at the crunching sound the ninja’s body made as it broke.

  Wisps of smoke dissipated, revealing that the tunnel ahead of them had been transformed into a charnel house. Eógan was surrounded by the corpses of ninjas. Skellum labored his way towards Liadan, he appeared to be badly wounded. The Pecht was twitching with bloodlust, screaming obscenities at any assassins who dared to draw close. She did not like witnessing this side of Eógan, the young man she knew did not relish slaughter.

  There would be no retreat: dozens of ninjas congregated from behind, swarming out from the ceiling and side tunnels. The odds were not favorable for Liadan and her companions.

  “Go,” Rhyolite commanded. When she hesitated, he repeated his order.

  As Skellum reached Liadan’s side, she reached down to touch his armored shell. The lacerations crisscrossing his carapace were deep, exposing the soft flesh within. When she probed to heal his wounds, his anatomy was too alien for her to aid in rapid recovery. She took the pseudoscorpion’s smaller claw in her hand and led him towards Eógan.

  Only a few ninja remained ahead, the bulk were on the other side of Rhyolite. The priest lowered Guillaume’s sarcophagus to the ground and braced it between his legs. With both hands he began to shape stone, drawing it from the floor and wall.

  The ninjas rushed him, abandoning all semblance of stealth. Several thrown weapons thudded into his flesh. He was not deterred. The volume of rock shifting was mind-boggling, half of the cave was filled in, yet there was not enough time for it to fully seal.

  Liadan’s mouth dropped open, unable to form words. There was no way her sensei would be able to close the passage before the ninjas were upon him.

  Before she could hurry to Rhyolite’s aid, his true plan became clear. The shifting stone cleared a narrow opening that tapped into a lifestream: what began as a spray of water became a torrent. A few of the ninjas managed to cling to the wall and escape the flood, the rest were flushed away.

  The current of water grew in force and did not only flow away, it headed in Liadan’s direction. She took off in a run, dragging Skellum. Eógan menaced the last of the ninjas, too preoccupied with rage to perceive the roar of water. His arms, legs, and torso bled from countless wounds.

  Liadan looked back and saw Rhyolite before he was engulfed by a wave of murky water. He smiled at her and bowed his head ever so slightly. With a mighty heave, he flung Guillaume’s sarcophagus ahead of the rising water. It hit the ground, shattered open, and slid across the roughhewn floor. Fine sand spilled out of it as it slowed to a halt near Liadan. Guillaume’s body lay amongst the debris, along with his satchel, and Esker’s harvestman weapon.

  Foamy rapids filed the cave, there was no sign of the priest. A tear ran down her cheek as she gathered Guillaume in her arms and sprinted, shouldering past Eógan. The Pecht picked up the harvestman’s limb and the satchel. The cave was dim, so she summoned light in her palm.

  A ninja in brown garb lowered into a defensive kata. Its eyes widened as it looked past her. The assassin sheathed its blade and fled the cascading lifestream.

  “Fucking hell,” Eógan said as he jogged up to Liadan, easily keeping pace. “This is no time for a bath.”

  She was too preoccupied to voice distain for his weak joke. There was no telling where this tunnel led, or how soon the flood would overtake them.

  “Give the Jotling to me,” Eógan offered and took the corpse in exchange for his spear. It was much easier for Liadan to run without Guillaume’s added weight.

  Another ninja, this one clad in black, raced to escape. The tunnel branched in three directions, the assassin took the rightmost passage. It let out a horrible scream as it plunged directly into the cave spider’s awaiting fangs. Liadan caught a glimpse of blue blood dripping down the arachnid’s abdomen before it disappeared.

  The other ninja ran straight ahead.

  “Left is for loot?” Liadan poised to Eógan. He smiled and they took off down the third tunnel. Skellum scuttled his remaining limbs to keep up.

  Although it was impossible to tell at the juncture, the branching tunnel to the left proved to be a wise choice. It ascended upward, which would slow the progress of water and redirect it elsewhere.

  Eógan cradled Guillaume’s gangly body, while Liadan took the lead, making sure to set a pace that Skellum could match. There were no signs of ninjas and the roar of the flood soon became distant. Fewer tunnels split off of this passageway, which gave Liadan hope that they would not become lost. They took a moment to catch their breath and reorganize their belongings.

  Eógan had quickly stowed Esker’s weapon, the harvestman limb, over his shoulder. One of the barbs had caught in his upper arm as they fled. The deep gouge bled freely, along with his numerous battle wounds. The Pecht did not complain, tenderly lowering Guillaume before attending to his own needs. Liadan helped him free the forelimb from his arm and began to heal his injuries.

  “Do not push yourself too hard, I am fine,” Eógan blustered.

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  “I now have a better sense of my limits,” Liadan answered, prioritizing the cuts that had not yet clot and those that might hamper his movements.

  “Hold this,” the Pecht instructed Skellum. The pseudoscorpion obediently grasped the harvestman’s limb in his smaller claw. Liadan wished there was more she could do to heal the poor creature. He was leaking a concerning amount of blood.

  Liadan unslung Guillaume’s satchel and rummaged through his writing supplies. She found a nib of charcoal and stowed the rest in her pack. She walked back a handful of paces to most recent tunnel that branched off and marked it with the Broken Man’s symbol of two separated V’s.

  When she returned to Eógan, he and Skellum were ready to continue onward. Liadan gathered her gear and summoned more light on her palm to combat the gloom of the cave.

  “Wait, what was that?” Eógan asked. He guided her hand to illuminate an area they had passed. There was a glyph etched into the stone. A Tengu rune.

  “I do not recognize that character.”

  “Neither do I. It looks different than the ones Rhyolite taught us. Perhaps it is like the older ones Esker translated.” After he said their sensei’s name, he looked back the way they had come.

  “I hope he is safe.”

  “That old bastard is tougher than a callous.” Eógan’s respect for the priest was obvious. “We will see him again.”

  Liadan was not sure how anyone could have survived the deluge of water in the cave, but if anyone could, it was their sensei. “Look closely for other markings, they might guide us out of here.”

  “To where?”

  The only answer was to continue onward.

  ———

  The Tengu characters became more frequent, marking a clear trail. They were so smoothly debossed into the stone that it seemed impossible that they had been created with tools. As she took a closer look, Liadan was reminded of the level of carving detail in the tomb where they confronted the mummified Tengu geomancers. Liadan was excited to share this revelation, but stopped herself when she saw her companions.

  Eógan crouched by the pseudoscorpion, with a hand on his carapace. “Skellum is dying,” he said, emotion causing his voice to crack. “Is there anything you can do to help him?”

  “I will do everything in my power,” Liadan promised as she knelt next to Skellum. When she used her gift to quest within his body, it became clear that he was mortally wounded. Unlike when she had triggered pseudoscorpion’s ability to molt and healed the injury to his pincer, deep sword thrusts had pierced the inner workings of the arachnid. She could only guess at the purpose of the elongated glands and bizarrely shaped organs. The risk of doing greater damage was equal to any potential aid.

  “Can you help him?” Eógan whispered.

  Liadan’s silence was answer enough.

  Tears ran down Eógan’s face as he caressed the uninjured parts along Skellum’s body. The pseudoscorpion settled down, tucking his legs close to his body.

  She could feel the working of his lungs and the beat of his pulse slowing. She sent a calming wave of energy through her fingertips, hoping that it would ease Skellum’s passing. “Would you like to be alone with him?” she asked.

  Eógan smiled in between sobs and placed a hand atop hers. “Both of us would like you to join us for this ceremony.”

  “I would be honored,” Liadan answered, her vision became watery. She brushed her cheeks with a sleeve.

  Eógan put his hands on either side of Skellum’s head, holding him in a tender embrace. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. A communion began between the Pecht and pseudoscorpion.

  Liadan was not privy to their internal dialog, yet the unity they projected was unmistakable. She gasped at the power of what she was witnessing. Without touching either of her companions, Liadan could feel life force channeling between them. There was no longer any separation between the two, they merged fully into one.

  Eógan wept freely, wracked with keening wails.

  Skellum reached a final state of stillness as his spirit was released. The arachnid’s essence manifested, drawing out of its discarded physical body. The spectral energy was unmarred by the brutality of life and the loss of limb. It was beautiful to behold. The spectacle was far from over: Skellum’s ethereal form scuttled freely through the air, no longer restricted by the demands of the physical world. He gyred about the cave, reveling in freedom.

  Eógan waited patiently, coaxing his friend to join him. He stood and presented himself fully, slipping off his wrapped tartan to stand nude. Skellum explored, his sensory hairs twitched even in this state of being, Eógan extended his legs, rolled his shoulders, and allowed the pseudoscorpion to examine his bare back. Each location was given careful consideration, yet Skellum continue his search.

  Eógan laughed, cherishing every moment of this dance. Liadan felt privileged to witness such intimacy. At last Skellum found his home: he circled Eógan’s left forearm, twining faster and faster. As tenderly as it began, the ritual completed. The pseudoscorpion’s spectral body imprinted into the Pecht’s flesh, metamorphosing into a tattoo.

  Eógan returned to Skellum’s remains and gently pried Esker’s weapon from his claws. He strapped it onto the rear of his pack. Without another word, they moved on.

  ———

  The mood was somber, Liadan allowed silence to bloom. She needed time to grieve herself. Skellum had endeared himself to her in the short time they had been together. Guillaume had been lost, then reunited in a way that was almost more painful than having closure; the young man they had encountered in the Land of Dreams was not the Jotling she had befriended.

  On top of recent losses, Liadan still had no idea whether her family lived. The town of Gallowye had been razed and Eógan had seen the brutalized remains of some of its inhabitants. Why did she still cling to hope? Could belief will the survival of those that she loved” She had not forgotten about the girls who had joined her at the abbey either. It seemed impossible to protect those who needed her help the most. A resolve burned brightly inside of her, she would not let darkness consume Galálann, she would become one of its guardians.

  “Oi, can you turn down your bloody light?” Eógan snapped.

  Liadan realized that her entire body was pulsing with holy energy. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

  The cave had transformed into a tunnel as the frequency of the Tengu characters increased. The stone was shaped and smoothed. Pocket of bioluminescent fungus also became regular. It was obvious that they were nearing an important destination. Liadan suspected that they had been steadily ascending as well, yet was reluctant to dwell on how much she missed the sun.

  A rectangular gate spanned the entire passageway ahead. There were no doors within its frame. The featureless floor of the tunnel abruptly switched into an intricate tile pattern at the threshold of the gate. Eógan eyed it warily.

  “Let me approach first. Step where I step, in case there are any traps.”

  Liadan obliged, dropping back a few paces from him and maintaining that distance. “At least it does not resemble a dragon,” she offered, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Aye, I would be a happy lad never stepping foot inside of cursed place like that dungeon again.” He raised a finger to his lips and crept forward.

  Liadan tried to match his stealth, she was unsuccessful: the contents of her travel pack shifted and jangled.

  Eógan glanced back, pursing his lips. He held out a hand, signifying for her to wait. As he neared the gateway, he stopped to examine it. Gesturing to details that were too small for Liadan to see, he waved her over. As she approached it became clear why the gate had held his attention: there was a familiar mix of Tengu characters, Gaídel script, and Pechtish pictographs.

  “Should we translate it?” Liadan whispered.

  Eógan scratched the scraggly hairs on his chin. “Nah, it may be another riddle that I have no patience for.” He scanned the hallway ahead. “I do not see any signs of traps, follow my lead.” Without waiting for her to agree, he took off. He treaded a path along the left side of the wall. Liadan followed him step for step.

  The tiles running down the center of the floor were intricate, each panel was divided into three sections that interconnected. The symbolism seemed obvious to her: representing the three groups of people who had united to seal the great evils in the past.

  “Are you as curious as I am about what those tiles do?” Eógan asked.

  Liadan groaned. “They could do something horrible,” she hissed.

  “They are too obvious to be a trap,” he insisted. “Unless the trap is thinking that it could not be a trap…”

  “Oh, get it over with,” Liadan relented. She pointed further down the hallway. “But do it over there.”

  The Pecht smiled roguishly and leaned Guillaume’s body against the wall. He cartwheeled onto a tile. It began to glow.

  Liadan readied for the worst, darting looks up and down the passage. Eógan kept his foot on the tile, dropping into a low stance on the balls of his feet.

  Runes ignited along the walls parallel to the tile, glowing with increasing intensity. “Damn your curiosity,” Liadan complained, anticipating disaster.

  The runes sharpened in focus, forming an image. A celebration was depicted, featuring Gaídel, Pechts, and Tengu. The mountainous profile of the High King’s Seat was visible in the background.

  “Ugh, it is worse than a riddle,” Eógan whined, “this is a history lesson…”

  Liadan scoffed, she was enthralled by what she saw. There could be answers here, even ways to recreate the ritual that bound the dragon. “Have you ever seen magic of this nature?” The image had surprising clarity and details, down to the unique stylings of clothing that each attendant wore.

  “Among my people, I have seen those who can shape smoke or fire to match the stories that they tell. This,” he stepped closer to the magically generated mural, “is as if I was there alongside them.”

  Liadan appreciated that his reverence. “Guillaume would have loved to see this.”

  “He would and he will.” Eógan went over and gathered the Jotling’s body in his arms. “When we bring him back here.” Moments after he stepped off of the tile, the runes flickered and the image vanished.

  Liadan went to the next tile and stood on it. This mural revealed a different scene, one out of Hell. Even the stone was on fire, melting it into a lake of molten liquid. At the center sat a creature of pure darkness. Light was consumed by it. The monstrous shape was visible only by how it displaced the world around it. Gaídel and Tengu worked in tandem to contain it, while Pecht battled its demonic minions.

  “What… what is that thing?” Liadan asked.

  “If I had to guess, it is who Esker communicated with. Another of the great evils that Lady Galdr warned us about.” It was humanoid, but impossibly large.

  She shuddered. The Broken Man’s teachings spoke of a place deep within the bowels of the earth that imprisoned evil spirits. Liadan could scarcely imagine traveling to such a place and confronting such a being.

  “If I am correct, the next tile will show us a scene that is familiar to my people.” Eógan said as he stopped upon it.

  Liadan reluctantly joined him.

  The mural that constituted on the wall in front of them was no more reassuring than the last: it depicted a massive and enraged beast, being pulled into the earth by Tengu geomancers and harried by Pechts. The sun was eclipsed by the moon, which shrouded the gentle rises of the land. The behemoth was anchored between twin pillars of stone.

  “That is the Hill of the Sleeper,” Eógan identified. “The tips of those pillars are now megaliths.”

  “None of this tells us what to do,” Liadan said, “they only show how much effort it took to lock these evils away.” She was growing frustrated by the responsibility foisted upon her and her companions. “How can we achieve what our united people accomplished in the past. Look at the impossible magics they possessed. Even these images are beyond anything we are capable of!”

  Eógan shook his head at her. “We do not have to seal away three of these evils, only one has escaped. You of all people should have faith in your powers. What you can do is magnificent, none of these heroes of the past could draw upon such strength.”

  She was stunned, his earnestness was unexpected.

  “I have lost too much. We have all lost too much,” he said as he looked down at Guillaume, “to be afraid of fulfilling our destiny.”

  “How do we even start?”

  “We listen to Lady Galdr,” Eógan insisted, marching down the hallway. “The past is the past. If the need arises, we can return here to learn more. I for one ache to get out of these blasted caves and our lad here is not smelling any fresher.

  It was difficult to find fault in that argument. Liadan joined Eógan, no longer following his lead, but walking at his side.