The Serpent and the Shattered Sword, page 27
They rushed forward, following the sparkling trail the orb left them. As the steps leveled out, minutes later, their feet carried them toward the dome. Glowing with black light, it wouldn’t yield as their fists and weapons pounded against it. From inside came a soft voice, pleading for its life. The sobbing and the wailing grew louder until they escaped. It wrapped itself around their bodies and burrowed deep into their ears.
And they knew its origin: Teora.
The orb floated toward the hammer Flynn set on the ground, lending enough of itself to the Illuri weapon. Its amber glow returned, and he lifted it high over his head, circling with his shoulders and bringing it around to crash into the swirling vortex, which shattered as easily as glass.
Emile’s eyes were glued to the broken orb in the center; the dismayed girl on the floor was lost to him until his gaze snapped free. Flynn released his grip on Jord, sending it skidding across the platform as he lunged toward her.
Bolt slinger raised, finger tight on the trigger, aimed to pin her down and pierce the softness of her skull. In that heartbeat, Emile realized her intent. “I’m sorry, everyone...I’m so sorry!” The trigger snapped. The wooden bolt spat across the floor, grazing her cheek, crimson blooming against bronzed skin, as Flynn tackled her savagely.
“Get off me!” she screamed, hammering fists against him, wild and unseeing. “I’m not yours! You can’t have me, you bastard!” She seized a throwing knife at her waist, lifting it high to strike.
Emile lowered his shoulder at a brisk run, connecting with her side and sending Teora skidding across the platform toward her trident–a new weapon, one he hadn’t seen before.
“Teora, wake up!” His voice sliced through her haze.
“No. You’ll not lay another hand on me again!”
“Teora, it’s not who you think this is. Wake up!”
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she hollered back, whipping around her trident in her hands. As she crouched low, ready to lunge, she pointed the trident’s prongs at Emile.
Emile’s sword thrummed in his hands, celestial vibrations humming along the blade. The orb’s light bent to Kaata; the eternal flame roared once more. Flynn slammed his hammer into the ground, rocking her off balance.
Seizing the moment, Emile leapt atop her, pinning her arms beneath his knees. Her screams faltered as he pressed the Illuri blade near her face, forcing back the darkness in her eyes, murmuring the words of the eternal flame ritual. From Kaata’s Flame, a serpent of light slithered down, entering her open jaws.
A last scream was all that came before it was driven out, and the dark chestnut eyes of the Taitapian returned. Emile backed up, removing himself from the top of her so as not to further evoke any terrible memory.
“Where were you?” she asked, recoiling away from them, her shiver noticeable, even in the weak light the orb provided. He tried to reach out for her, but she swatted his hand away. “You left me! And when I needed you, both of you, you weren’t there...” her voice trailed out into a subtle whimper. “No one ever was. No one ever is.”
“Teora,” Flynn said, kneeling next to Emile so as not to get too close. “What happened to you?”
“Why do you care?” The venom in her voice lashed back at him. From a distance, Emile couldn’t tell whether her feelings were true, or if it was the residual darkness within her that receded back where it belonged.
“Because the only thing we thought of was getting back to you. We needed to find you.”
His voice always had a way of penetrating her anger. Aten must have mixed up their bloodlines, and should’ve made Teora the Fate of Flame, and Flynn her counterpart. But it wasn’t so. “Please, if there’s anything you can tell us...we need to know.”
She sucked up the snot further into her nose, drying the tears forced from her eyes as she recovered. Flynn and Emile drew closer. “This was where it was kept.”
“It?” Emile asked.
Teora took the time she needed to collect herself before telling them the truth. “Ardyn. They came for it.” She scooped up the trident in her hand and began rolling it from her palm to the tips of her fingers, and back again. “A thousand years ago, Yvella, using the last of her light, sealed it away with this–Nautilus,” she said, alluding to the weapon in her hands, “to hide it...in a place so deep, and so dark, it would never again come to light.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me,” Emile said, crouching low, to give his knees a reprieve from the weight of his armor. “This is a person, or a thing? Some weapon, maybe?”
“Not a weapon. A key. It looks human,” she told them, pushing her hands to the sides of her head, “but it isn’t. It’s a demon, some ancient, cosmic shadow. At least, that was the last Yvella could tell me before I lost her.”
“Then it’s been set in motion,” Emile said, rising again to his feet and padding over to examine the shattered mass that was Ardyn’s prison. “They’ve come to the last step in his plan. The Imperator told Alira that once he found Ardyn, they would unearth the Silver Spire. And with it at the helm, they could call to Zeion and bring him to their desired end.”
“Yeah,” she said, choked and unable to string together a full sentence. “And I...gave it to them.” Teora buried her head in her hands, sobbing at her own failure. One thing they couldn’t impart to her was the failure of the entire team.
“Then we find a way to stop it,” Flynn told them, pulling her hands away from her face and drying her tears with the cuff of his tunic. “But first, there’s another who needs our help. Alira’s down here, and we’re not leaving without her.”
He helped Teora to her feet, pulling her into an embrace as Emile left to retrieve both the errant bolt slinger, and to return Jord to the hand of its master. “So, how do we even get out of here?” she asked, wanting to get as far away from the point of her torment as she could.
“The only way out is through,” Flynn reminded them, dusting off his favored line for their journey.
“Again?” Teora asked, half smiling, and ready to crack him with a joke. “Didn’t you already use that in Clerracia?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, lifting his arms and showing the monstrosity of the bowl they were surrounded by, “that feels like where we’re at. Emile?”
“Alright, everyone. Let’s mosey.”
Refusing to retreat, he led them across the far side of the dome to another staircase spiraling deeper. The structure was designed to contain whatever lay within—the lip above offered no escape, no exit like the other side.
They descended, following the flickering orb into the planet’s hidden depths. In what might have once been a secret sanctum beneath the earth’s crust, Emile spotted tatters of ancient garments and corroded weapons scattered across the floor. Long rods of metal, their smaller mechanisms fragile and brittle, crumbled to dust under his fingers.
The walls were inlaid with gold that splintered outward like veins in a wrist. Torches remained unlit in braziers high above, and at the far end was an imposing series of monoliths with four symbols carved out of nephicite within.
“What is this?” Flynn asked, admiring the impossible size of the doors before them.
“Look,” Emile told them, brushing off the symbol of fire. Below it was inscribed words that had no ability to translate, those even Alira might struggle with. “Flame. And here,” he said, touching another. “Wind. The same symbol sits in the hilt of Tempest.”
“You’re telling me we came all this way here, and there’s no way for us to get past?” Teora asked, hands fixed to her hips to show her displeasure.
“Not yet, anyway,” Flynn told them. “Not until we stand here together.”
A golden light rose from behind, and as they turned, a figure morphed from the orb and stepped forward. There was no reason to raise weapons, for this light had saved them, and gave no cause for belief it would turn against them now.
“Who are you?” Teora asked, inspecting the woman who materialized from the diminishing light, one who maintained the golden glow surrounding her body. Like them.
“I am you,” the woman replied.
As Emile studied her, ignoring her exotic look and stunning frame, he noticed she wore the same necklace Alira had received in Namelle from Aten himself. “You’re one of them,” he said, earning a nod.
Teora recognized it as well, having seen the pendant in Waystrider, hanging around the neck of the eccentric bardess who played her heart out for the crowd, and then vanished. “One of the Sect of Nine.”
“I am, and I followed you from the moment you arrived in the north. Knowing. Listening. Believing that you might find your way here on your own.”
“We seek a friend,” Flynn told her. “One who’s fallen into this place, the labyrinth beneath the world.”
The agent walked past them, looking up to the sturdy door standing behind the monoliths. “I was sent by a light that exists in the dark. Nothing more than an echo of what was. A lie, and a truth. It waits to rise once more. But it is not I whom you seek. Not yet. Much must be sacrificed that has not yet come to pass.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Teora said, positioning herself before the agent, needing to be the center of attention.
“The light in the dark is not yours. This one is greater than the sum of its parts. That which you seek has returned to the world above, and it’s there you must go.”
“Who’s this light in the darkness?” She asked, unable to keep her temper when confronted with an unsolvable puzzle. “Is it you?”
“You are not ready for–”
“Of course,” Teora said, interjecting and silencing the being who’d come to their aid. “A riddle. Another mystery, and the same damned question we’ve been asking from the beginning. You can’t even tell us who you are.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“We are you. Yeah, not helping.”
Flynn took her by the shoulders, escorting her away and allowing Emile to speak with the agent in a more respectful, if not gracious, manner.
“You never told us your name. Let’s start there,” he said.
“I am called Aurelia,” she told him, taking his hand. He leaned forward, planting his lips on the back of it as a show of courtly courtesy, noting the warmth he felt rush through his face. “And you all,” she said, turning to cast her gaze upon the three, “are the Fates.”
“We are,” Flynn told her. “And we’ve come in search of one who was lost. Please, Aurelia, is there anything you can tell us about her?”
She looked up toward the door, receiving a message, or perhaps resigned herself to inner thoughts. “She is known, as are you all, to the light in the darkness. But she, like you, is not ready for the truth. And so you must continue on until you are ready to hear it.”
“Then what is this place?” Flynn asked, still trying to press for an answer. “It bears the symbols of each of us.”
“Knowledge is a transcendence, and you must discover it for yourself. Follow the path on which you are set, the path from which we ensure you do not stray. And when you’ve found that knowledge, you’ll be prepared. Only then will you be ready for the truth. Before then, your mind would tear itself into pieces, over and over again. Shredding your reality into the most minuscule of inconsequential slivers.”
“Then what is our way forward?” Emile asked, feeling the warmth of her hand as he took it in his own.
“You’ve been shown the path, yet each of you will stand at a crossroad. If you should choose wrong...”
“We won’t,” Flynn told her, leaving Teora behind him.
“Good,” Aurelia told him, letting go of Emile’s hand. “When the day comes that you’re ready, we shall guide you back to this place.”
“If only Alira could see this,” Emile told them, holding a hand to his chest. “I don’t think we could get her to leave.”
“But you must,” the entity told them, “for this is no place for the living, little lights.” She lifted her hand, tearing open a golden line and spreading it apart. Beyond was a beach, its shoreline leading off into a beautiful sunrise. Flynn was the first through, leading a wary Teora by the hand. As Emile followed, his steps approaching that which waited beyond, he felt the pull of his wrist.
“Do all you can,” Aurelia told him, pulling him in close with a hand clinging to his chest. In his ear she whispered words he didn’t understand. “Time is running out, but at least destiny saw that we could meet.”
Her face betrayed sullen feelings as he was pushed back through the portal. From the other side, Aurelia lifted her hand, leaving the Fates with her last piece of wisdom. “We’ll meet again where one path has ended, and another has begun. Trust what lies beneath the masks, for we will find ourselves standing together before the first step of the last path.” She waved her hand, and the portal closed, disappearing into the morning light.
“What was that?” Flynn asked him, picking the king up from the ground. “What do you think she meant by that?”
Emile stared up at the patch of space before him, where a being had been a moment prior. His head was a mess, but he owed it to traveling through a breach in space and time. “I can’t be sure,” he told Flynn, his legs trembling as he returned to his feet. “But somehow...I feel I already know.”
“Hey,” Teora said, already stepping down the road off to the west, well ahead of the group. “Do you hear that?”
Emile shook off his rapid pulse and the worry plaguing his mind, even if he couldn’t get the deity’s words out of his head. A long beach stretched into the horizon, and far across the bay sprawled an imposing mountain range, with a long stretch of grassland running off to the East.
“This is the Bay of Rélene,” he told them. “Across the water...” He choked on his words, remembering they’d gone to the very depths of the planet and had come no closer to finding Alira. “Across this water is the land of Aenne Aelle, and beyond its shores is Namelle, and the powerful throne of the Verbrandt family.”
“Hey! Rinley told me about this place, back when we were in Taitapu waiting for Alira to wake up. That means–” her gaze turned further down the road, lifting a joyous finger as she’d found something to smile about. “That way’s Emberwarren, and there’s a pleasant inn there.”
“Finally,” Flynn said, looking up to the golden sky as a weight came off his shoulders. “A chance to rest.”
“Umm, it means there’s a drink there: an entire bottle with my name written in the bottom.” She ran back to Emile and Flynn, linking her arms beneath theirs. “And I intend to find it!”
There came no rebuttal from either, both knowing they needed a rest, though Emile found it odd that Teora seemed unaffected by what they’d been through. He’d ask Flynn, if given the chance, for he didn’t understand her past trauma, and her ability to bounce back from the most horrific of circumstances by burying it all deep inside herself.
Though the worries of the present still claimed them, they found solace as the siren hidden within Teora sang to them the entire way to town. For now, this would have to be the balm that soothed Emile’s worry.
By the time they’d arrived, many of the civilians had already found themselves down in the mines beneath the hills. There weren’t many who paid much attention to the tattered and filthy Tallieri man, who was no image of their king. Their gazes were drawn to the others, the two who looked out of place among the pale skin of the populace.
The interior of the inn was clean, as much as it could be in a town full of miners. Teora and Flynn slumped into empty seats nearest the door, leaning back in relief as the wooden furniture took their weight. Emile padded toward the bar, leaning over top of it only to be told, ‘Just a moment’ by the white-mustached gentleman tending it.
Emile placed a finger to his lips as he rose, ordering the man’s silence, not wanting to draw any unwarranted attention. “Jacques,” he said, sliding a few coins of golden Til across the bar. “For your service.”
“Of course,” he said. “Monsieur, uh...sous le coteau.”
“Good,” Emile told him. “I could use three rooms if you have them. Food and water notwithstanding.”
“They’re yours,” the elderly gentleman replied, sliding the coins off the counter and looking around to ensure none of the other handful of patrons caught the gleam, in a town that hadn’t two coppers to rub together. “Although I’ve only got two to rent.” He slid the two sets of keys across to Emile, who held them out for the others who joined him at the bar, eager to take them and get to bed.
“First two on the left,” Jacques told them, hollering back as the pair made for their accommodations. Teora declined any pleasantries, as usual, but Flynn offered a reassuring nod of his thanks, with a timely ‘merci.’ (Fre: thank you)
“This last one,” he said, sliding a final key across to the keyhole. “The last room on the right hasn’t been touched in years. I kept it the way she left it.” Jacques turned an old ledger toward Emile, flipping back about ten pages. Next to the line for the room’s charges was the word Tourterelle.
Rinley...
“I haven’t seen her since a storm one night. Oh, some two years ago now.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take it. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Then it’s all yours,” he said, releasing the light grip he had on the brass ring of the key. “It’s good to see you alive, sire. Bonne chance.” (Fre: Good luck)
“Et toi aussi.” (Fre: You too)
He took the light handshake from Jacques and made for the far side of the hall. Emile couldn’t understand the flutter in his chest, walking in the same footsteps Rinley had so many times after she was cast away. It pained him, to know she was so close to him for months and yet couldn’t have been further away from his heart.
