Reckoning of the Gods: Heretic - Chapter 5: Everdark
Author’s Note: This is a first draft, so please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes.
After a long, dark drop through a network of pipes, Mura Pai Vahl found himself in a deep pool beneath Clearbrook. Surfacing, Vahl searched for his sister and comrades, but the room was dimly lit, and his eyes took a few moments to adjust. Even with his heightened senses, Vahl could only make out shapes, and it wasn’t until he heard his sister’s voice that he relaxed a little.
“Ziva!” he called out.
His sister helped him climb out from the pool as the others gather around. Once he was standing on his own two feet, Vahl realized that the only light source in the room was a narrow beam no larger than a person’s finger that emanated from somewhere above them. Directly below the beam, an amber crystal scattered the light in a thousand directions, giving the entire room an eerie glow. Various pipes criss-crossed above them and fed into the largest pipe, the one that drained the fountains. The air was thick and musty.
“Is everyone alright?” asked Vahl.
The tawny Fallow popped up suddenly from the group of Pale Men.
“I think so,” he squeaked.
All told, they had twenty strong, including the Fallow. The Mura Kur had sacrificed themselves so that the others could escape, but now their numbers had been halved. What’s more, half of the twenty were wounded and in no condition to travel.
“Were we followed?” asked Ziva.
Vahl could barely trust his senses as he was tumbling through the large pipe, but he had not heard any voices but their own. The Mura Kur had drawn enough attention that they were not even noticed, or so they hoped.
“All the same, we can’t stay here,” said one of the Pale Men; Vahl could not recognize their face in the dim light.
“There is a tunnel on the far side with a stream. We could follow that. The water has to lead somewhere.”
“What about the wounded?” said another Pale Man.
That was the question on everyone’s mind. The Mura Pai did not leave any kinsmen behind, but these were not the Mura Pai, and there was no telling what kind of monstrosities awaited them in the Everdark.
Vahl had heard plenty of tales from his father before he passed and his uncle about the Everdark, a world below the surface. It was a place of perpetual night, ruled by the Queen of the Night, Lamashtu. Perhaps, it would be better to die by the Stormborn’s hand than by whatever lurked in these subterranean caverns.
If only there was a way to climb back up the pipes that brought them here…
Suddenly, Vahl had an idea.
“The fountains,” muttered Vahl. “Aren’t they supposed to have some sort of healing powers?”
“True,” replied the Fallow. “That’s what I heard as well.”
“What if we stayed just for a little while and allowed the wounded to rest and heal.”
Several Pale Men scoffed at this idea. The Stormborn could be on them at any moment. Why risk their lives on a plan that was shaky at best?
“We could split up,” suggested Ziva. “Anyone who is fit to travel can leave. My brother and I will stay behind with the wounded, and when they are able to travel, we will catch up with you.”
This plan seemed the most agreeable, so the Pale Men who were unharmed gathered a few torches that they found in a small stockpile and started on their way down a small tunnel at the far side of the room. Vahl, Ziva, and the wounded remained behind, along with the tawny Fallow. As Vahl watched the flickering torches disappear from sight, he wondered if he had made another crucial mistake staying behind. His last mistake had almost cost them their lives.
“You should go with them,” said Vahl, breaking the uneasy silence.
Ziva shot him a glance that was both hurt and shocked. “And leave you?”
“It’s my fault we’re in this mess. If I hadn’t tried to save the Mura Kur…”
Ziva knelt beside her brother as they helped one of the wounded into the pool. “It was your quick thinking that saved us up there. Don’t forget that.”
Vahl smiled, reassured by his sister’s kindness.
“What about you?” asked Ziva, turning to the Fallow. “Why did you stay with us?”
The Fallow’s nose twitched, and he ruffled his fur.
“Well, I smell fear on the others, but not on you.”
“Something is wrong with your nose, then,” joked Vahl, helping the Fallow with another wounded warrior.
The Fallow studied Vahl intensely, his dark brown eyes glimmering with a slight amber hue. A shiver ran up Vahl’s spine as if the Fallow could read his very soul.
“You misunderstand,” said the Fallow. “There is fear, yes, but there is a courage there too. You don’t let your fear control you.”
“I’ve heard all the tales about you Pale Men. Still, it was not the Pale Men who cut down women and children at Clearbrook. It was not the Pale Men who turned tail when faced with a Stormborn. I’ve learned a lot today, but the biggest surprise is you, Pale Man. You risked your life for a tribe that wasn’t even yours, and you’ve done it again just now. You have the heart of a leader.”
If Vahl had been looking at his sister, he would have noticed the smile drain from her face. Instead, he asked the Fallow a question.
“What is your name, friend?”
The Fallow looked stunned. His dappled grey fur bristled with embarrassment.
“My name? It’s He Who Builds a Structure with a Firm Base, but my kinsmen call me Veles.”
“Veles,” repeated Vahl. “Well, Veles, you’ve given me something to think about while we wait. In the meantime, let’s hope that these legendary waters live up to their reputation.”
Fortunately for them, the waters did live up to their reputation, and within minutes, the wounded were able to move freely on their own. What’s more, their wounds began to heal, and before long, the wounded Pale Men had regained full health.
Realizing the incredible potential of this spring water, Vahl directed the others to fill their waterskins with as much as they could carry. Who knew when they would need its healing powers again?
The group of Pale Men and Veles were ready to depart, and the path was clear, but one important question remained–who would lead the group?
The remaining Pale Men were a mish-mash of tribes and none of them were khans, chieftains, or anything of the like. The Fallow preferred to follow rather than lead, and despite Ziva’s protests, Vahl knew that his sister would be the best to lead since she was their strongest warrior.
Gathering the few remaining torches, the intrepid group set out. Veles guided the group with his nose, followed by Ziva, holding a torch. Vahl brought up the rear, and if they kept the group tight enough, they would be able to navigate with plenty of light and a few torches to spare.
“My people made this,” commented Veles, pointing to the chiseled walls. “Slaves, probably.”
The Pale Men had no use for slaves, but they knew all too well about Suphah’s enslavement of the Fallow. How many Fallow had died in these tunnels, working for a goddess that didn’t even know that they existed? In any case, the tunnel was impressive, giving them plenty of room to walk two by two. Of course, Vahl would have much preferred the surface to these damp walls that dripped constantly.
The tunnel exiting the drain room narrowed until they had to travel single file, and a few times, Vahl had to duck. He hated tight spaces, but it wasn’t the space that made him nervous. Aside from the quiet gurgle of the stream and echoing footsteps, there was complete silence. No one felt like talking anymore.
Vahl kept a constant eye behind him and his imagination ran wild. Here, so far beneath the surface, every shadow came alive, and every sound heralded some monstrosity. The Pale Man had faced all manner of creatures, but there was a difference between fighting a known enemy and fighting something that you couldn’t even see.
The torches might last a few hours if they were lucky, and then, they would be completely swallowed by the darkness. Vahl held onto the hope that this stream must lead somewhere important, ideally an exit from the mountains. His thoughts turned toward his uncle and the rest of his clan, and he wondered if they had escaped before the Stormborn arrived. So much about this day had gone wrong, from the moment they started climbing.
His closest friend, Iravis, had found a poor purchase, and within a few seconds, he plummeted to his death. He wasn’t the first Pale Man to die on the upward climb, and he certainly wasn’t the last. By the time they had reached the fortress of Clearbrook, they had lost nearly a tenth of the Mura Pai clan.
What’s worse, they hadn’t even had time to properly mourn the dead. As the Pale Men marched quietly together, Vahl whispered a quick prayer to the Nameless God, asking them to watch over the souls of the fallen. Vahl, like his father, still believed that the Nameless God watched over them. His sister and uncle did not share the same faith.
The line of Pale Men suddenly stopped. A whisper was passed down the ranks, and when it reached Vahl, his blood froze.
“Death. Veles smells death.”
Instinctually, Vahl drew his newly acquired blade and swiveled to make sure that they weren’t being watched. The roughly-hewn walls gave no sign of danger, but the torchlight only reached a few dozen feet before giving way to the black void of the Everdark.
Another whisper was passed along the line of Pale Men until it reached Mura Pai Vahl.
“We go. Slowly.”
As they inched their way through this subterranean tunnel, Vahl longed to be on the surface again, even if that meant fighting a Stormborn. Better to die quickly in the heat of battle than slowly driven mad by the pitch black.
Vahl wondered how long it had been since they first entered these catacombs. It couldn’t have been more than an hour, but the torch in front was already reaching its end. Vahl could barely see the face of the Pale Man in front of him. Suddenly, the walls gave way, and Vahl could hear the sound of rushing water. The torch was nearly out, and the Pale Men huddled together, trying to preserve the light and the warmth from the torch.
“Your call,” said Veles, nodding to Ziva.
Mura Pai Ziva looked uncertain, but Vahl had the utmost confidence in his sister. She was a natural born leader, and whatever she decided, he would trust her.
“The smell of death. Is it upstream or downstream?” she asked Veles.
The Fallow took a quick whiff and frowned. “Downstream.”
“Godsbreath,” she cursed.
Following this river was the best chance they had at reaching the surface alive, but that also brought them closer to whatever dangers lie in the darkness.
“Can you tell what kind of creatures or how many?”
“Some smells are familiar, but some are unfamiliar. Your people fell, but I cannot say how many.”
Ziva locked eyes with her brother, and they shared the same thought. If there were wounded Pale Men, they could rescue them with the draughts from the fountain.
“We follow this river, but no torches. We go slowly and follow Veles’s lead. Something else is down here, so keep your blades at the ready. And be quiet as you can.”
With the torch completely out, Veles and the Pale Men had to rely on their other senses to navigate through the dark. The sound of rushing water surrounded them, and judging from the echoes, this chamber was at least ten times the size of the drainage tunnel. The ground was slippery and uneven, with a steady downward slope. Clearly, the Fallow had not worked their handicraft here. Perhaps the Pale Men were the first surface dwellers to have reached this far.
As they crossed small stream after small stream, Vahl wondered how many springs had channeled their way through Mount Mardune. Were all of them special like the ones at Clearbrook? In all likelihood, they were far beyond Clearbrook, but without the sun or stars to guide them, Vahl had no idea which direction they were heading. If they were headed North, there was a good chance they would never find an exit. The ranges along the Northern border continued until they reached the Peak of the World. Vahl tried to push these anxious thoughts away and focus on what was directly in front of him.
A few times the group stopped, pausing to listen for any signs of trouble. The damp air tasted like stone, and all that Vahl could hear was the sound of rushing water that grew louder as more streams fed into this underground river. A few times, Vahl had lost his footing and slid dangerously close to the water’s edge. Even without his sight, the Pale Man knew that the current must be strong. If anyone fell in, they would not be able to climb out.
The group of travellers came to another sudden halt. This time, Vahl detected a new, pungent odor. They had found their missing comrades.
Quietly, the Pale Men dispersed, checking each body for a pulse. Fresh blood made the wet stone even slicker, and a few muffled grunts broke the silence. On his hands and knees, Vahl groped blindly for a body until he found one. He was reaching for the Pale Man’s face, when a sudden spasm made him recoil. Someone was alive.
A harsh, gurgling cough told Vahl to save the fountain water. This person was beyond healing.
“May the Nameless God lead you to still waters,” whispered Vahl, propping the man’s head up. Despite being close enough to hear the man’s ragged breathing, he still couldn’t see any features.
“Creatures…from the dark, hundreds of them,” croaked the dying Pale Man.
“Rest, friend,” said Vahl, giving his some of the fountain water. Perhaps, it was a waste, but it might ease the man’s passing.
“They came from…everywhere.”
Vahl felt his sister draw close, recognizing her familiar scent. The Fallow was with her too, and his tail brushed against Vahl’s leg.
“We tried to fight…there were so many.”
“Where did they go?” whispered Ziva, crouched on the other side of the Pale Man.
“So…many,” uttered the Pale Man with his dying breath.
Vahl reached out and closed the man’s eyes, saying a silent prayer to the Nameless God. Some day, he would join his kinsmen at the still waters, but hopefully, that day was still far off.
“We should go,” said Ziva, gently resting her hand on Vahl’s shoulder.
“It’s too late,” whispered Veles. “They’ve come.”