The Secrets of Zothara, chapter four
A sword and planet adventure story
Passing through the portal was like plunging into a pool of ice. For a moment, the light consumed Tren completely and he fell, stretching and sinking and melting into infinity. Then the light fizzled and wavered. His feet touched something solid, shunting him forward, through the light and into the largest chamber he’d ever seen. Even the great sky temples of Zeo were nothing compared to this. The great domed ceiling, adorned with an incredible tapestry of sun and moon and star motifs, was hundreds of feet overhead. The cavernous chamber was many hundreds of yards wide, with the far wall appearing as a distant horizon. Rising from the chamber’s centre was a great spire, wrapped in a spiral stair and reaching halfway towards the domed roof. Suspended above it was a great sphere of silver glass, easily the size of a Banking Clan frigate. A vaguely humanoid shadow swirled within the sphere’s depths, crackling with black lightning and whispering incomprehensible secrets.
“Steady,” he grunted as Jarria and Gramn stumbled into the vault, but it was as much for himself as for them.
Gramn lurched forward. Jarria grabbed his shoulder and he blinked, looking about in a frantic daze. “What is this place?”
“The Herazor’s tomb I should guess.” Tren said, gesturing at the sphere.
The shadow within shimmered and hissed. A single, strangled cry cut through the whispering and echoed around the vault then fell silent.
“It knows we’re here.” Gramn’s eyes were wide. “It knows. It means to keep us.”
“Even gods don’t always get what they want.” Tren hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
“There,” Jarria hissed, pointing halfway up the spire.
A procession of Rel ascended the spiraling stair. The Rel at their head carried the powerstone aloft before him, radiating deep, blue light. Behind them, the shambling mass of Tren’s own crew followed.
“Does anyone see Brend or Toh?” Tren asked.
“No, Captain,” Jarria answered.
Gramn only looked around the vault furtively.
“Alright then. No time to lose, we’ve got to catch the Rel.”
Tren and Jarria advanced several steps, but Gramn remained rooted in place.
“We shan’t be leaving here,” he muttered.
“Courage man,” Tren snapped. He’d meant it to be encouraging, but his voice was laced with irritation. “We have to get the powerstone. Come on.”
“If we go up, we won’t come down again. The dark one won’t let us. He means to keep us. Can’t…can’t you hear him?”
“Of course I can. Stay here if you’re afraid, but I’m going on. We don’t have time for this.”
Gramn mumbled a response, but Tren had already turned away. He nodded to Jarria, and together they set off across the expanse. A moment later, Gramn’s pattering footsteps followed them.
Distance lost all meaning once they set off across the vault’s floor. Whether by some trick of the light or the Herazor’s incessant whispering fraying the edges of their minds, Tren could not say, but as they went the spire rapidly drew closer. Within a minute, or maybe less, it towered over them, with the bottom most step of polished white stone at their feet.
“Slowly,” Tren whispered. “An ambush could be awaiting us around any bend.”
“No,” Gramn droned. “We must… hurry…” He lurched forwards. Tren and Jarria both reached for him, but his clumsy, lurching movements belied a surprising agility. He curled around their grasp and staggered up the stairwell. Tren cursed and dashed after him. Jarria followed.
“Gramn,” Tren called after him. “Gramn, slow down. Remember who–”
They rounded a bend and suddenly Toh and Brend stood before them, blank eyed, with ignited vibroswords humming in their hands. Behind them, Gramn vanished around the stair’s curve.
Tren stumbled and drew back. He and Jarria ignited their blades, holding them ready.
“Stand aside,” Tren barked. “We’re not your enemies.” He had no desire to fight his crew. “Stand aside,” he said again. “That’s an order.”
In answer they lurched forward as one, their movements stiff but quick. Tren and Jarria raised their blades to meet the attack. Toh and Brend mounted an offense of blind savagery, forcing Tren and Jarria into a desperate defense. They fell back, as their humming vibroswords clased. The crash of steel on steel reverberated through the vault.
Tren stepped back and his foot tread air. He faltered, swaying at the edge of the stair, desperately fighting for balance. Somehow they were now far up the spire, with the polished floor of the vault hundreds of feet below them.
Brend lunged at Tren with a broad sweeping strike, trying to force him over. Tren pirouetted left, mere inches in front of Brend’s blade, regaining his footing “Stand down, Brend!” he bellowed. He knew it was helpless though. Toh and Brend’s minds were gone. Would he have to put them down?
“Captain!” Jarria called, turning aside an overhead blow from Toh. “We waste time here. These two are lost to us.”
Tren came forwards, striking for Brend’s sword hand. Brend drew back, then lurched into a counter attack. Tren went to parry, but too slow, Brend’s blade slipped through his defense, straight for his head. Jarria moved in a flash, severing Brend’s arm. Brend didn’t cry out or falter. He only barreled forwards, empty hand reaching for Tren’s face, stump pumping out pulses of dark blood. His glazed eyes showed no fear, no pain, no anger. Truely, nothing of Brend remained.
Tren’s heart sank. He cleaved Brend’s throat with a single, sure strike. As Brend fell, limp and gurgling, Tren glimpsed Toh cut down Jarria from the corner of his eye.
“No!” Tren cried, lunging towards Toh. A blind rage took him. He struck left. Toh parried. Tren feinted, then thrust beneath Toh’s defense, skewring him in the gut. Tren brought his blade up, cleaving through Toh’s chest, neck, and face. Toh dropped in a shower of blood.
Tren turned away, dropping to his knees beside Jarria. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow and rapid. Her abdomen was drenched in blood.
“You waste time here captain,” she wheezed. “Go… quickly.”
“We need to get you back to the ship. There must be etherite enough to–”
She rolled her eyes, holding up a hand for quiet. “None of that will matter if you cannot retrieve the powerstone.” She glanced at her abdomen. “We both know a wound like this won’t kill me for days yet.”
Tren nodded. “Alright,” he said, but he hesitated.
The chiming of what must’ve been a great bell or gong sounded from somewhere far above, shaking the spire and reverberating through the entire chamber. Toh and Brend’s bodies jerked and shuddered, moaning. For a moment, Tren thought they were about to rise, ready to fight once more. He rose, tightening his grip on his sword. Then the bodies withered into drawn, dried skin and bone before disintegrating into thin tendrils of dark smoke, rising into the air, leaving only their possessions behind. A wave of hoarse laughter rippled through the whispering. From above a low chanting echoed down to them.
Jarria gave Tren a weak shove. “Go. You’ve got no time to waste.”
Tren nodded. “Stay alive, Jarria. I’ll retrieve the powerstone then get you back to the ship. I swear it by my honour as captain.”
Jarria rolled her eyes.
Tren rose, took up Toh’s sword in his offhand, then hurried up the stairs.
The whispers beckoned to him, echoing through his skull and pulling him onwards. He’d been ready for a long hike to the spire’s top but next he knew, Tren stepped off the stair onto a wide, polished platform.
The powerstone sat in a shallow depression, perfectly sized to hold it, in the platform’s exact middle. In a ring around it, Tren’s human crew knelt facing inwards with bowed heads and stooped shoulders. Gramn was among them, lowering himself into a gap in the circle. All thirteen Rel stood in a ring on the outside. Twelve with their hands and faces raised, chanting in low voices. The thirteenth, the largest, the alpha with red mottling and spined ridges down his back, walked between the two rings, his clawed hands drifting over the heads of the humans.
The great sphere of crystal glass, hung in the air, about twenty feet overhead. Heavy clouds, laced with dark lightening and thick shadow, swirled within its depths.
A momentary crescendo washed through the whispering drone. The alpha Rel stopped, behind a young man named Taymin, a hand on the Ternius for barely a year, green but full of promise. Tren had thought perhaps one day Taymin would make a fine mate, or maybe even a captain.
Taymin let out a long, low sigh and keeled over. The powerstone pulsed with light and rang with a ground shaking chime. Taymin evaporated into dark smoke. The shadows within the sphere coalesced into the hideous impression of a writhing face, pressed against the glass, and inhaled Taymin’s smoke. Beside the face a narrow crack formed.
“No!” Tren cried, but his voice was drowned out by a fresh wave of laughter. He stepped forwards, swords ready, but the Rel ignored him.
Tren blinked. He was halfway across the platform, the call of the Herazor tugging at his mind. He tried to pull back. He had to resist.
He blinked again, and he was on his knees in the ring with the rest of his crew. His swords were gone and only five of his crew remained. Piles of clothes were all that remained of the others.
The whispering filled him, vibrating through his body, and flooding his mind, drowning all other thoughts. His mind began fading again. Surely there was no greater purpose than to become one with a Herazor. Than to help a Herazor break his bonds and once again take his rightful place as master of all the Twelve Worlds.
“No,” he spluttered, in a soft, slurred voice. He tried to stand but his body was numb.
The alpha Rel stood across from him, directly behind Gramn. He looked at Tren and hissed.
Tren rolled on his heels and tumbled backwards, the outer ring of chanting Rel blurring around him. Was that Sizzik behind him? It was impossible to tell. All the Rel looked more or less the same and Tren’s blurred vision swam. If it was Sizzik what difference would it make? Like as not he’d be enthralled by the Herazor same as the rest.
Tren reached for the woman next to him: Kera, a trusted deckhand of the last four years and a master of card games. Grabbing her shoulder, he shook her with what little strength he could muster.
“Kera,” he slurred. “Kera, wake up. Remember yourself. Fight!”
She stirred, looking around sluggishly. Anger rolled through the whispering, burning Tren’s bones as it rattled through him. The alpha Rel growled and began around the outside of the ring towards him.
Kera’s eyes slowly grew more focused. “We have to get away,” Tren said to her.
She stared at him blankly, as if trying to work out what he was saying. Then she blinked and nodded. Tren pushed himself off her, tumbling in the other direction and scrambling over a sooty pile of clothes to Khem, a balding middle-aged hand with a drawn leathery face. Tren’s body was still so clumsy he crashed into Khem and the two went down together.
“Huh?” Khem mumbled, looking around in a daze. Behind them the Rel he took for Sizzik shuddered and looked around. Several others lowered their hands slightly, stuttering in their incantation.
“Khem,” Tren said, quickly rolling himself off. “Wake up!”
“Erm, awake,” he murmured, not moving.
“Khem!” Tren snapped. “All hands to stations!”
Around the circle the remaining sailors blinked and groaned, looking around with bleary eyes. Several more Rel began to stir as well. Tren went to stand but the alpha lunged at him from behind. Tren ducked, rolling back. The alpha descended, hissing, grabbing Tren’s shoulders. Tren pulled him down, yanking him into the ring with him. The Rel's eyes went wide and he tried to pull back, but it was too late, they both hit the ground in a struggling, thrashing heap. Tren tried to win free, but the Rel was stronger than he would’ve believed. All around them sailors and Rel stirred. The alpha raked him with his claws, hissing and spraying him with putrid spittle, and tearing bloody chunks from his arms and chest. He raised his arms desperately, batting away the Rel’s assault.
Above them, the shadowy face watched with a hideous grin.
“The powerstone!” Tren bellowed. In his peripheral vision the crew stirred but none entered the ring. He flailed for the powerstone. It was just beyond his reach. The alpha Rel hissed, bending forward and sinking his fangs into Tren’s neck. Tren cried out and bloody spittle burst from his mouth. He tried to push the alpha off but his strength had left him.
Then Sizzik came from behind, wrapping his arms around the alpha and pulling him back, tearing free shredded flesh in its blood splattered mouth. The alpha twisted, shredding Sizzik with his claws.
Tren pulled himself towards the powerstone, and wrapped his hand around it. The powerstone pulsed, and let out a low chime. Burning, blinding heat erupted from it. Tren’s hand began to smoke and sizzle, the skin bubbling and burning. Then the alpha was on top of him again, hissing violently. Tren swung the powerstone at the alpha. Both his hand and the alpha’s face shattered into a cloud of dust and dark smoke, curling through the air to be drunk by the dark one above. The powerstone fell to the platform and rolled away, its light going dim. Together, the alpha and Tren evaporated completely.
“Get away!” Tren cried, although he wasn’t sure if he’d actually made any sound. His body was smoke. His mind was one with the air, with the chamber, with the alpha, and with the dark one. Below him he was aware of his crew scrambling to enclose the powerstone in its case. He could feel the ripples of their minds. They were free of the Herazor’s will, at least for the moment. They would take the powerstone and return to the ship. They would be free.
The smoke of Tren’s body touched the glass. The Herazor drank deeply of his life, and all that had been Tren was lost to oblivion.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Woah.
All hail Tren!