Rituals Read online

  It was a combination of the land itself and illusionary spells that kept the civilization so well hidden. Sahja was so lost in everything that he didn’t even catch how exactly he had ended up underground, but it quickly became like another world. Sahja could see caravan lights everywhere, evidence that the terrani had mounted their attack along the dozens of miles of that pass and beyond.

  The farther down they went, more light was provided by strange plants. The maverick gently touched one of the luminous bulbs, feeling heat within the plant’s fibers. “They’re called sun tears,” Kat noted. “It’s not direct sunlight, but it provides some of the natural benefits. We have a fallen Celestial to thank for those little blessings if you can believe it.”

  “Fallen Celestial?” Sahja asked blankly as they stepped into a lift. The door closed, and the lift began a rapid descent. “People really have forgotten history,” Kat scoffed. “Anti-Vex, the world viper?” she asked. Sahja responded with a worn and vacant stare. “The monsters you fought at the mire. The Underworld? Does none of this ring a bell,” Kat continued while Sahja seemed to just be turned off for the most part.

  Kat stepped off the lift in a huff after they reached the bottom. “Your comedown is the same as his, too. You’re useless afterward,” she hollered. Another terrani bladedancer politely nudged the maverick, prompting him to step off the lift. Sahja continued down the path. He looked around at the refugees moving throughout a network of caverns, then moving back towards what appeared to be the gates of a city in front of him.

  They passed rows of imperial prisoners that were being processed, but Sahja locked eyes with one in particular that was in a physical cage by herself. She wasn’t shackled and looked as if her capture may not have been forceful. “What will your people do with them?” Sahja asked. “They won’t be ill-treated unless they want to be,” the bladedancer replied plainly.

  There was a large Fo’hemut commander in heavily fortified binds, struggling against his captors out of what could have only been pride. He seemed to yell at the female prisoner in the cage. “Were these people from the ambush,” Sahja inquired. “Maybe some,” replied the bladedancer. “Others have come from all over the region.”

  “What’d you mean by ‘region,’” asked the maverick. “Mol’do is divided into four subterranean quadrants,” the bladedancer explained. “Each one is overseen by its respective governing body. We happen to be quadrant one, which of course makes us the best,” he added lightheartedly. As they passed through the gate, the bladedancer gave this departing, “Welcome to Veil’Umbra.”

  Sun tears provided a constant starlit sky in the earthen overhead, and elemental energies had been harnessed to provide light to the buildings and homes. The architecture was simple and precise but majestic in its scale and quality. Tapestries were a common decoration among the street lamps with a clear amount of the Light’s faith in their culture.

  Sahja heard someone running at him, turning to see Fia nearly tripping over herself to get to him. She wrapped herself around the maverick. “I’m telling you this now. I’m not leaving your side on my life!” she cried into his jacket. Sahja held her, but still felt a sort of detachment from life. Iris had been taken in for medical care, and the rest of the crew was accounted for at the gate.

  Sahja felt the sting of a needle as Sloth injected him with a concoction that Kat had given him. The maverick’s comrades communicated through perplexed glances back and forth, having no clue at what seemed to take control of their friend.

  Fiaria looked into Sahja’s eyes. They seemed tired but nothing abnormal. She smiled and kissed the maverick. Bazmari cleared his throat and nodded to indicate someone was approaching. Sahj’ and Fia looked over to see Kat and her husband approach. The man looked like he could be in his late forties and was quite an intimidating fellow. He was clean-shaven with short gray and black hair with claw mark scars on the left and right sides of his face.

  Fia stepped around so that Sahja was between her and the approaching man. “How do you feel?” the man asked in a seasoned voice. “Confused,” Sahja replied plainly. The man nodded and glanced over the maverick. “Well, my shack got blown to hell recently,” he remarked, “so both of us are new to this weird place.” “I’m standing right here, Artimus,” Kat commented. “I know,” Artimus replied with a smirk. “We wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t run away, so don’t try to be righteous.”

  “I didn’t run away,” Kat rebuked. “Yes, you did run away,” Artimus teased. “Why else would you have been wandering around Geth?” “Scouting missions,” Kat answered. “Not at the age you were at the time,” Artimus said. “You hadn’t even been trained to fight.”

  This initial encounter happened over a hundred years ago.

  Artimus put his arm around Sahja and said, “Drinks,” glancing around at the company. Bazmari declined and would return to his family while Sloth and Maymay went about their own ways. Fia and Sahja were given transport to Kat’s home where they would be temporarily staying. Two strange dogs greeted the group when they entered. Their coat was of plant fiber and furry moss.

  Sahja sat down and noticed that his hands were shaking. Then a glass passed in front of his face that he took with both hands. “It’ll stop the tremors,” Artimus said. Kat took Fia around a corner to dress her out and check her injuries, but she was still within earshot of the other two.

  “First of all,” Artimus began. “You need to pray for forgiveness for the people that you did in fact kill back there no matter whose side they were on, and then you need to move forward. As much as I hate to say it, the number of times that will happen only rises the more times you get yourself into a bloody situation,” he continued to candidly explain. “And it can be anybody, kid.”

  Sahja just nodded as he listened, but he had very little to ask or say. Artimus took a swig of ale before he continued. “You’re a bloodlion, a very old Mol’doan heroic gift that came out of the warrior discipline. The amount of darkness in the netherstreams around a battle dictate your strength and ferocity. It’s a blessing that your trance ended as it did. There are horror stories of bloodlions singlehandedly defending entire towns, only to massacre them afterwards because the netherstreams don’t clear in time.”

  “You can control it?” Sahja asked, looking at the other bloodlion through weary eyes. Artimus nodded. “It’ll take some work, but we’ll get there. The nether is certainly rich with darkness now, so training will be significantly quicker than normal,” he explained with a twisted boasting.

  Fia emerged wearing a set of prowler fatigues that belonged to Kat. They kept to her figure and were quite complimentary. Her caramel skin and light brown hair went well with the earthen colors of the armor. “She looks good in elven gear,” Artimus chuckled, nudging the maverick. “She’s got a good figure,” Kat added playfully, happily referencing herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Plague Queen

  Emi-Shet was nothing more than a ruin in the blink of an eye, and its population was considerably culled. There were still enough survivors, however, to serve a purpose. In the collapsed palaces, a woman was wading through the rubble with deadly grace. She wore black demonic armor and cloaks that were more for show, since it exposed most spots on a body that armor is meant to cover.

  She dragged a menacing scythe behind her that echoed through the dead air as it clanked against the stones. Her skin resembled the paleness of a corpse, and her eyes now glowed red, whereas they were a striking green so long ago. She carried herself with more confidence than she had in the past.

  Vil’el and I were close before the rebellion. She was shapeable and talented. Dom’rel sank his fangs into her when she was young, and she grew to love that brand of poison.

  Four wings of exposed bone and rot spread from her back. She used them to hurl away debris in every direction around her as she came to her destination, now standing with her spiked greaves inches awa
y from the head of Beshelle, ruler of Mol’do. Vil’el gave an amused laugh as she looked down on the dying ruler who was near death. “I thought a god could have saved his precious kingdom,” she mocked, “but you’re just as broken and pathetic as the rest of your lot, if not more so.”

  The king attempted to plead; but his jaw was shattered, and blood further gurgled his words. His whimpers and disgusting noises were satisfying enough. Vil’el held up her hand and turned away. “Usually I like the sounds of the dying, but there’s just something especially weak about you that makes me sort of sick,” she said with condemnation.

  Vil’el motioned with one hand, causing the Fo’hemut man to rise into the air. Then she subtly swiped her fingers in each direction, folding the man in half with each wave. Blood sprayed everywhere while bones broke and crunched. “The screams at the end were nice,” the fallen angel said to herself, now overlooking the ruins. Her eyes panned around the devastated capital and then looked farther southwest down the scar.

  “I can’t wait to get started,” she exclaimed excitedly. “This is going to be so much fun.” Vil’el paused, then seemed to be listening to someone. The fallen angel rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl. We’ll be fine,” she said happily. “Don’t tell me you aren’t up for some adventure.” She spread her wings, and dark power quickly spread through the air around her.

  Thousands of stones and metal shards began to swirl behind the fallen, slowly taking the shape of a throne that she sat in as the last spike fixed itself to the head. The howls and screeches of the pit began to rise from the expanse of ruins, and the screams of survivors soon echoed afterwards. Vil’el smiled and bit her lip. “That’s more like home,” she laughed.

  Over the hundreds of thousands of square miles that were Emi-Shet alone, the horrors of the pit had found refuge in the realm, a simple and uncontested refuge. Survivors became prey to all manner of death and desire from coast to coast among the scar and affected areas, while madness would strike a third of Mol’do’s overall population.

  The three riders in Tristen appeared from a dark portal before Vil’el. They kneeled before the fallen angel. Vil’el stood and approached the three. “Find me a few play things before all the good ones get taken,” she said casually. “You know my types.” The shrouded riders gave a slight bow before they faded into the shadow and headed into the city.

  Rifts of brimstone dotted the massive area the bomb had decimated, as pit fiends of all statures and breeds came into the mortal realm. Mol’do truly had been left to a dark and bloody judgment, which was fitting for the land’s existence. Though the continent had been struck by a sword and plague, this strange and monstrous conflict had only now become the reality.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Wanderer

  Genri, Xavus, and Swae had stopped somewhere in the province of Dal’mia so that Xavus could rest and Genri could take the wheel. Dal’mia was largely unpopulated except for its eastern coastline. Once the precious metals had been stripped of the province, there was little in the way of inland resources, causing past populations to migrate elsewhere.

  The archangel got out to stretch when they stopped among withered plains. There wasn’t movement for miles around them in any direction. The skies were dark green, and there was barely a breeze to be felt. Xavus was asleep within a couple minutes of lying down in the back. Swae gave up her seat begrudgingly because she likes to have space.

  “What is in Ven’Qi, your holiness? I thought we were going to Epthali,” Genri asked. Swae shuttered a bit. “I prefer to keep that title reserved for the only One that is holy,” she grinned. “It just doesn’t feel right.” Genri gave a quick apologetic bow of his head, understanding what the archangel meant. Swae playfully nudged the troll. “Don’t worry about it. To answer your question, it’s a friend of mine and it’s on the way,” she explained casually.

  “I imagine you have interesting friends,” Genri chuckled. Swae nodded in agreement, but then her expression changed as she clenched her heart. “Is something wrong?” Genri asked. “No,” Sway grunted. “It’s just people dying sort of stuff. We should probably get going,” she added with a resilient smile. “Alright, Swae,” Genri replied kindly, continuing the company east-southeast through Dal’mia towards the province of Ven’Qi.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Beneath

  Iris was able to recognize that she was in some manner of medical care when she awoke but had absolutely no idea about where she was. She felt the bandages on her head and the strange sensation on the upper left quarter of her face. She sat up in bed and grabbed a mirror, beginning to unwrap her eye.

  She gasped when she saw the burn that scarred her face and claimed her eye, but she simply tore some patterned cloth from her robe next to her and used it as a bandana. Iris’ knees nearly gave way when she stepped down from the bed, but she was careful enough to maintain her footing. There was a set of beautiful mender’s vestments, made of amethyst, ruby, and sapphire with white detailing, set out for her to wear. She put on the robes and threw up the hood.

  Iris had been moved to a simple recovery wing of whatever building she was in, so not much attention was paid to her leaving her room. She was a little stiff but didn’t even have a limp when she walked. The terrani she passed were gracious, greeting her with kind gestures in passing. The priestess soon found access to the city streets, grateful she still had an eye to see such a brilliant new place.

  Iris began to walk, not really caring to have a direction. She observed the architecture and culture of the terrani with a refreshing awe and was paying close attention to the art and symbols she encountered. A harmless garden snake slithered across Iris’ foot, causing her to shriek and trip over a curb.

  Instead of a painful impact, the priestess found herself propped up by a small cyclone. She was looking curiously at her surroundings when she saw an elder terrani skycaller approach from the direction from which she’d come. Iris brushed off a bit of dust from her person. “Did you do that?” she asked with intrigue. “I’m glad you never decided to run,” the man chuckled. “I could barely keep up as it was.”

  Iris bowed graciously and the skycaller returned the gesture. “It would be a rough life down here if a little guy like that gives you the heebees,” the man said. “My name is Hescan. I was hoping to speak with you when you awoke.” The priestess gave the elf her attention, saying “Sure.”

  She could tell there was a powerful presence about the skycaller, and she was genuinely interested in what he may have to ask her. Iris smiled and said, “Ask me anything.” The man sat down on a bench to rest. “How much do you know about your parents’ work?” he asked. Iris couldn’t have been anymore caught off guard by a question.

  The skycaller chuckled. “Well, this puts you in something of an odd spot, child,” he continued. “You see, those with the priestly gifts can be wards against forces other than demons. Your parents were aware of these forces.” Iris mistook the elf’s tone out of sensitivity to the subject. “I sense accusation,” she remarked quietly, but with a less friendly expression.

  “Well, your father did steal something from us, and we’ve actually never fully figured out how,” Hescan replied calmly, carefully watching Iris’ hands. “What did he steal?” she asked in a shaking voice with fists clenched at her side. “A rare and potent antibody,” Hescan replied, “but that was some time ago. We believe he introduced it into your system the moment you were old enough to handle it, and he did so daily without your knowledge for at least twelve years.”

  Iris leered at the man with confusion and disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why would he do that for any reason?” she asked. “Because he loved you, and he understood what was coming,” Hescan replied with a hardy smile. “He was going above and beyond to steal an antidote against every poison of the Underworld to protect his daughter. That makes you one of roughly ten thousand, including the fir
st human, who ever received the inoculation.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Iris scoffed. “I wake up missing an eye and then an elf tells me that I’m some hero that’s immune to poisons from...” Then she paused. “Underworld,” Hescan said humbly. Iris shrugged, saying, “I don’t even know if my parents are alive, but it’s hard to think they are,” she explained as her voice began to break at the end of her statement.

  The skycaller leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I wish for you to learn and to maybe find what it is you want for yourself. Who knows? Anything could happen, really,” he remarked peacefully. Iris’ hands relaxed and a feint spark escaped her eye like a tear, quickly flickering out as it rose from her cheek. The young priestess wouldn’t have felt anything different, and she didn’t even notice the spark. The skycaller did notice, and he did well to retain his joy.

  “I’m guessing you’re my mentor,” Iris inquired softly. “Indeed, Miss, exclaimed Hescan, standing with his fists on his waist. “I praise you for giving this attention, young priestess,” he added humbly. The skycaller took Iris to the Veil’Umbra archives, where there was an expanse of knowledge collected over the ages. Spiral stairs connected the twelve levels, and the auditoriums were lit by arcane fire and nether orbs. Hescan guided Iris into the belly of the archives where sun tears sprouted from the walls, floors, and ceilings.

  Iris found herself standing over an underground lake filled with beautiful fish she’d never seen before, with glistening stalagmites hanging from the high ceiling. There was an altar nearby to which Hescan made his way. He drew some markings with his finger on the ethereal plate, causing the intricate designs that covered the altar to glow. Images of Harth began to manifest as the skycaller began his lesson.