The Secrets of Zothara, chapter three
A sword and planet adventure story
As Tren expected, Jarria, Toh, and Brand emerged from the hold–cat’s eye googles on foreheads–to meet him on the slanting deck an hour later. What surprised him was Gramn and Sizzik following close behind.
“I’m sorry to ‘ave doubted you cap’in,” Gramn said. “You’ve led us true all these years. No reason you won’t get us out of this mess we’re in now.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Gramn, but thank you for joining me.”
Gramn nodded.
“Thank you all for joining me.”
Toh chuckled. “I don’t see how we’ve got much of a choice,” he said looking out into the blackness beyond the light orb’s dim glow. “It’s this or just sit around ‘ere, waiting to die.”
“Hamus said he’d work on repairing the ship while we were gone,” Gramn said defensively.
“Hamus can’t fix it by himself, he’s no engineer.” Brend said. “He’ll just be sitting around here waiting. He talks himself up but it’s cowardice what keeps him here, not prudence.”
Gramn opened his mouth to speak but Tren quickly interjected. “I won’t have you speaking ill of your crewmates, Brend. I gave Hamus a choice and he made it. Besides, we need someone here to watch the ship.”
“Aye, Cap’in.”
From the corner of his eye, Tren saw Gramn give Brend a black look. Then past Gramn he noticed Sizzik shifting in the gloom. The Rel near melted into the darkness. Tension between crew members Tren understood and knew how to deal with, but Sizzik… He knew little of the Rel, could he be trusted?
“You do speak some truth though, Brend. Hamus cannot not hope to repair the ship alone. As grateful as I am that you’re all willing perhaps someone should remain here to aid him.” Tren made a show of sweeping his eyes over the crew, feigning consideration. “Sizzik. Would you be willing to stay behind to help him?”
An uncomfortable moment of silence passed. Tren thought he would get no answer. Then Sizzik shook his head. “No,” he croaked, tapping his chest. “This one help.”
“You would help us against your own kinsfolk?”
Jarria laughed. “You should’ve seen him against the Rel before. He’s clearly got no love for them.”
Sizzik tapped his chest again. “This one kill Rel. Help hums.” He did a sweeping gesture across the crew. “This one track Rel. Hums not find otherwise.”
Tren nodded. That was probably true. He didn’t know much about the Rel’s senses but they clearly had no problem navigating in the darkness. If Sizzik could be trusted then his help would be a great boon.
“Alright then. Thank you, Sizzik. Thank you all. Is everyone ready?”
The crew murmured in agreement, pulling down their cat’s eye goggles and checking their sword belt straps.
“Alright then,” Tren said, fixing his own goggles in place. The world opened up around him in fuzzy greyscale. “Let’s go hunt some Rel.”
***
They set a quick pace across the barren, blackened waste. Through the cat’s eye goggles the wasteland looked to stretch out endlessly in every direction. Every step cracked the crumbling crust of the ground, sending up clouds of grit and soot. Despite the thick scarves wrapped around their mouths and noses, dust still managed to fight its way through, irritating their throats and nostrils. The only one unaffected was Sizzik. He wore neither scarf, nor goggles and constantly had his nose to the ground, sniffing and searching as he went before them.
They stopped little and spoke less. Pausing only long enough for a quick drink before Sizzik was eager, almost anxious, to be off again.
Before long the ground began to subtly descend and the soft crust gave way to solid stone, riddled with cracks. Off in the distance, far beyond the range within which the goggles gave detailed vision, Tren could just make out the blurred shapes of what looked to be great, narrow spires, reaching with tapered points towards the sky.
Sizzik’s pace quickened, following the scent without a moment’s hesitation, never wavering or pausing to look around. Soon they found themselves descending a series of flat rocky shelves, before entering into a narrow, yet towering chasm. The rocky cliffs to either side pressed in close, forcing them to go single file. The way began to turn ever so slightly to the left and the downwards slope grew sharper. Their pace slowed, although Sizzik was anxious to rush ahead.
“Slow down,” Tren hissed just before the Rel disappeared around a bend.
Sizzik hesitated, looking and gesturing for them to follow. He grimaced, the most emotion Tren had ever seen from him
“He’s leading us into a trap,” Brend muttered. “Can’t trust–”
Jarria shushed him into silence.
“We’re going ta die ‘ere,” Gramn mumbled.
“Quiet, all of you,” Tren said as they drew near Sizzik.
“Come,” Sizzik said, turning to go.
“No, wait I said.” Tren grabbed his shoulder.
“No. Not wait. Go.”
“The cap’in told you to wait, so you wait,” Brend spat, his voice echoing through the chasm. The party fell silent as the echoes died. Brend shuffled on his feet, clearly expecting a reprimand. Tren didn’t even bother.
“Why is it so important to go so quickly?” Tren asked.
Sizzik pointed at Tren. “Hums say so.”
“I know but speed won’t matter if we’re… Why are you helping us against the other Rel?”
Sizzik didn’t answer. Brend grunted.
“I know you can understand me and that you can speak. So answer me. You’re the only Rel who didn’t run off. Why did they run off and why didn’t you? And why are you so hell bent on catching them?”
Sizzik tapped his chest. “This one want go home.” Then he tapped his head. “This one hear call. Master calls to all Rel. Other Rel take stone, stop you leave. Master wants all here. Other Rel lost to call. Not this one.” He tapped his chest. “This one hear call but not listen. Want leave. Want go home.”
“What call?” Tren was sure he already knew though.
A faint whispering rolled through the air, beckoning to them. Sizzik shuddered.
“Call of old masters. Long ago Rel slaves. Now free. This one not be slave again.”
“The old masters? Do you mean the Herazor?”
Sizzik nodded.
That made sense. If the legends were true just about all the peoples of the Twelve Worlds were once subject to the Herazor. Whether the Herazor were benevolent or tyrannical depended on whose stories you listened to.
“And the Herazor calls for you to return to slavery?”
Sizzik nodded again.
“Is that why the Rel were so eager to sign on with me? So they could return to their servitude.”
Sizzik shook his head.
“Why then?”
“Elder wanted stop old master’s return. Elder scared you will set old master free. Sent Rel to stop you. Break ship. Scare crew. But now call too strong. Other Rel say strange things. They take powerful stone to free old masters. When old masters free not just Rel slaves again. All slaves again.” He tapped his head.” Hear call. Not listen. Not be slave.” He tapped his chest. “This one go home.”
“So they’re going to use the powerstone to free a Herazor? Is that where you’re leading us? To some sort of prison?”
“Tomb. From there old master calls. Louder and louder.”
“And… why the powerstone? How would that help to free the Herazor?”
“Not know?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
“Powerful stones made by old masters long ago. Power for their wonders. Hums find. Hums take. Use for ships, use for cities, but not make. Old master wants back. This power will open tomb. Set him free.
“Alright then.” Tren said, turning back to the rest of his crew. Their expressions ranged from shaken to terrified. “We’d best get moving.”
“You don't mean to go on cap’in? To go up against a Herazor?”
“No, I don’t mean to go up against a Herazor. I mean to catch the Rel long before we get anywhere near one. We still need to get back the powerstone.”
Tren nodded at Sizzik. The Rel turned and bolted off. The others hurried to follow. Brend muttered something under his breath but Tren didn’t catch what it was.
The chasm steadily descended until they finally emerged into the bottom of a deep, circular depression. Around its edge, the sheer, forty foot cliffs were adorned with motifs of fire and dark, twisted creatures. The floor of the basin was a smooth mosaic of white and black brick, descending towards the centre, where awaited a great, standing gateway, barred with two heavy bronze doors. The entire basin was bathed in a pale light for which there was no perceptible source. They removed their goggles.
Sizzik paused as he stepped out into the open, motioning for them to stop. As far as Tren could tell the basin was empty.
“What is it?” Tren asked, stepping up beside him. “Is that the en–”
Sizzik motioned for quiet. Brend murmured. Sizzik rubbed his head.
“Down there. Old master tomb.”
“Jus’ a lonesome gate,” Toh said softly.
“Some sort of portal?” Tren asked. “Have the others already gone through?”
Sizzik shrugged. “Call louder from in there.” He rubbed his head again.
“Cap’in,” Brend whispered from behind.
“Yes?”
“Er,” he hesitated, looking sideways at Sizzik. “The, er, Rel’s been a great help, sir, make no mistake. But if he’s hearing this, er, call as he says, maybe it would be better to leave him here. Who knows what we’ll find down there, but if he’s truly led us to the powerstone, then surely we’re more than capable of going to collect it ourselves, aye?”
Tren nodded, then turned to Sizzik. “You’ve done well to lead us here, Sizzik. For that you have my thanks. I think we can take it from here though.”
Sizzik looked at him for a moment, then at the arch with what could’ve almost been longing. Finally, he looked back at Tren and nodded.
“Stay here and keep watch. We’ll retrieve the powerstone and then we can all go home.”
Tren turned to his crew and drawing his vibrosword, made a quick gesture for them to follow. They crept down into the basin, scanning the cliffs for any sign of enemy or ambush. But there was nothing. All was quiet and still, yet as they drew closer to the gate, a low, hoarse whisper rose. At first it seemed to come from the gate itself, rising up from the basin’s lowest point, but as they drew closer it surrounded them, echoing up from the very ground beneath their feet and down from the tops of the distant cliffs. The tension grew thick and their pace quickened.
“This is a cursed place,” Gramn muttered.
“Aye,” Toh agreed. “We ought never have come here.”
The whispering rose in a sudden crescendo of agreement, then fell again, dropping back into an incessant background noise.
Tren’s heart pounded in his ribcage and sweat prickled his brow. “No,” he said weakly. “The powerstone. We need to retrieve it.” Even if he could leave without it would he? He wanted to go on. He needed to.
“Aye, we need to,” Brend said as if he could read Tren’s thoughts. He stepped towards the arch sluggishly, his eyes glazed and mouth hanging limp.
The whispering rose again as Brend reached for it. Tren blinked, and then he was beside Brend with his hand outstretched as well.
Tren and Brend both placed their hands on the gate and the whispers fell silent. With no pressure from either of them, the great bronze doors swung inwards of their own accord.
“Highest protect us,” Toh murmured, but Tren hardly heard him.
Beyond the gate was a long, dark tunnel of smooth, unadorned stone. Within was only a beckoning silence.
Tren blinked. They were deep within the tunnel, although Tren didn’t remember entering. Far ahead in the distance was a tiny speck of light. Far behind was the equally distant arch of the gate through which they’d entered.
The light ahead beckoned, but for a moment, he hesitated. A chill clambered up his spine.
“Why have you stopped, cap’in?” Brend said in a flat voice. “We must go on.”
“To…get the powerstone…to leave?” Gramn said confusedly.
“To answer the call,” Brend intoned.
“To answer the call,” Tren and Toh repeated as one, although to Tren it was almost as if another had spoken through his lips.
Then they stood at the tunnel’s far end before a solid wall of white light. The whispers reached out from beyond it, grabbing hold of Tren’s mind, pulling at him. He grit his teeth, trying to pull back, lest it take him completely. Toh and Brend shambled past.
“Wait,” Tren whispered.
They said nothing.
Tren tried to reach for them, but they stepped into the light and were gone.
Behind him Gramn shifted restlessly on his fett, a dazed look on his face. Jarria stood ready, face scrunched up in determination, with her vibrosword in hand.
Gramn looked at Tren uneasily. “I can… the call, Cap’in…I can… Do we?”
“I hear it as well, Gramn. But we can’t follow it.”
“But the–”
“We go in for the powerstone. But we go in on our own terms. Whatever we find in the light, remember who you are and why you’re here.”
“Aye, Cap’in,” Gramn said.
Jarria grunted and nodded, tightening her jaw.
Tren nodded back, then turned and stepped into the light.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Resistance is futile.