Dusk Falling (Book 1) (40 page)

Genlo turned to see the progress. A tear in the back of his shirt revealed to her enspelled eyes the dark runes that flared with their use. Then they were gone and Genlo had to put out a hand to support himself. “Can you make it out?”

“…yea.”

He heard the concern in her tone, too tired to dislike it; too drained to be discomforted by a presence too close to his own. Before she dared reach a hand out, he told her to go and he would follow. When she had disappeared up what was left of the stairs, Genlo stumbled to put his back to the wall. He forced his breathing to slow and wiped the blood off his forehead with the back of one of his gloves, leaving a smear. His limbs felt like porridge. He heard his name being called, finding some humor in that he now associated himself with it. Yukarim didn’t give him one, fearing it was a breech of privacy and too assuming on his part. He had even said so in futile hope that the youth would eventually trust him enough to reveal his true name. At first, the trethen had resented the name the girl had given him, it only reminded him of the spectacle of his capture. It was also a Bren name and drug up the painful memory of Yukarim. Now, bruised and battered, dripping with blood and sweat, muscles strained, he was glad for it. Glad that it was Yukarim’s sister who had given it to him.

Genlo heard his name called again. “Shut up already! Give me some damn time.” He did not let his smile creep into his voice. Pushing away from the wall, he scrabbled slowly up through the rubble. Upon setting foot to solid ground, Serrtin and Agemeer were too busy fawning over the mage’s condition to worry for his own so it was SkyRift who cautiously stuck out his hand. Genlo glared at the offer. “I don’t need help from the likes of you.”

“You mean a Yierhnafae? You still feel the Jrahda blood-resentment despite my being a Kiyomouri?” SkyRift took back his hand though he remained annoyingly close.

“No, I mean you look barely conscious. I am not in such straits that I would need help from someone like that.”

“Ah.” SkyRift lowered his brow, acknowledging the answer.

“Genlo…” Aya began, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Even in the pitch of the chamber, his posture was a visible sign of lagging energy.

“Forget it. It’s not important.”

“Yes, yes it is. Th-thank you. Really.”

Genlo opened his mouth to reply with a tart comment then shut it with a sigh. He tried to roll the stiffness out of his back muscles, hissing slightly at the healing tissue. The scrapes were taking longer to heal over than normal. “Y-you’re welcome…” The Jrahda-trethen mumbled, audible only because of the silence of the chamber.

Serrtin decided to forgo hassling the youth in his moment of docility, instead suggesting they take what rest they were offered since the current floor did not seem to be one of the ‘more exciting’ floors. No one argued. Serrtin pulled Agemeer away from the others with the pretense of wanting his opinion on something, drawing SkyRift after with a gesture of her head. Puzzled, he joined them. “Let the kids talk alone.”

“The kids…? You mean Aya and Genlo? But why?”

“You are thick when it comes to the less-physically-impressive races, you know that?” Serrtin chided. “I’ve worked with those races a lot more than you apparently which makes me the expert here.”

“Expert on what? On races? I am afraid I do not understand…”

Agemeer whuffled, amused. “It is pleasant to see, no matter the species or the age, blossoming emotions can astound us all.”

The Elf straightened on realization. He knew there was something between the mage and the trethen but he had not aware how far… He watched the pair sitting across from each other, wondering how one-sided the feelings were. If he had just realized it, how long would it be before the pair did as well?

“You’re bleeding. Here.” Aya was going to remove the last of the shredded clothe at her belt and hand it to Genlo but he waved her off. He used the bottom of his own shirt to scrub the fresh blood from his face.

“You shouldn’t do that, you know.”

“My shirt. My blood.”

“Here. Just let me do it. You’re getting it all over.” Aya scooted closer till the knees she sat on almost brushed his crossed shins. “I used to do this all the time for the village children of my hometown. They were always coming home with cuts and bruises. So much so in fact I began to suspect they were doing it on purpose because I would give them a bit of candy to soothe their tears.” Aya smiled fondly in remembrance as she gently swabbed Genlo’s cheek. “I was only five or six years older than them but the children looked up to my brother so much I think a little of the admiration spilled over to me. I was undeserving of the praise, especially if my tutors had
anything to say about it.” Lost in her tale, she did not give pause when she brushed his white locks away from his forehead to dab the closed cut just below his hairline. “He had this…
way
about him, everyone trusted him so much. It’s going to break their hearts when I… when I have to tell them.”

Genlo sat through the ministration without word. He had never had someone clean his cuts or give him treats to appease his tears when he was a child. He did not have someone to look up to and it was for his cause that someone’s light was extinguished that an entire town had admired.

“There. Done.” Aya said, drawing back her hand and piling the cloth in her lap.

“You should… do something about that,” Genlo said distractedly, waving toward the dressings on the wounds she had received from their tangle with Xiethes. “The residual poisons should have seeped out by now. Keeping them wrapped can cause infection.”

“Ah.” Aya took his advice and with some hissing and face-scrunching managed to unwind the bandages without reopening the gashes. Genlo peered at her out of the corner of his eye. Both of their thoughts went to the Demonic. “I wonder if he is still alive. He took some heavy wounds.”

“So did you. Seems about equal.”

“Well, not really. He scratched me. I got him with the Ebon Cutter spell.”

“Same thing.”

“No it’s not.” Aya responded with a frown.

Genlo looked at her pointedly, drawing up his knee and resting his arm on it. “
Yes
, it
is
. Both would have accomplished the same thing, had the same outcome. Xiethes’ method would just have prolonged it. If I hadn’t told your friends how to counteract the poison, you would have been as dead as he would have been if you could control your spells better. I bet you were holding back even in the end, afraid to take a life even though he was more than willing to take yours. And your friends.”

“I’m not afraid of using my spells to kill if it is necessary.” Aya told him, back stiff and posture rigid. She did not want to get in a fight over something like her pension for not killing so she changed the subject. “You said you knew how to cure the poison? How?”

Genlo’s amber eyes snaked past the girl to the saurian who sat cleaning her sword and talking to the Elf. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” He got to his feet and stalked off. Aya continued to sit until she heard Serrtin call her name, telling her it was time to get moving once again.

Chapter 29

The following trials tested their brains as well as their brawn. One chamber had a setup much like the sixth floor except with candles set at intermittent placing. There were three in number, each burning a radiant blue that lit the room in darkly-contrasting shadow and color. Bright enough to negate the natural nightvision that four of the team possessed; Aya dropped her spell to save energy. The center of the room held a triangle shape partially encased by a circle, the points of the triangle each held a candle. Aya knew what that shape was but before she could warn her companions, the warding circle was activated. The air swirled forward as if sucked into a vortex centered in the circle.

It was not as easy task figuring out how to defeat a seemingly invincible monster. Attacks of any kind bounced off its hide; it was luck alone that it was not utilizing its claws or fangs. The monster was trying to gore them with its twin sets of horns, bounding past them swinging its ponderous head. Serrtin accidentally knocked over one of the candles attempting to get out of its reach, causing the other two candles to burn red. In the eerie red light, the monster roared and grew spikes from its body.

The connection was made but at first, it was thought dousing the candles was the wrong thing to do since it seemed to only make the monster stronger. However there was no exit, the key to passing must be the monsters defeat.

“Serrtin, the next candle!” Aya shouted from opposite the chamber. “We must be expected to defeat that creature with all the candles out for the door to appear!”

“You want to
purposefully
make it stronger?!” The saurian called back, batting away the monsters horns with her flamberge as they sought to run her through.

“I think it may be the only way!”

“It better be!” Serrtin leapt past the monster and rolled to her feet. She made it to the circle and swept the candle out with the blade. It tumbled across the room. The last candle flared a painful white and again the beast roared.

With claws that arced like scythes and a body lithe and fleet, the monster changed its attack patterns and attempted to keep them from reaching the last candle. The monster would even risk its own body to keep them from
putting out the light. Genlo’s dark sphere’s exploded on impact, causing no more damage than any other attack. SkyRift suggested he keep it occupied by creating a larger target (hence transforming back into a Kiyomouri) to buy time but was silenced by multiple rejections.

“I got a better idea.” Serrtin slammed the blade’s point into the stone ground and released its handle. The monster turned to face her as she cracked her knuckles and wrung out her hands. “I’ll buy you some time. Get to the candle and put that God-forsaken thing out.”

~ ~ ~

Eventually, several uncounted levels later, the team stopped for what they supposed was the night. Refreshed, for the night was uneventful, they continued on. Many levels past, some more lively than others, they reached a section of stairs that sprouted from the center of the small chamber. Following the spiral up, they were met by a room lit by magespheres. Graceful tapestries and paintings lit the walls. A fire burned in a fireplace in front of a large multicolored rug. The room smelled of familiar incense that one couldn’t quite place. There were two doors, one behind them and one ahead. Beside the door was a lush crimson chair trimmed in dark wood.

A single figure sat in the chair. He was Elven- Oerhyunafae in fact. His skin held an undertone of pale blue, his eyes were like bright sapphires. Knee-length black hair fell over his thin shoulders to blend with a long black cloak trimmed with white ermine. The Oerhyu was ghostly beautiful with a distant calm face and rose to his feet accompanied by the sound of fabric as his exquisite cloak fell around him. “Greetings. Welcome to the Room of Souls.” He gestured toward the crackling fire. “Please warm yourselves and rest. We will continue when you are ready.”

The Oerhyu’s voice was serene and soothing, his presence catching them as off-guard as the appearance of such a homey room in the middle of the Stairwell’s treacherous web. He answered the first question that spilled out of an incredulous mouth with a simple smile. “I gave up my name many years ago when I betrayed my people’s faith. My Lord asked me to gain my redemption by becoming the Guardian of the Sigilarian Stairwell, the resting place of the Divinari.

“Please, this is a place of respite, you may relax and remain as long as you desire. You will be under my protection until you choose to pass from this room.”

“What lies in the next room?”

The Unnamed Guardian lowered his head and steepled his fingers in front of him, his shiny mane falling forward. “Your judgment.”

They remained silent, digesting the portentous news. What they were seeking was just ahead, so very close. It was both unnerving and liberating.

“You have remained here, in this place, since the end of the Red Sword Wars, haven’t you?” Agemeer asked, stepping forward.

“Indeed.”

“Alone?”

“On occasion, I have guests such as yourselves but no more than a handful a year. Of that handful, less than one per year pass here.” The Unnamed Guardian returned to his chair. With a gesture, the stairwell disappeared. In its place appeared chairs and a table laden with food and drink.

“The War ended fifty-three years ago, even for an Elf, that wait…”

“Worry not. I am performing the task my Lord set for me. I am content.” The Unnamed Guardian replied, tone even. The team took up their chairs. Aya chose a slice of fruit off a platter and nibbled it, finding it to be very appealing. Genlo, predictably, did not take a seat and lingered at a watchful distance.

“Who is this Lord you speak of, may I ask?” The mage said, taking up a goblet of pale wine.

“The Emperor Aerekoramase.”

Aya knew that name, as did the ecstatic Agemeer. The name meant nothing to Serrtin and Genlo, meaning only a vague memory to SkyRift who despite taking the appearance of an Elf had kept himself very remote during the Age of the Red Sword Wars.

“So it is you who passes judgment on who is allowed to pass?” Serrtin asked, chewing a bite of roasted chicken.

“No, not exactly.” The Unnamed Guardian said spreading his hands. “The Stairwell passes those who are worthy. Worth is judged by ones own eyes and heart. I am only here to make sure you gain peace of mind and rest before opening yourself to judgment.”

“What can we expect from the test and beyond that?” Serrtin asked practically.

“The test, as you put it, will reflect like a mirror what is within your soul. It is never the same from one person to the next so all I can say is expect the unexpected. And be honest with yourself.” The Oerhyu told them. “Should you be found worthy of continuing on through the Stairwell, upon reaching its exit, you will step foot to the Sigil, the home of the Divinari. From there, it is up to you.”

“From there, we will find the answers we seek…” Aya said softly