《The Aerie》 Chapter One The cracked, weathered sandstone was stained deep red with centuries-old blood; the air reeked of rotting flesh from crimes past, buried in the vast crevasses between rocks that existed long before the Blessed People had repurposed this cavern into a prison. Every few hours, there were bursts of subterranean Cicadoidea whose acidic spit helped them tunnel through the cracks in the walls, leaving in their wake clouds of wing shards. Death, violence, and pestilence were constant realities beneath the Palisades. Alonne¡¯s flaxen hair was flecked with dirt and leaves¡ªgreasy and tied back in a messy, ragged ponytail. The Paladins had taken his clothing, his jewelry, his facial piercings, and thrown him down into their prison¡ª a holding cell repurposed for the dregs of society, whose crimes could never be forgiven in the eyes of God. Alonne had managed to creep past the roving bands of brigands and thieves, banded together around torchlit camps. Every child in the Blessed Lands grew up on tales of the iniquity of this place, how the lack of sunlight and food drove people to madness, cannibalism. It had seemed idiotic to associate with anyone¡ªto risk betrayal, or worse. Alonne knew enough of the world to know that not everyone who smiled broadly meant it, that even kindness could be a ploy to exploit the vulnerable. So he had resolved to go it alone. After hours of exploration, after slipping around in the darkness listening to the other inmates, men all, sing sea tunes and swap war stories, Alonne had stumbled into a tiny aperture, a cramped passageway through which he could hear running water. Alonne had squeezed himself through the tiny aperture, more than thin enough to slip between jutting rocks that would¡¯ve stopped any man larger than he. On the other side, he found a trickling waterfall, a pool of sparkling freshwater, and a bed of soft moss. Before his life had fallen apart, Alonne had exterminated rats beneath cellars, cleaned chamber pots, thrown blight-ridden corpses into mass graves, slaughtered hogs. There was a market for those who could stomach the filthiest jobs¡ªa premium, by peasant standards, to be paid. Even hardened veterans from the Crusades went faint at the sight of plague rats, could not bear the stench of the human waste that mired their fair cities. With filth caked beneath his nails, Alonne had taken home his pittance to buy bread, rent¡ª to pay for his family¡¯s taxes. It allowed for his youngest sister, Jeanne, to continue seeing the neighborhood doctor for the curse which plagued her, a disease¡ªthe priests of the Aerie had claimed¡ªthat had come from unseen demons conjured by witches that conspired against the faithful. Alonne had never understood why people wanted him to clean leeches from their wells but also used the wretched things to suck the taint out of sick people. He left such decisions to be made by the educated. As he reminisced on his choices, knowing that his admittedly short life which would inevitably end soon, he was grateful he did not find the filth of the Palisades particularly troubling. If anything it was more of the same. All he did was sleep, the days drifting by as he waited for the gallows. He didn¡¯t eat, only took small handfuls of the pool¡¯s water. If it gave him a wasting sickness then he supposed that it would spare him the noose, addle his mind until the jeers of the Paladins were nothing more than fever dreams. Either way, a small mercy. Alonne relieved himself in a corner of his little haven, catching whispers and grunts from the tunnels outside. Prisoners postured with one another, declaring toughness to ward off any potential threats. The area outside his little glade was wide open and served as a bartering ground of sorts for the assorted bands of fellow inmates. They traded stories, news, and food; they sometimes fought and left one another for dead. Sometimes they would bring weaker prisoners into a private corner and have their way with them, bodies slamming together in a desperate and animalistic attempt to imitate intimacy. One night Alonne heard one such coupling, his face pressed up to the crawl space through which he had arrived in his glade. The act itself called to memory the words the Knight-General had thrown at him before they had thrown him through the hole in the ceiling of the Palisades: ¡°It¡¯ll be surprising if you make it to your execution date. Pretty thing like you will get devoured down there.¡± Alonne was grateful that no full-grown man could have hoped to fit through the rocks that sheltered him, because it seemed that Paladin¡ªpompous and horrid as he may have been¡ªhad been telling the truth. Life went on outside of the glade. Alonne listened to prisoners fight, fuck, and chortle as they passed him by, unaware of the little hamlet in which he hid. He drank spring water and finally resorted to eating the bitter mosses that grew around the pond¡¯s perimeter. He had enough to subsist in limbo, staring out at the darkness as bugs flew in the space above him. Then came the sound of shuffling at the entrance to his hideaway¡ªa grunt. Alonne jolted back to reality, looked around for a weapon¡ªhe needed to be able to defend himself, however possible. As he reached blindly for a rock, something, anything, the stone beneath his hand sang: a chorus of voices humming as the hilt of a crude sword rose from the ground itself to rest in his hand. He stared at the weapon in shock. There were a few more grunts, a curse or two uttered. The voice was deep, clearly masculine. Alonne backed up into the corner, holding his sword in shaking hands.Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Go away,¡± Alonne said. Somehow his tone managed to convey bravery, though he felt anything but. ¡°Hello?¡± the voice rumbled, even and emotionless. ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m not going to hurt you.¡± Alonne did not lower his sword. In the low light, he could make out a hand groping for the way forward. Then a tall man with broad shoulders came sliding out of the narrow passageway through which he should not have been able to pass. Alonne scanned his frame in a mixture of wonder, confusion, and fear. The newcomer had very dark skin and dreadlocks down to the small of his back. The tip of Alonne¡¯s sword hit the ground; he lifted it again quickly. It was heavier than he cared to admit. ¡°Who are you?¡± The newcomer held up his hands. ¡°My name is Khani.¡± ¡°Khani?¡± Alonne let out a breath, lowered his weapon. ¡°I¡¯m Alonne.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you,¡± Khani said. Alonne let the heavy stone sword¡¯s tip fall to the earth with a clunk. ¡°It¡¯s also a pleasure to meet a fellow mage,¡± he added, tone quiet. Conspiratorial. ¡°I¡¯m not a mage,¡± Alonne said. ¡°You aren¡¯t?¡± Khani crossed his arms, scanning the room around him. His eyes were bright amber, and his pupils were elongated ovals. Other than that he appeared to be an ordinary man¡ªtall and lithe with carefully maintained locs. He did not walk so much as glide effortlessly across the ground with feline grace. ¡°Then where did you get that sword?¡± ¡°I found it.¡± Alonne set the weapon down so that it was leaning against the wall¡ªwithin reach, but not in his grasp. Holding it did not feel wrong, but it felt strange. The sound of those disembodied voices continued to echo in the edges of his consciousness, never too loud¡ª but always present. ¡°Then you are the most fortunate person in this prison. Shelter, water, and a weapon. Luxuries most of us cannot afford.¡± Alonne pursed his lips. ¡°Are any of us really lucky, though?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not get caught up in that kind of thinking. We¡¯re all gonna get hanged, or worse.¡± Alonne smiled a little despite himself. Even if he knew that the other men in this place were dangerous, he did not feel threatened by Khani. He heard quiet symphonies in the air, violins and cellos and pianos and choirs harmonizing from wherever Khani stood. The ability to comprehend what he was hearing came only from the music he¡¯d heard at the weekly Consecration ceremonies, where the faithful of the Aerie sang and danced, prostrated themselves before their creator. Was he losing his mind, or was there something else at play here? ¡°True enough. May I at least have a drink from your spring, Alonne? I apologize if I have frightened you.¡± Alonne glanced from the spring to the newcomer¡¯s eyes. They were frightening and alien. ¡°I suppose. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s clean, but I¡¯ve been drinking it for days and I haven¡¯t shit my brains out yet.¡± ¡°A glowing recommendation.¡± Khani padded across the room and kneeled at the edge of the pool, cupped some water in his hands and brought it to his lips. ¡°Ah,¡± he let out a pleased sigh. ¡°This is lovely.¡± ¡°As nice as it gets, anyway.¡± Alonne sat down beside his sword and crossed his legs. Khani took another drink and sighed in quiet satisfaction. Then he splashed some water onto his face, rubbing it deeply into his skin. Once clean, he leaned back, crossing his legs in a fashion that mirrored the other man¡¯s. ¡°How did you fit through the passage?¡± Alonne asked quietly. ¡°You¡¯re huge.¡± ¡°I told you,¡± Khani said, ¡°I used magic.¡± Alonne looked through the gloom for a collar around Khani¡¯s neck, a copper biding that the Paladins used to temporarily sever a mage¡¯s connection to the astral world. While mages were capable of terrible and incredible feats, the collars rendered magical prisoners nothing more than ordinary people. The Church of the Aerie had a penchant for shackling heretics that dared to ignore their most important teaching: that magic itself was an affront to God¡¯s design. Magic was an ultimate taboo, a sacrilege forbidden by all but the Paladins. ¡°Where¡¯s your collar, then?¡± ¡°They have to know you¡¯re a mage to know to put it on,¡± Khani shrugged. Alonne¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°So you¡¯ve got your powers?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you break out, then?¡± ¡°By myself?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve got guards, but they¡¯re not gonna expect a magician to come flying out the exit.¡± Khani chuckled, ¡°I don¡¯t know what you think magic is, but it has limits. I would be cut down swiftly were I to try to escape all on my own.¡± After a bit of thought, Alonne asked, ¡°You think there¡¯s another entrance?¡± ¡°Not as far as I know, no. Why, are you intending to break out?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to die. I¡¯ll run away if that¡¯s what it takes.¡± ¡°And why should I help you?¡± ¡°Because I shared my water, and didn¡¯t stab you for coming into my territory?¡± Khani laughed, a deep rumble in his throat, ¡°good enough, I suppose. And here I thought the Blessed Lands were populated solely by spineless cowards. It¡¯s encouraging to be proven wrong.¡± Alonne worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, stood. ¡°Can you fight?¡± Khani followed suit. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s look around.¡± Alonne stretched his arms, cracked his back. Then he picked up the sword. ¡°I¡¯m tired of being cooped up in here.¡± And now that he wasn¡¯t all alone, perhaps it was safe to travel. Only the hungry stares of the other inmates had lead him into hiding¡ªthey either wanted to fuck him or eat him, or one and then the other¡ªbut there was no way in hell they¡¯d try anything with this behemoth next to him. In theory, anyway. Chapter Two Alonne made his way to the exit and sucked in his stomach. He sidled his way through the crevasse, inching sideways until he stepped out into a vast cavern. A few jutted rocks had scraped his elbows, but he was otherwise unscathed. Lit braziers lashed at the perimeter of this vast, high-ceilinged room, down a rocky slope. At the bottom, a few dozen prisoners sat around an open campfire, loudly swapping stories. There came the sound of bones snapping from behind, a few grunts of displeasure from Khani. Alonne winced and held his sword close to his side. The prisoners did not move. ¡°This one time, I went home with a whore from Kurokawa. You should¡¯ve seen what she did at the bar where I met ¡®er,¡± echoed one tobacco-addled voice throughout the cavern. Alonne wrinkled his nose as he continued, ¡°the things she could do with her mouth¡­¡± There were no natural lights on this end of the cavern, and the trail of braziers only began several dozen yards away from where the trail of torches lead downwards. Alonne was grateful for the shroud of darkness. Even if he had a weapon, the last thing he wanted to do was start an outright prison brawl. The last time he¡¯d seen prisoners war with one another, there had been at least a half-dozen faces splattered across the ancient sandstone of the Palisades, and a battalion of Paladins which had descended to keep the peace. They did not need that kind of attention. With a final crunch and a sigh, Khani emerged from the cavern. Were there any doubt in Alonne¡¯s mind that forbidden magic ran through this stranger¡¯s veins, they were now erased. A man his size could never have made it through otherwise. They crept along the perimeter of the room¡ªKhani¡¯s footsteps as silent as a cat¡¯s where Alonne struggled just to avoid stumbling over loose pebbles, had to hold his sword high to keep from scraping it on the ground. It made his forearms ache, but they needed the element of surprise. Alonne would glance over his shoulder at Khani every few steps to make sure that he wasn¡¯t alone, that he hadn¡¯t been ditched out in the open. This all could¡¯ve been a trap¡ªbut whenever he considered the idea of imminent betrayal, he heard the same chorus of instruments and voices come from Khani, a symphony with a nexus in the center of his chest. They sang melodies that had no words but communicated all the same: Khani was proud, carried himself with honor and purpose. That these disembodied whisperings could¡¯ve lied to him felt inherently wrong. They felt as easy and natural to Alonne as drawing breath. Was it from the same phenomenon that had conjured the stone sword? Perhaps he was simply going mad; he¡¯d hardly be the last person to lose their marbles without sunlight and warmth. The light of the encampment at the bottom of the valley faded as they slipped through a passageway leading downwards, deeper into the prison. There was no way that they would be able to pass through the main doors of the Palisades without ending up pincushions full of blessed arrows, but perhaps there was something in its depths. ¡°Why are we going down?¡± Khani asked, tone hushed. ¡°The only way out is above us.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Alonne said, still at the vanguard. ¡°Something in my gut tells me that there¡¯s something in the basement.¡± ¡°Khani grew quiet. They walked for a long stretch of time, the only sound their footsteps and the intermittent rumbling of Alonne¡¯s stomach. The passageway opened up into a vast cavern lit by luminescent mushrooms that grew from the upper regions, which exuded a cloud of opaque dust that glittered in the air. The air was filled with what looked like shimmering mist, nebulae cascading down from the ceiling before their eyes. Stone pillars as thick as tree trunks rose in a circular formation around a dais of cracked earth, which had countless arcane runes etched into the circumference. ¡°People had to have made that,¡± Alonne said. He had stopped to marvel at the architecture. The runes were baffling, but he could not read them. He could not read anything. Khani stopped beside him. ¡°A shrine, perhaps?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Alonne looked around, ¡°I don¡¯t see any other prisoners. Or anyone else, for that matter.¡± ¡°The inmates don¡¯t come here. I have been told it¡¯s cursed.¡± Alonne rolled his eyes, ¡°superstitious idiots.¡± He took off towards the dais, curious as to where, if anywhere, it could lead. A stone staircase lead them down to the basin where the dais waited. They had to wade through an ankle-deep layer of dust and then climb onto the raised platform. Flipping his hair, which was full of glimmering dust, Alonne looked down at the dais in wonder. They were standing on a piece of history, something the likes of which ordinary folk never got to see. Had it any magical properties, the Paladins would¡¯ve neutralized them long ago. He could not fathom the idea of the clergy allowing something truly meaningful to reside within the Palisades¡ªan icon of the Aerie¡¯s cruel and judicious punishment. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Mum and dad used to tell us about the scions,¡± he tiptoed carefully across the brittle surface. There were countless, and indecipherable, runes etched underneath his feet, each one a remnant of ages past. ¡°People that lived outside of the Church. The priests told ¡®em that scions ate babies and sacrificed children to a horned god¡ªthrew virgins into volcanoes, and all that.¡± Alonne turned back to Khani, smiling impishly. ¡°You think this prison is also a volcano? It¡¯s built into a mountain.¡± ¡°Doubt it,¡± Khani huffed. ¡°There are no tectonic plates in the area. I do not think that there are deposits of magma beneath this place.¡± ¡°What the hell are you even talking about?¡± Alonne laughed and shook his head. None of that sentence had made a lick of sense to him. ¡°I wasn¡¯t worried, anyways. Doubt either of us¡¯re virgins.¡± All that earned from the other man was a quiet chuckle and a roll of his amber eyes. Alonne crept towards the center of the dais, nearly twisting his ankle on a cracked panel. How old was all of this stuff, anyway? There was no water, air, or wind beneath the earth to erode it; the tunneling Cicadoidea had not eaten through the platform as they did anything else. There was no dust resting on the dais, all of the glittering fragments floating through the air, and ultimately falling into the deep pile at the bottom level. ¡°Why isn¡¯t it more beat up?¡± Alonne asked. ¡°It is probably enchanted,¡± Khani shrugged, resting himself up against a nearby pillar. Alonne stopped in the center and turned around, looking out at all the runes. They were inscribed in interlocked circles that seemed to emanate from the central point, rippling waves in a pool of stone. It was artistic, if nothing else. ¡°By who?¡± ¡°Hell if I know.¡± ¡°You¡¯re supposed to know this shit, Khani.¡± Alonne put his hands on his hips, turned to him. ¡°What¡¯s up with your eyes, anyway?¡± ¡°What is up with your eyes?¡± Khani¡¯s brow furrowed. Alonne blanched. ¡°Okay, yeah. That was rude. You know what I meant¡ªthey¡¯re all cat-like and shit.¡± ¡°They have been altered by magic.¡± Alonne¡¯s eyebrow twitched for a moment. As he went to step away from the center of the platform, he tripped over a crack, and his sword went flying across the stone. ¡°Ow,¡± he winced, inspecting his scuffed elbows and wrists. With a groan, he stood up, turned to Khani. The stranger was silent. ¡°Cat got your tongue?¡± Again, silence. ¡°Seriously, you¡¯re way too quiet.¡± Khani pointed to the ground at Alonne¡¯s feet. The runes he¡¯d fell on were glowing softly with blue light, an ethereal hum reverberating from the dais beneath them. The glow was spreading, each rune lighting up to better illuminate their cryptic, incomprehensible message. Alonne looked down, eyes wide, his jaw dropping. Was this his doing? Was it some latent power that he did not understand? Or was it simply an illusion, or the work of the devil? All the things his parents and priests had claimed were holy¡ªall the things they had insisted were evil¡ªfelt ephemeral, meaningless. Khani was the only person he¡¯d met in the Palisades who¡¯d shown him respect; Khani was an unrepentant apostate and a mage at that. None of it made any sense to him at all. Alonne kneeled to place his hand on the glowing rocks and felt nothing. The song did not grow louder when he got closer; it wasn¡¯t coming from anywhere, but it was coming from everywhere. Alonne looked up at Khani, ¡°what is this?¡± ¡°Magic,¡± Khani said. ¡°I know that,¡± Alonne pushed himself to his feet. ¡°What kind?¡± Khani was silent for a moment. Then his gaze shot up towards the door through which they¡¯d come, and he reached to grab Alonne¡¯s hand, pulling him off the dais with particular haste. It was easy for him to yank the much smaller, skinnier man behind a pillar, the dais singing and glowing even without them standing on it. It seemed they had irreversibly triggered some mechanism, though the finer details escaped the both of them. ¡°What are you doing,¡± Alonne started. Then he heard voices coming from the aperture, the only entrance to their room, and went silent, freezing as Khani scrunched them both into the smallest space they could be in. ¡°The blonde one¡¯s around here somewhere,¡± came the grizzled voice of a jailer. Alonne did not need to look up to picture a limping Paladin with unkempt hair, aged and covered in liver spots, forgotten by his own order. This was where the Paladins came in the wake of the Crusades when war chewed them up and spit them out, left them broken and shambling. They could still serve the clergy by keeping the inmates in line, by dragging their charges to the surface to meet the gallows. Alonne did not recognize the voice of the jailer but had a rough idea of his appearance regardless. He swore he heard impatient whisperings coming from the direction of the entrance¡ªdisembodied and discordant. Had everyone always emanated such sounds? Was he only just now hearing the truth? ¡°Does this room always glow like this?¡± ¡°Yeah, sometimes. Every hundred years or so, they say. Like a comet¡ªmake a wish.¡± The man coughed, ¡°I don¡¯t see nothin¡¯. Let¡¯s keep going down.¡± Alonne could hear rusted armour clanking as the patrol walked back the way they came, leaving the fugitive inmates unscathed. He let out a breath and made eye contact with Khani. Their hands slipped apart. Alonne rubbed at his sore wrist. ¡°They¡¯re already looking for me?¡± ¡°Seems so,¡± Khani said. ¡°They want to execute you quickly.¡± The color drained from Alonne¡¯s face. He remained on the ground, hiding behind the pillar. ¡°We really need to find that exit, then.¡± Chapter Three ¡°What if there isn¡¯t a way out?¡± Khani asked. ¡°Then I¡¯m fucked. I¡¯m going to look for one anyway.¡± Alonne stood up, looked out at the dais. Then came a crunch, and a shudder. The song was eerie, unlike anything he had ever heard before. Alonne turned towards the exit and saw the light of torches racing towards both of them. ¡°Shit,¡± he glanced down and saw a staircase opening, the stone peeling back as if somehow only they had discovered its secrets. It was welcoming them deeper. Alonne vaulted through the opening, sprinting into the depths. Bioluminescent mushrooms lined the path, his hair a glimmering mane in his trail. Alonne dashed around a corner and poked his head out the other side, panting. There was no sign of Khani. ¡°Are you going to just stand there?¡± Khani¡¯s voice came from behind him. ¡°How are you¡ª¡± Alonne turned around to see his new companion¡¯s silhouette slinking through the darkness like a panther. He had slipped ahead without making so much as a sound. The clattering of the jailers¡¯ armour was at their heels, flames lashing at the Palisade¡¯s depths. How had they known to find them? Had they come back to inspect whatever they had triggered in the dais? What if they hit a dead end? How could they escape when they were burying themselves deeper within this tomb? As Alonne heard the guards closing in, he felt Khani¡¯s hand entangle with his again. ¡°Come on.¡± Khani tugged him with thought-shattering force, and he was dashing alongside the other man as quickly as he possibly could, climbing over fallen stone pillars and the thick roots of the trees that grew to the center of their world. As they fled, the path branched, and Khani yanked them both down the branching path to the left, through the mouth of a narrower tunnel sloping further into the depths. He let go of Alonne¡¯s hand and closed his eyes, chanted a litany of indecipherable words beneath his breath. A seemingly tangible wall of stone rose, the same texture as the sandstone chamber, to obscure their way forward from the man thoroughfare. It was a blurry glamour that would trick lesser minds into believing there was but a single path to follow. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Alonne stopped to marvel at a real-life display of the supernatural. It had been harmless, more or less¡ªKhani had harmed no one, had only uttered ancient words aloud to shape the world to his liking. ¡°How did you do that?¡± ¡°Magic.¡± ¡°I know that.¡± ¡°We have no time to talk,¡± Khani nodded towards the passage through which they¡¯d came, the voices of the jailers echoing through the otherwise forgotten chambers. They ran for hours, chasing safety through the mushroom-lit halls. They collapsed near a pool of standing water. Alonne was desperately scooping handfuls down his throat. ¡°Should you be drinking that?¡± Khani asked. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± Alonne looked up from the pool, thin fingers dripping wet. ¡°That water¡¯s probably dirty¡ªwho knows how long it¡¯s been sitting there?¡± Alonne took another couple of drinks. It wasn¡¯t sparkling mountain spring water, but it was better than nothing. ¡°You need water to live. A lot of it. I¡¯ve got a strong stomach¡ªI¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°Suit yourself,¡± the man said, and he leaned himself back against the wall to rest for a moment. Alonne took a few moments to splash the spring water on his face, and rinse it through his hair, just trying to fight back all the dirt and scales. Once he tied it up with a string, he regarded his reflection in the pool. Pale as a sheet and dotted with freckles, his features were porcelain and glowing even beneath the grime. Once upon a time, his sister, Mithra, had teased him about his fair complexion and his hair, accused him of preening himself like a woman. The memory brought tears to Alonne¡¯s eyes. He turned away from the pool, from Khani, and went to sit in a corner, hugging his arms close to himself. Two weeks ago he¡¯d been hard at work in the crawl spaces beneath a winery, catching and exterminating the rats that plagued their facilities. Whenever Alonne had caught wind of a dirty job, he had at least made an attempt to do it, because whenever he was faced with a fetid bedpan, or a bloated rat carcass, or a bed-ridden elder, there was nothing that could shake him. He would show up on time, bright and early, and take care of whatever needed to be dealt with. In the city, there was always a wretched, festering mess that required someone¡¯s attention. He wondered if in the distant future he¡¯d ever be able to go back to that life. It had not been clean, or glamorous, but it had been work¡ªa way to keep a roof over his family¡¯s head, food on the table. It was only then that he allowed himself to remember, and lament, the fact that he had no family to return to. Chapter Four ¡°The spell I cast to obscure our path was a glamour,¡± Khani said over the silence. They had not heard signs of the templars in some time. Alonne looked up from his lap. He had been thinking quietly for what felt like hours. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°It¡¯s one of the rudimentary types of spellcraft¡ªan illusion.¡± Alonne¡¯s eyes grew wide, ¡°so you¡¯re saying that wall was fake? They could¡¯ve just walked right at us?¡± If he could have been paler, then he would have been. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And,¡± he choked on his words, ¡°and you¡¯re just mentioning that now?¡± ¡°It may as well be real if they fall for it.¡± Khani chuckled, crossed his arms. ¡°I am seriously not comforted by that.¡± ¡°Perhaps you could have raised a wall of stone on your own,¡± Khani¡¯s gaze was trained on Alonne, his eyes glowing amber in the low light. Alonne grew very quiet. ¡°Why are you so hung up on this?¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t ¡®just find¡¯ that sword; I can smell the magic on you.¡± His pupils had narrowed even further to slits, perhaps to adjust to the darkness. ¡°Your nose is just shot from how much it reeks down here,¡± Alonne shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about this shit. It¡¯s all forbidden¡ªthey would¡¯ve burned me at the bloody stake if they¡¯d known I could so much as bend a spoon with my mind. I¡¯ve seen that happen, by the way.¡± Khani grimaced. The Blessed Lands so often displayed a barbarism that displayed their self-aggrandizing, sanctimonious label. ¡°I am not mistaken.¡± Alonne flinched. ¡°It is fine.¡± With a sigh, Khani shrugged and looked off to the side for a moment. Then he closed his eyes, resting. ¡°I understand that it is not safe to declare oneself a mage here.¡± Alonne sat up. ¡°You¡¯re not from here?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you tell?¡± he asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know the first thing about geography. Or politics, or nations¡ªany of that shite. I clean bedpans and kill possums for a living.¡± ¡°I thought everyone from here was,¡± Khani paused, ¡°very pale, with white hair.¡± Alonne shook his head, ¡°maybe at some point in history, but you¡¯d hardly stick out where I¡¯m from. The accent¡¯s the only thing that¡¯s a bit odd.¡± He added, ¡°not bad¡ªjust different. Like you grew up reading books and such without becoming all stuck up and fancy ¡®bout it.¡± ¡°Interesting. That is a good thing to know,¡± Khani crossed his arms, deep in thought. A question came to Alonne: ¡°Are you glad to know you won¡¯t immediately get caught if you break out?¡± There was a brief moment of silence. Khani opened his mouth to say something and closed it. ¡°Perhaps.¡± ¡°Knew it.¡± Alonne closed his eyes, and sleep took him in seconds, the pleasantness of darkness welcoming him away from this hell. He slumped back against the rocky wall, unconscious and snoring. Khani stood and turned away from him. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Each other time he had spied a fellow inmate, he had made himself scarce, melded into the shadows to observe. The Blessed People regarded anyone with the gift for magic with scorn and suspicion, mistook healers and seers and warriors for dangerous abominations. They seemed as vicious to him as they were foreign, as barbaric as they were superstitious. While Khani now knew he would not stand out physically, somehow he felt that if he stood too long in the gaze of the Blessed, they would know¡ªthat they would sense the faithless demon in their midst and descend upon him, tear him apart. With a sigh, he walked silently down the dark halls, leaving Alonne to sleep shrouded by his glamours. The paladins were searching for a pale, blonde man, and not a foreigner. With Alonne asleep, he had some time to scout the deeper recesses of the Palisades without suffering the well-meaning man¡¯s constant inquiries. Khani stuck to the shadows, tracing a path through the underground until finally, the tunnels broke into another cavern with high ceilings, vast and expansive. Every falling rock echoed through the chamber, glimmering dust falling from the mushrooms overhead. Khani snuck along a rocky path that ran parallel to a torchlit one, the latter leading to another camp of inmates sitting around an open flame. He stopped just short of the encampment, a story or so above it, and hid behind a stalagmite. Yet another tobacco-addled voice carried through the open chamber, ¡°You lot see those paladins running around the prison?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± a prisoner with teardrop tattoos and a mullet was chomping down on a leg of meat. It smelled of pork; he was smacking his lips loudly, gnawing through cooked flesh with a singular hunger, ¡°wouldn¡¯t say what they were lookin¡¯ for, though.¡± ¡°Prolly that blondie. The one that hid¡ªlooked like a woman. What a shame no one¡¯s found ¡®im. We all gotta get our rocks off, and it ain¡¯t like you lot are that pretty. Most of us look like fuckin¡¯ Greg over there.¡± Everyone, save for Greg¡ªa balding man with an eyepatch and a grand total of two teeth¡ªerupted in raucous laughter. These prisoners were hunkered around several sacks; it smelled of pork, enchanted bread, and blood. They were turning a hunk of still-raw flesh over their campfire, sipping ale and ribbing one another playfully. ¡°I heard one of them say something about a Banshee.¡± The man with the teardrop tattoos was finishing his meal. Khani peered from behind his cover and locked eyes with the decapitated head of a young man, upon which a prisoner¡¯s dirty feet were resting. Khani¡¯s eyes widened, and without another breath, he let loose the coiled darkness within him. The lithe frame of his human body grew, elongated, like a shadow cast by a bright light. He had glowing amber eyes and a pair of obsidian horns growing out of his temples, a pair of bladed, spiked tails growing from the small of his back. He was at least a foot taller, with claws where his nails had been¡ªretractible and sharp enough to cut steel. This form was not something he¡¯d wanted to let loose before these foreigners, all these superstitious fools who could not appreciate the grace and power of a Conclave shifter. But it would be fine so long as there were no surviors to witness the coming carnage. Khani had heard legends of the desperation that came over those that lived in the dark for too long, without light and without hope¡ªknew too well of the horrors that befell those scrounging for the basic things needed to survive. So long he had believed the worst fate in the world would be to rot underneath this fortress, where humans forgot everything that separated man from beast. It had been a foolish thought. These cannibals could not frighten him any more than war: than the battles he¡¯d won and the battles he¡¯d lost. And the worst fate in the world was not, as it turned out, to reside in this hell. It was far worse to be an unrepentant cannibal. There were five prisoners in total. In this form, he could hear their hearts beating, feel the rush of blood through their veins. Without a sound he circled the stalactite and lunged for the party, preferring an ambush to fair combat. His bladed tails sang through the air and pierced through the back of one of the prisoners, blood spurting from his open mouth as he clutched impotently at his wounds. Before his target¡¯s body even hit the floor, Khani was reaching for the throat of another, and with a simple tear he ripped out his jugular vein. The man fell to the ground without so much as a struggle and dropped his drumstick. The remaining three were reaching for their weapons, crude clubs and shivs they¡¯d put together out of desperation. Khani leapt into the air and pounced on top of a prisoner¡ªheld his face in the palm of his hand as he easily smashed it into the stone. Then he whipped his tail across the chest of the next to rush at him, sent him flying into a deep gorge. He made a sickening crunch at the bottom. That left the man with the teardrop tattoos. ¡°You aren¡¯t lying about the Banshee?¡± Khani¡¯s voice rumbled, distorted in an unearthly, ethereal tone. Something within him was not at all human. The man had dropped the cleaned bone, which clattered to the ground at his feet, and had kicked aside the head upon which his feet had been resting. A stream of urine pooled between his legs as he backed away from the monster that had felled four hardened criminals in no time at all. Khani crept towards him. ¡°Tell me everything.¡± Chapter Five Sophia Cortez-Price rose at dawn, walked the halls of her cathedral clad in a white dress and naught else. The stone was cold beneath her bare feet. It was not the first time she had made the pilgrimage; God willing, it would not be the last. The Blessed People depended on testimony from their Oracle, who had been ordained by the world''s Architect Himself. Even though He slept within the Aerie, He still spoke to His people. She was the mouthpiece through which they could hear his divine word. Every morning Sophia woke to the attention of her eight handmaidens: other girls in white dresses with flowers braided loosely through their hair. The handmaidens came from villages surrounding the holy city of Alethia, each nominated by parishioners who valued their virtue and character. Most churches sent letters to attempt to sell their pure women to the Holy See in Alethia¡ªyear after year, clamoring for the honor of serving the faith. The older nuns, former handmaidens all, would request the girls that caught their attention and marched them into the capital to judge their worth. The handmaidens-to-be would recite scripture and poetry to prove their devotion; they would swear oaths to God that they would serve Him in unwavering faith; they would pray and fast for days to show resilience. Those that passed the initiation were given the solemn right to attend to the Oracle. Those that failed returned home. The halls around her had high ceilings, with stone walls adorned in murals depicting the history of the ages: battles, love stories, coronations, defeats. The paintings had been painted in a colored ink that glowed from underneath, resembling stained glass. For millennia the Holy See''s scholars had documented the goings-on of the world, painstakingly painting the sacred stones into eternal reminders. When the physical world came to be, materialized from the chaotic matter of the astral world, life had begun here. Long before the Holy See had built its stronghold around the Aerie, it had been nothing more than a landmark¡ª a meteorically large rock that had sunk deep into a gorge. Now the Aerie was surrounded by Alethia, the Holy City: the place that lords and peasants alike faced when they prayed. Sophia walked the ancient halls of the cathedral with her head held high, her posture straight, her voice silent. Dozens upon dozens of Oracles had made their daily pilgrimages before her, each journey a little bit different from the last. The walks were always the same, but the visions were different each time. When the crusaders liberated her from her home on the coast, a little fishing village where fields of wildflowers grew off the cliffs, and the sea crashed into jagged rocks day in, and day out, the nuns had brought home the seeds of her homeland''s plants. Now the stone halls were wreathed in deep-green vines that grew between the cracks in the rocks, dotted with blue and white flowers along their lengths. It was beautiful, but it was still so unlike her homeland without the roar of the sea and the taste of fresh-caught fish. All eight handmaidens were walking behind Sophia. First, they traversed the stained glass halls from her quarters to the antechamber. Then they gathered around a circular dais in the center of an open courtyard, where the colossal mountain that was the Aerie towered above everything else. A stream flowed from the Aerie''s peak, which began to flow at dawn and broke at dusk. It was Sophia''s duty to proceed onward through the mouth of the Aerie''s entrance, and delve into the darkness within, to see the divine wisdom that the Architect granted to her each day. The handmaidens gathered around the dais, where they fell to their knees and clasped their hands over their eyes. It was a tradition among those trained by the nuns of the Order to cover their vision, to show that humanity may as well have been blind without the guidance of the Holy See. Sophia did not look back at them; she did not need to. They each played a part in the rite of the daily pilgrimage.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The moment Sophia crossed the threshold into the Aerie, there was a shift in the air. A shimmering mist obscured her vision. There were no lights to guide her way. It became darker further inside; her footsteps were careful but not hesitant. It took precisely three hundred and forty paces forward to reach the Cloister. Sophia counted each step until she reached the total, then stopped. The ground beneath her lit with a radiant golden script. In moments the Cloister''s walls were illuminated by runes scrawled in an angelic language. Then a stone slab fell to seal her in the Cloister, and clear water rose from her feet to the ceiling. Sophia felt her weight go slack, and she let herself float, her dress and hair billowing in the now-still Cloister. She drifted into the center of the room and said a quick prayer under her breath, her arms slack at her sides. The visions began. Men were groaning in chains where the light could not touch them. Other men in gleaming armor marched through the halls, carrying torches on a quest to find something. There was a flash of blonde hair and bright blue eyes; there was a demon with claws like blades, its snarling visage drenched in blood. There was a brief song, a scream and a roar of something¡ª a string instrument?--the likes of which she had never heard. Sophia did not need to breathe, no need to move. Instead, she floated, letting the water course over her without fear. The visions came as the tide came. There was no chance of God allowing harm to come to her, even beneath the waves. The waters roiled and brought her consciousness elsewhere. Rather than resist the pull, she moved with it. There was no point in trying to guide the visions that came from the Aerie; her will did not matter. It was the Architect that determined the pace of it all. Sometimes the handmaidens would ask her what she saw in the Aerie, how she was able to glean meaning from the sea of souls. Sophia would tell them that it was a bit like knowing that someone stood right behind you: it was instinctual, natural. Sophia waited, aimlessly floating. If God willed it, she would be here until dusk, when the waters would drain, and she would be released from her solemn duty until dawn broke again. There was a deafening silence for an amount of time she could not measure¡ªwhich ended abruptly in a flurry of disembodied sights and sounds. A woman was buried deep in the ground, entombed in sandstone miles beneath the surface. A veil of white flames coursed around her, which rendered the rocks soft and molten. She did not burn. Instead, she reached upwards, parting the earth with flame-cloaked fingers. Screaming and grunting, she pulled herself towards the surface, leaving a trail of liquefied stone in her wake. Clawed fingers gripped the loamy surface as she tore herself from her prison. A pillar of fire erupted from where she stood on shaky legs, which rendered the entire space around her a charred mess. A wildfire broke out on the hilly plains, torching the grasses and trees beneath the setting sun. Sophia saw rage and desperation in the woman''s wild eyes, her ashen hair devoid of all color, her canine teeth the fangs of a devilish creature. Black, oaken horns jutted from her temples, resembling that of a nymph from fairy-tales said to children. Once her mother had explained that nymphs would not hurt humans, that if you respected their lands, they would allow you to pass unharmed. They grew flowers and tended to trees older than civilization itself. They adorned themselves with all manner of bright plants and lived in harmony with the world. This woman did not have vines draped around her, and the earth did not grow faster beneath her feet. All around her, there was a devouring white flame that turned plants to ash, the air choked in gusts of acrid smog. Her horns were gnarled, twisted, and black. Each time she stepped, flames billowed from beneath her feet. Sophia closed in on the woman within her mind''s eye, tried to see closer¡ª to confirm her suspicions. As she beheld the fury in that woman''s eyes, her pale face broke out in a grin. She mouthed the words, "I can see you." The waters of the Cloister lowered. Sophia fell to the earth, sopping wet, and hugged her arms close to herself. "It can''t be," she whispered. There could have been only one explanation. That woman was the Reveler: the devil that promised a flaming end to the only world they''d ever known. The Oracles before her had long prophecized that this day would come, warned the Holy See time and time again. Now it was her duty to return from the Aerie and bring news of the coming ruin.