TR: 46

Chapter Forty-Six: An Unlikely Pact

“Hold it right there, commander.”

The elfess held out her hand to signal him to a halt. Had he not had the aid of his eye wear he probably would have ran straight into her. The whole of their bout through the D’dakian had been like walking through an abyss, with its never-ending paths and turns, hidden ways off the beaten trail. And the Black Forest had her fair share of secrets; civilisations past, a number of indiscernible ruins hinting at times lost to history. They even happened to traverse a massive steep-sided abandoned lithium mine which, she claimed, was once one of the greatest industries of its day, though that day was long forgotten by most. It was a dank as dirty as the trek and Zocks couldn’t be done with it sooner, though he admired the elves for their thoroughness in securing their fortress. Without a guide–particularly, a Toryan one, one would find themselves hard-pressed to navigate in the bewildering place. Luckily for Zocks, he had one such guide.

Arlyrra had come to a great stone barrier which stretched on to either side as far as the eye could see. Zocks presumed it was the base of a mountain, given its sheer size, but upon closer inspection, he could see that ruins were inscribed along its face, perhaps, in its entirety.

Elvish ruins.

As he lay a gloved hand against the dusty, ancient rock, Zock pondered its history and the people who must have walked the very same path for millennia prior. Elves–dark elves especially–had a secretive way about them, only showing themselves when they wanted to be seen, never leaving a trail or sign that they had existed. And this wall was no exception; while it may have hinted at their presence, it gave little to nothing away, aside from the fact that one who was presumably not elvish…had strayed too far. It was easy to see why there was so much misinformation about them as no one except the elves themselves truly knew much beyond tales and legends. Even their language and culture remained a mystery to most, save for a handful of elite academics and those of elvish descent.

How like the elves to savour themselves, he mused.

The elfess sidled up beside him, casting the commander a questioning look.

“You read Quin’thaln?”

Zocks frowned at the wall, though she couldn’t have known given his gear. “I didn’t think so. However…somehow, this wall…it speaks to me, as if the words have a life of their own.”

The elfess gave the faintest of a knowing smile. “Well, it turns out, you are not completely wrong, commander.”

She placed her hand intentionally against the grooves of the etched surface, closing her eyes as she uttered a gentle incantation in her tongue. Zocks had no idea what the words were meant to engender, but it was obvious it was a familiar ritual. When she was done, a glyph suddenly flared to life on the stone face, emanating bright blue light from within its incisions. A rumbling sound came from somewhere deep in the mountain, then the sound of rock grating on rock. A section of the wall suddenly began to sink into the dirt, the glowing glyph disappearing into the earth with it, revealing a hollow passage leading into the mountain. A faint but flickering source of light ahead; torches mounted on brackets along a stone passageway.

The commander raised an eyebrow at his elven companion. “I thought only dwarves and ghouls lived in caves.”

Arlyrra gave him a sour look.

“My people have done what was needed to survive.”

She brushed past him brusquely, knocking him slightly aside with her shoulder. “And this is just the perimeter wall. My village is up ahead. You must leave your weapon here.”

Zocks looked down, surveying his possessions, of which there were currently none.

“I carry no weapon.”

Arlyrra stopped, turning and motioning at his head. “Not all weapons are objects, commander.”

She opened a small pouch hanging at her waist and withdrew a small object which she offered to him.

“This is a gammix, crafted by the Bemand– the sorcerers of my people. It is a very powerful relic made of heartstone, forged from the great Obzydium Mountain itself. Its purpose is to protect from powerful magick by hampering the flows of its wearer. You will put this on if you wish to proceed.”

Zocks took the foreign object from her and gave her a hard look before he examined the piece. In the dim light it was difficult to to make out distinct features, but from what he could tell it was indeed made of some kind of mineral, one he had never seen before, which had been polished down to a smooth glassy finish. It seemed to be both black and red at the same time, though the red tended towards being seen at certain angles only, similar to the golden anisotropy seen in obsidian. It had been carved into the shape of some androgynous creature with its wings spread into the shape of a V. A griffin, perhaps? He couldn’t help but feel that the object had some kind of spiritual significance. Nonetheless, it bothered him to hold it. Something didn’t feel right about it.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do with this?”

“By channelling your powers into the gammix you will ensure the safety and cooperation of my father. No one may visit the King unless they are unarmed. You will not be an exception to this rule.”

Zocks crossed his arms. “So, let me understand what you are saying: first you want me to hand my power over to you in a gift wrap, and then parade right into unknown territory where the potential of a defenceless ambush is most real, to be held captor by an elusive tribe and used as a bargaining tool to–maybe–gain control of an entire army. And you expect me to agree?”

“Commander, if I had wanted to kill you I could have done so ten times over already.”

“How do you figure, m’lady?”

She motioned to the near-blackness around them.

“You have been surrounded since the moment you set foot into these woods. My people are armed with arrows coated in a neuro-toxin that would stop your heart in a matter of moments, and I can assure you, they are most assiduous in their aim.”

Zocks laughed aloud. “A fine ruse, but I can assure you that if indeed such a thing were true, I would have seen them coming a kaldar away.”

He pointed to his goggles. “You forget: I have night vision.”

Arlyrra smiled confidently despite the commander’s proud assertion. Suddenly, four shapes materialised out of the darkness around Zocks, as if created from the shadows. They surrounded him with arrows nocked, homed in on his heart. Zocks’s sardonic grin faded and he stared blankly at Arlyrra, though his arms remained defiantly crossed.

“Now, commander, perhaps, you can be persuaded to our cause?”

Zocks glanced at each of his new friends; even with the revealing red of his goggles all he could make out were the points of their arrows and the gleam of light in their eyes. It was as if they were made of darkness.

Stealth technology. Interesting. He thought.

He looked down at the gammix, turning it over in his gloved palm.

“And what kind of guarantee do I have that you will return my abilities to me? After all, we both must have something to gain out of this meeting, and it’s seeming a little one-sided at the moment.”

Arlyrra walked over to Zocks, the dark elves stepping aside to let her by. She took the gammix from him and held it up for him to see.

“It’s not as debilitating as that. Once your powers are channelled into the gammix, you can recall them at any time, so long as you are holding it. Whoever holds the gammix has access to its contents, like a faithful pet that comes to your beckon call.”

“Then what is the point of containing one’s powers if they are able to recall them at any given moment? Seems like pretty poor preventative measures, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, that would be true, were the gammix not a co-dependent relic. You see, commander, there are many different kinds of objects like this in the world, but some need other objects similar to themselves to function. The gammix is one such object. My father possesses another gammix, mated to this one, which in turn functions just the same. They are linked, you see, like two twins who always know what the other is thinking. As long as you both hold a gammix they can access each other’s contents at any time, anywhere. So you see, my father could have already taken your powers if it had so suited him.”

Zocks took the gammix from Arlyrra and studied it with renewed interest as he turned it over and over in his hand.

“And I his. So how is it then that such a thing comes to act as a buffer against using one’s magic against another? I could just drop it and your father would have lost his hold on me.”

Arlyrra smiled triumphantly. “Ah, you are overlooking the gammix’s greatest power of all, Commander. How is it that the flows originate in the first place?”

Zocks narrowed his eyes at her. “That depends on who you ask. But it stands to reason that they exist regardless of our own volition, and that the mind is merely a tool through which they may be channeled. If it is willed, then it is achieved.”

Arlyrra nodded. “And it is verily this will power that the gammix controls, not the product of it. You see, to relinquish your power does not mean to relinquish its effects, it means that you fully submit your mind to its confines.”

Zocks raised his gaze to her. “Are you trying to tell me that whoever holds one of these can read the mind of the other?”

“That is exactly what I am saying, Commander. To relinquish you power is also to relinquish your intent. And to segue from your earlier question: no, it would do you no good to attempt to retrieve your powers by disengaging the gammix, because the other party would already be aware of your intentions and would thus act accordingly. As long as you hold the gammix, you relinquish control. It is for this reason alone that the Bemand have used the gammixes in meditation for centuries, so that they can learn how to break free of control. Our dependency on control is one of our greatest follies.”

Zocks wrapped a fist around the gammix and held it up to her face. “In my experience, without control we are but fish in a pond, while an ocean surrounds us.”

“This is not untrue, but it would befit you to remember, Commander, that as the leader of an army, oceans looks very small from space.”

Arlyrra returned his penetrating look before turning back towards the passageway.

“Everything is relative, princess. Without control, we would be lost to fate.”

The elfess turned back to him, nearly snapping. “And how is that working out for you? Are you truly free of its grasp, as you claim? Yet, here you are, continuing to fixate on control, which will cost you a lonely journey home alone, for you would never get much further without our help. So I ask you one last time, commander: would you rather be lost to the will of the D’Dakian–and her many great beasts, left alone to your petty pontification–or are you coming with us?”

Zocks stood silent, considering.

Arlyrra looked up. “I strongly suggest you consider the latter as it is about to rain, which would make for a long, miserable flight back.”

Zocks glanced up at the canopy above them just as a thunderclap sounded overhead. The first rounds began to pitter-patter down onto the treetops, collecting along the dusty earth which looked as if it hadn’t seen water for some time. He grit his teeth as splotches of water formed on his lenses, the chill of the woods beginning to seep into his bones. After a long consideration, he sighed and followed after the elfess and her entourage who had all but disappeared down the passage.

“Elves.”

***

The rolling plains of upturned earth and detritus blazed before him as he gazed upon the aftermath of his fury. The glow of the inferno danced across its contemplative gaze, taunting it with answers that it could never know. The partially decayed muscles in its jaw clenched beneath a finely formed sheen of flesh, damp from the smouldering heat radiating off what once was a gentle community. The soldier in its grasp trembled in fear as the corpse-like figure loomed above, looking unsure of its next move. It turned its attention towards the man, though shrouded by a voluminous cowl, its fetid complexion was all too apparent. Perhaps, it was the light playing tricks but it appeared as if the one holding by the throat was Death itself, barely more than a skeleton with empty sockets where eyes should have been, half-decayed flesh and broken vesicles, gnarled teeth caked with blackened earth, cracked by events immemorial. And though it appeared that life clung to what once may have been a man, it was impossible to tell whether it was coming or going.

“Do you know what this is?” it asked in a voice as dry as the desert wind.

The soldier, blood pouring from the corner of his mouth, the world spinning in his vision, offered no response.

“It’s a cycle; creating, destroying, only to happen over and over again until something changes and, if you’re lucky, a period of peace follows. But even that is fleeting. It’s as if something…someone demands for the cycle to continue and, inevitably, we are drawn back into it.”

It sighed, its demeanor becoming somber. “Sometimes, I think that Eros taunts me–pulling the strings of his puppets, laughing as he watches them dance in futility…”

An ominous glow began to emanate from the creature’s eyes, a three-thousand year old fire being stoked from the ashes. His grip tightened on the soldier’s collar.

“No longer. No longer will I be a part of this cycle, this…game.” It moved its arm in arc before it, panning across the burning city. “Clearly, there is no greater inclination in the minds of men beyond this; no drive to transcend beyond their corporeal limitations; no goal beyond glory and egotistical self-gratification!”

The creature pulled the man near to its face. “There is no future.”

“W…what…what do you want from us?” the soldier stammered, forcing his words through a world of pain.

The creature nodded as if the answer were obvious. “It would be simplest to just let you die, wouldn’t it? Or, perhaps, let you kill yourselves, for you are very good at that. But no…the true answers are never that simple.”

It waggled its finger admonishingly. “For your kind, there is a much greater purpose than that which would you could possibly comprehend. But when the time is right, it will be obvious to all. And without giving too much away, I will say this: your contribution is perhaps the greatest irony every written in history. For man–as meagre and non-viable as they are–will become the canvas for something much, much greater; they will become a critical part of an idea–an idea that will reshape the face of this planet and, perhaps, beyond. And if we are being honest here, it is ideas which are the true engines of creation; to realize them, sometimes, all that they require to function is their constituent parts.”

“You,” he turned back to the man, pointing a skeletonous finger at him, “you are the parts that necessitate the function of this machine–the machine that will finally drive progress forward and break the cycle to which we are all bound. But even then, they pale in comparison to it. And it is only there that one may find the truth…”

The soldier gurgled, attempting speech. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

The creature scoffed, throwing the man down in the dirt as if casting away a soiled rag. “Of course you don’t. How could you? Does the bacteria know the life form which in infects? Or the ant the stars? Yet, one could argue that you are right; how could one know of a thing if that very thing were indeed not a thing at all?”

The man shuffled back on his hands, a frenzied bewilderment on his face.

“Indeed, what I speak of is no mere thing, nor is it even a force, I must confess. Rather, it is…” The creature placed a thoughtful hand on its chin, staring off across the field of charred ruins as if it were commonplace. “…a place.”

The soldier swallowed a lump in his throat. “A…a place?” he queried with a shy note of panic in his voice.

The creature continued to stare out across the plains, and though it had no eyes, it was clear that it was looking–looking past everything before them, to something much further.

Perhaps, to nothing at all.

After an extended moment it spoke slowly, calculatingly, almost reluctantly. “No. Not even that is true. But it is a there, and it is there that I must go. Or I will never be free…”

It turned back on the man, a lust burning in its eyes the likes the soldier had never seen; the glowing ferocity of ancient determination. Looking into its eyes was like looking into a portal to another world, a hellscape born of flame and molten rock, a world of no relent. The soldier could see his own distorted reflection in those burning globes, and he could a hear a voice calling to him; a fiery wraith heralding untold sorrows, singing songs of lament.

“You asked me what I want. I want what I have always wanted–what I have wanted for three thousand faeling years–which man has continued to deny me time and again. I want the key to the realm.”

The soldier looked flummoxed. “I…I don’t know…”

“Of course you don’t, you fool! How could you?”

The creature whipped its hand out in an arc, a waist-high wall of flame spreading out along the already scorched earth between them. The soldier screamed, shielding his eyes from the biting flames.

“But you will give me the location of one who does. If you wish to live, you will tell me the location of the fallen king, for he is the only one among you who can redeem you.”

The man struggled to gather his voice. “You…you mean High King Tacasyz? Eminence of the Capital? Everyone knows where he lives. Why not just…”

“Do not degrade me with the names of your mundane idols!” the creature roared, its body exploding into flame, becoming a living pyre.

“Please! Please do not kill me, I will tell you whatever you want!” the man wailed.

“There is only one fit to be called King, and you know his name, for you are all told to forget it. It is the name which you scold your children from speaking; the name which you redact and replace in your history ledgers; and the very the name of the land on which we now stand and the seas which surround it, which you now blasphemously call Madrol.”

The creature walked through the wall of flame between them unphased, leaning towards the soldier as the flames whipped wildly off his body.

“His name–the only name– MALEVOR.”

From afar, o’er the mountains and across the valley, there came a reverberating sound, like a violent sigh, spreading across the land. Soft at first, until it washed over the two like a suffocated gasp. A great gust of wind followed, blowing the soldier onto his face and washing the flames right off the creature. The creature raised an arm to shield itself, glancing in the direction from whence the wave came. Off into the distance, across the blackened, smoldering town which it had razed to the ground, past the frozen forest and beyond to the foothills where the ranges began, there stood a great grey peak, jutting into the milky sky like a jagged cap. It was a magnificent spire of nature, towering far above its neighbors, and from a pinpoint near its center there was a faint orange glow ebbing, as if a heart had come to life from the depths of its innards.

“Mount Abbadon.” The soldier gasped.

“There. That is where he lies.” The creature said.

“You can’t! Not there. Do not go there! It is forbidden.” The soldier pleaded.

“Oh, and who has forbade it? You? Your king?”

The soldier crawled to his knees, hands together as if in prayer. “You don’t understand; what lies there is beyond man, beyond this world. No one–not even the dwarves–go anywhere within ten spans of that place. Mount Abbadon is cursed. There are no words for the evil that lives within that rock. If it is power that you seek, you will not find it there; all that lies there is hopelessness.”

The soldier wiped blood off of his face with the back of his sleeve, staring up at the wizard with renewed defiance. “Some words are better left unspoken, wizard.”

The corpse met the soldier’s gaze for a long moment, cocking its head to the side as if listening for something. Then, all in one smooth motion, it raised its fiery fist high to the heavens and brought it down on the helpless soldier, driving the man into the ground. Shards of molten earth spewed about as the body crashed through layers of sediment, disappearing into a crevice. The corpse stood panting furiously, its arm wedged shoulder-deep into the plateau, a blaze of seething hatred in its eyes. It yelled in fury as it wrenched its arm from the hew, the flames surrounding it abating until all that remained was its black cloak, sizzling in the gloaming of the Madroli dusk. It looked down to its bloody fist, considering it for a moment, before its gaze was averted to its dirty sleeve. It sneered, brushing off the detritus. The corpse looked down at the gaping fissure in the ground before it, no hint that a man had ever knelt there, let alone that one that one still remained within.

“Agreed.”

The corpse/wizard looked past the wreck of the ground and the town, its gaze settling on the distant mountain—Abbadon–many, many kaldar yet. It began walking, its boots crunching against blackened ash.

“I am coming, my friend.”