​​​​30 A Torment in Grief

RALAN FOUGHT TO gather his thoughts. The darkness of his prison was suffocating with only the shimmer of the Darklight visible. The control stone was quiet for now.

The knowledge he might lose himself to this abomination was too real. He’d seen people die at his hand. He’d been aware of the viral and another, deeper within the cave. It had been close. Ralan had struggled against the Fetch, trying to stop its attack. He had suffered for his temerity with pain, but pain was an old friend.

Fortunately, someone had intervened. Buffeting gales of magic had torn at the Fetch, driving it off. For a time, Ralan had returned to his chains. Afterwards, he had found himself in a village, murdering innocents. He had wanted Adal to drive the sword through his heart. To offer mercy. An end.

‘Your resistance is admirable,’ said a voice from the shadows, ‘although, I do not see the point. You cannot stop my servant. Just delay the inevitable. Cruel, to prolong their suffering in this manner, don’t you think?’

‘To the pit of hell with you,’ Ralan swore. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

‘Don’t you understand?’ asked the voice, its owner invisible. ‘You are in hell, my hell.’ The Grim sighed. ‘You showed promise in the beginning, you know. So, like your brothers and sisters.’

‘Those are not my siblings, and they are not your children.’

‘I have become their father in all the ways that matter.’

‘They are victims of your abuse of power. I am the only son you’ve ever had, and you lost me.’

‘Did I not offer you everything?’

‘You don’t control them as much as you think. Cadaver remembers enough. I saw it in his eyes. The others will too, given time.’ Ralan could almost picture him shaking his hooded head in sorrow. The condescending bastard.

‘Did Cadaver turn on me, curse me? Like you did? You are right, they are not like you. They’ve shown loyalty and are more like my own than you will ever be.’

‘And how do they reward your generosity, father? Do they obey you in all things? I have witnessed their attacks on your precious servant. It seems they do not all agree with your choice. They have their own agendas, even Cadaver, your favourite. They work against you. Dissension in the ranks?’ He laughed.

A shape loomed from the blackness, though nothing much was discernible. ‘I brook no disobedience!’ he roared. ‘They will pay for their obstinacy. They will know my wrath. I have been far too patient for too long.’

Ralan laughed again, low and with genuine humour. He wondered who they referred to. ‘You don’t see it do you? None of this is anything to do with you.’

‘You dare—’

‘Yes, I dare. What else can you do to me, you stinking whoreson of darkness, that you have not already done? Why should I fear you now?’

The shadow came closer, a deep shade of night within the gloom. ‘You are fond of the mortal woman,’ the Grim whispered, ‘the Forlorn One. She irritates me with her every breath. She is unlike all the other soul fragments. Embodied within this one is a conscience. Inconvenient, at best.’

‘It’s hardly the first time.’

‘She serves my interests for now,’ said the Grim, ignoring his comment. ‘She plays the game, and she’s good. Believes she is clever too, believes she can outwit me, but she will give me my due.

‘I let her play, believe, hope, because it makes my victory in the end, sweeter. Oh, I understand. You would watch over her. Defend her, yes? Right now, she is in my clutches. I will put an end to her games. I will choke the hope out of her. They all think to trick me. I will show them.’

Ralan strained against his bonds, knowing it was useless, but the helplessness he felt was too much. ‘You loved her! Damn you, you loved her.’

The Grim gave a low chuckle. ‘So many did. You loved her as a mother. I loved her as a woman. She was terrible in her beauty, and her power. What I once worshiped is not this defiant wretch. What I loved was broken, scattered through time. Besides, she used so many of us for her own ends, ripping hearts from chests. The one truth of existence is everything must die.’

‘Except you?’

The Grim did not answer.

‘The nature of Tartaros is anarchy,’ whispered Ralan, lowering his head to his chest so the Grim had to lean closer. ‘It does not bend to your wishes, conform to your rules. It is pure oblivion and all your plans will evaporate. You will perish with the rest. This I foretell, and thus I do name you, fool.’

The Grim shrieked and pain blossomed within Ralan, so potent and absolute, he knew it was born of that place. Still, the Grim did not see the irony. Ralan’s soul fled, to a place where the Fetch was waiting.

‡

WITHIN AN ANCIENT CITY, towering buildings rose on either side. Some were sixty feet high, broken by gaps which had served as windows and doors, but were nothing other than jagged holes bleeding darkness. The architecture of this world enjoyed deceiving the eye, causing nausea. Threadfin no longer noticed any of it. He walked through the city in a daze, with Lorn at his side.

Two days and a night had passed since the events in the cave. Two days and a night lost in grief. He kept expecting his Darken to appear over the next hill, around the next corner. He’d be waiting with a scowl and a curse. A smirk followed by some comment on his appearance. He shifted the leather satchel on his shoulder. It had been Pole’s, as were the daggers strapped to his legs.

The man had been obnoxious, irritating with that insufferable grin, and always there no matter the danger. Oh, he’d grumbled and griped, sworn up, down and sideways he would leave, but never had he failed to be there when it counted. At least, so long as it had been within his power. It was a Darken’s duty to die instead of his charge, but he should not have died for me.

He took care of me for years, before ever I knew who he was. He didn’t deserve this end.

Lorn asserted the others might be alive, but Threadfin couldn’t hold to hope. He’d seen the darkness rip Nevet to shreds. How could any of them have survived?

He felt guilty for Grudge and the others, except Roper. He felt nothing for him, which bothered him too. So much conflicted emotion for someone half dead. He wondered what Tezcat would say. Spectrum above, I wish she was here, but he knew she was a lot safer in Icarthya. He’d already lost too many people he cared about.

He glanced at Lorn, as they halted in the middle of a dusty street surrounded by gaping ruins. He’d come for her, because he cared about her more than all of them. I can’t protect her either. River, Wither, Raze, Tope, Grudge, Nevet, Vilt, Pole, they all haunted him, like persistent maggots gouging furrows through his mind.

A heaviness had settled upon them when they’d entered through the broad shattered arch. It had once been the city gates. Lorn’s shoulders slumped though determination etched her face. They’d spoken little, but had somehow grown closer as though their silences were filled with everything they didn’t need to say. Her presence was a comfort, a warmth, which fought the coldness he felt.

‘Where are you leading me?’ he asked.

‘I’m not,’ she said in a hoarse voice. She hadn’t had water for two days, the rains acidic of late. There were few rivers in the Styx, none drinkable. The ground absorbed every drop bar one or two places. A breather had to catch rainwater to survive. Lorn had speared some game, hidden beneath rocks. They’d both eaten the tasteless meat raw. Though he’d brought the packs containing the strikers, they didn’t risk a fire.

‘You’re not what?’ He was munching on the last of the meat, which had cured after days in his pack. Well, it was how he decided to describe it. He offered her some, but she shook her head.

‘You’re following. I’m not leading.’

‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘Is this the city you meant?’

‘To find out, I guess you’ll have to keep following.’

He grabbed her arm, and surprisingly, she didn’t resist. The old Lorn would’ve broken his jaw. In her eyes was a resignation for whatever fate she thought awaited her. Something had quenched the fire he’d come to love about her.

Lorn’s face revealed nothing of her thoughts. ‘We should keep moving, undeader. I have an appointment to keep.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He let go of her, and she shuffled on through the street, deeper into the ancient metropolis.

‘It’s too late,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It’s too late for you, and for me. I am sorry, Fin.’

The pale sun had sunk lower. Night wasn’t pleasant in the Styx and Threadfin couldn’t help but worry over what hid within those ruins. Other nights had filled with strange sounds, shrieks and growls from creatures that went unseen during daylight. Once, they’d found themselves surrounded by dozens of red eyes. He shivered, and hurried after her.

Finding a tall wide building, whose walls remained, they pulled open a heavy wooden door. For a wonder it remained in one piece. Barring it from the inside with a crossbar, they crept up four flights of stone steps. The uppermost floor lay open to the sky, the roof gone. On two sides, the walls ended chest high, pitted from the rain.

‘Well,’ said Threadfin, turning about, ‘it isn’t up to my usual standards. I hope the food’s better. Look, you mind telling me what we’re doing?’

‘This city was once called, Endor.’ She sat against one wall, staring up at the darkening sky. The first stars were faint as though a film of cloth wrapped this world like a wound. One of the spheres remained visible, like the moon of his own world, but bigger.

‘I’m a viral with a palace education,’ said Threadfin, ‘and I know nothing of it. I’d heard of the Grimstyx. We all have, from the White Daemoni, but that’s it. A myth, written by old, wrinkled breathers with nothing better to do. Now you’re telling me you know this place?’

Lorn sighed, a sound full of wistfulness. ‘Endor was the last refuge for the people of this world. Their last hope. They believed its walls sacred.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Threadfin, wondering how she knew all this. ‘They all died horribly. Hate those stories.’

Lorn laughed with something approaching delight. ‘You have your sense of humour back. I’d wondered these past few days. For a time, you almost fit how most folks think of the undead. All doom and gloom, shambling along searching for victims.’

‘Lorn, what is it you’ve not told me?’

‘I’m not telling you a lot of things.’

He felt a ball of ice form where his withered heart lay. ‘Damn you, woman,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me.’

She paused, visibly struggling. There were tears in her eyes.

‘Lorn, look, I’m sorry. I’m still figuring out how to deal with this. I guess I’m not doing such a good job.’

‘I’ve come here, to die.’ A tear flowed down her cheek. She swiped at it angrily. A lone tear set ablaze the fear inside him.

‘I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘You can’t stop it. Besides, it won’t be long now,’ she added. ‘My only regret is you followed me.’

‘I don’t regret it.’

She gave him a sad smile. ‘I knew you would, you know. I’ve always known. My undeader.’

‘Lorn ... I ...’

She shook her head, lay down and went to sleep.