Shath walked through darkness for six nights under the shattered
moon, hiding from the sun by day. The desert grew more and more
desolate, until he moved through a wasteland without feature or mark
save barren earth and jagged stone. The stars shone down by night
and by day, and there was nothing to be found of food or water or
ease.
His small companion clung to him when he walked, and he gave her the
last of his food and his water, knowing he could go on as far as he
must. He was not a man made only of flesh and blood, but a creation
of will and endurance. He would not fail in his quest because he
would not allow himself to falter, and he would sustain himself upon
pure iron in his heart and his veins.
On the sixth night, under the brilliant stars, they came to the place
where the earth was torn, and he saw the first shadows of the trees.
Ahead, across the earth baked hard as steel, the shadows rose one
after another, and as they came closer he saw the familiar shapes.
Like trees they thrust up from the desolate soil, metallic trunks
forking again, and again, and again, until they ended in an array of
glassine arrow points thrust upward to the sky.
He had never seen more than one, only the single, lone tree that had
been the center of the myths of his people. The tree that did not
live yet did not die. The tree that cut flesh and drank blood, that
sparked like fire when touched, and whispered to those brave enough
to embrace it.
Now he saw a forest of them, silent and still and gleaming silver in
the starshine. Beneath, where roots should have been, there were
metallic trails in the dirt linking one to the next. He felt a
presence in them, a hum beneath the ability of his ears to sense it.
Like a voice so low it cannot be heard, only sensed. There was
something alive in this place, this dead place.
He moved among the trees carefully, keeping away from the razor
leaves, and his companion huddled close against him, afraid. He
wished he knew where to send her so she would be safe, wished he knew
what to do with her, for he knew he was going into danger, and
nothing could stop that. He wished her did not simply carry her from
one danger to another.
Beyond the trees, the ground dropped away, and there in the moonlight
he stopped and stared, for he had never seen anything so vast in
scale, so immense it rendered everything else insignificant. It was
a rent in the earth, a tear so deep and wide it vanished into the
distance. Jagged and black, the sides dropped away from sight into a
mist that lay below, and he knew this was the place he sought, and
whatever he had been sent to find lay below, far down in the dark
places.
He held up his iron hand and looked at it, wondering what bond there
was between this thing that was not a part of his flesh, and this
place hidden on the edge of the world. They were both the work of
the ancients, he knew that, but beyond that knowledge was nothing.
The ancients had destroyed their world so long ago none remembered
it; none knew what manner of world it had been. He himself could not
imagine a world other than the one he dwelled in, and did not wish
to. The world was flesh, and blood, and steel, and that was all he
wanted.
He made his way to the edge of the cliff and looked down, feeling
wind sweep up past him, blowing back his hair. The air from the
deeps smelled of strange life, and he wondered what manner of things
might dwell down there, hidden from the sight of the sky.
His companion on his shoulder ruffled her wings and plucked at his
hair, and he looked at her. She was wide-eyed and pale, and she
looked down into the deeps and then questioningly at him, and he
could only nod. He gestured, to show that she might go if she
wished, but she only clung harder to him, and made no sign that she
meant to let go. He stroked her small white wings, and again he
wished he might return her to her home, but he did not know from
whence she came, and he could not force her to go alone in this
wasteland.
Shath had no rope, nothing to help him in his descent, so he simply
climbed down over the edge with his hands, using his strength alone
to cling to the black, crystalline rocks. They descended below him
in tiers and setbacks in the shapes of jewels that gleamed like dark
ice, and he did not know how far below they might reach, but he would
not stop until he found what he had come to seek. He climbed down,
out of the light of the stars, into darkness.
o0o
He descended through layers of mist, feeling the coolness on his
skin, the condensation dripping down as he labored. His companion
flitted around him as he clawed his way down across the jagged faces
of the crystalline stones. She found easy wind in the updrafts that
wafted up the cliffsides, and the moist air seemed to revive her. It
was welcome to feel air that was not bone-dry and baked by the
endless sun, and he welcomed it in his lungs as well.
Once beneath the strata of fog, he began to encounter plant life
unlike anything he had ever seen. Violet vines with blue flowers
clung to the rock face, and mosses in hues of red and edged with
black grew in cracks and beneath the shade of larger stones. He
smelled the scent of flowers and began to hear the sounds of rushing
water, and in the mist loomed the shadows of immense trees hung with
vines and sprouting with glowing fungi. Before he quite realized it,
he was climbing down through a forest hidden here beneath the earth.
Deeper, and the life became stranger, and he saw flowers encrusted
with crystalline growth, and vines entombed in the stone itself.
Here, the rock was growing to cover the forest that grew from it.
The boles of trees were festooned with jewel-like formations, and
they glittered in the dimness.
At last he reached a kind of floor to the endless ravine, and he set
his feet upon a carpet of slender grasses that cracked and broke like
glass beneath his tread. He heard water, and through the mist the
cliffsides and the massive trees were only shadows marking the edges
of this hidden world. He did not know, in truth, what he sought. He
had believed this was a place of the ancients, but it seemed much
stranger than the ruins he had seen of that lost people. This place
felt alien, and the work of something far more arcane.
He waded through the grass, his small companion coming to crouch on
his shoulder, and he bore her weight without thinking of it.
Crystalline pillars thrust up from the earth, and soon enough he came
to a place where a waterfall cascaded down the cliffside and flowed
across, forming a barrier of water that was not very deep, but flowed
swiftly.
The water was clear and moved fast, and he wondered where it came
from. There must be some spring that fed it, for there was no rain
in the land above. Strange to find this oasis of alien beauty in the
wasteland. It was deathly quiet save for the sound of water, and he
heard no sounds of insects or small animals, and it made him wary,
reminded him that this was no natural forest.
He crossed the stream, glad of the cold water when he waded through
it, and then followed the path lined with sharp crystal growths and
towering trees. The ground underfoot became smooth and hard, plated
with hexagons of glassy sheen, and there were fewer irregularities in
it, so it was almost flat. Flowers lined the path, their petals
encased in clear crystal like ice.
He heard the tread before he saw it. Something heavy moved in the
mist, and it was slow, so it took a moment before he realized it was
the footfalls of something huge. He crouched down and put his flesh
hand against the cool surface of the path, and he felt the shocks
that traveled through like the beats of an enormous heart, and then
it grew closer, and his companion whimpered with a small voice and
flew from his shoulder to crouch on a slender tree limb above.
Shath drew out his sword, dark and tempered with the bones of kings.
He had expected there would be a guardian here, something to protect
the power he sought, but that heavy tread drew more menace with it
than he had foreseen. He heard a shimmering, delicate sound in its
wake, and he realized the crystalline leaves of the trees and the
glass-sheathed petals of the frozen flowers were trembling musically
at the approach of the unseen.
It emerged into the light slowly, pushing forth from the mist between
the upright trees as though it stepped through a gate in the fog.
Three times the height of a man, it first seemed to be armored, and
then he realized it was made partially of metal. It walked on four
legs, the head heavy and covered with glassy spines, the mouth hung
with teeth as long as his body. Clawed forelegs scarred the ground
where it walked, and the immense shoulders were topped by ridges of
spikes.
It was like a great predator made from metal and from flesh both, the
whole of it grown over with the crystal skin of this place. It
glittered in the dim light like a statue, but it moved with a motive
will, and a multitude of sharp lights gleamed on its head like eyes.
When it came for him, he heard the wail of his winged companion as
she cried in despair. But he was not to be defeated by fear – he
was no milk-fed son of soft lands. He was of the Horned Clans, and
battle was his meat and starvation his milk. He rushed to meet it,
and when it was almost on him he leaped aside, caught the fragile
branches of a tree, and hurled himself onto its back.
Needle-sharp spines and spikes splintered against his scaled armor,
and he gripped the armored hide with his one flesh hand, and then he
smote the thing with his sword in his hand of iron. The blade rang
on the plates with a sound like a hammer on an anvil, and he struck
with all his power and saw them dent and crumple under the strength
of his blows.
The beast howled with many voices and shook him off, hurled him aside
to smash amongst the crystal flowers, and then it came ravening for
him, shattering tree limbs as it shouldered them aside to reach him.
Shath pushed up onto his feet and took his sword in both hands,
howling the battle-cry of his people. The jaws snapped for him and
he shattered teeth with a stroke of his sword. The great head dashed
him aside and the claws furrowed the earth as it pawed at him.
It rooted for him with a great tusk, tearing a furrow in the hard
ground, and then it caught him and threw him into the air. He turned
end over end and fell through branches that broke like ice before he
smashed back to the earth. He staggered to his feet, tasting blood
that he spat upon the red flowers. Here was an enemy worthy to face.
Here was a death that would carry no shame.
It bore upon him like an idol of war, and he leaped to meet it,
smashing against the armored skull, hammering on it with his sword.
Black blood flowed, and terrible blows fell on him as it battered
itself against him. He drew back his arm and drove his sword into
the cluster of glowing eyes, and the thing howled with pain and
ancient fury. It reeled sideways and smashed through a wall of
branches.
Together they fell into a pool of deep, clear water, a cascade of it
falling down from on high, foaming as it spilled over the crystalline
rocks. Mist filled the air as they plunged into the water and
downward, the cold all around. Shath gripped his blade and drove it
in again and again, prying the armor apart, seeking the vitals
beneath.
It battered him against the rocks, and he felt the pain of it as
though from far away. He held his breath with a terrible will and
struck again and again as it bore him down until the light was all
but gone. It ground him against the bottom of the pool, and then it
tried to close him in its jaws. He felt teeth pierce his armor and
then his blood was in the water, flowing up around him.
He struck again, and this time the beast let loose of him and pushed
upward, seeking to leave him below to drown. He stabbed his blade
into the thing’s flank and hung onto the steel as it dragged him
upward. The guardian burst from the pool and shook its great head,
and now in the light Shath could see the streams of dark blood
pouring from the wounds he had made.
He tore his sword free as the beast clawed for the edge of the pool,
roaring like a demon from beyond the sky. Shath fought his way to
the shallows and staggered up. Blood ran from his wounds, and he
could not say how grave they might be. In the grip of his battle
madness, he did not stop to wonder, but hurled himself again upon his
enemy. He rained blows upon it while the great jaws yawned and
snapped for his flesh. His iron hand was filled with strength, and
he struck and struck again, until the blade wedged deep in the
armored throat in a torrent of blood, and then it snapped as he tried
to draw it free.
The beast fell into the shallows and lay there, heaving, pouring
forth blood that stained the water until it was still. Shath fell
back against the stones and looked at the broken sword in his hand,
the hilt-shard dark with red. Gasping for breath, he let it fall
into the water, feeling as though the last of his people had died,
and now he would remain here at the edge of the world.
o0o
He woke later, not knowing how long he had lain there. He looked up
into a narrow, pale face with wide eyes, and he smiled a little at
the sight of his small companion. She touched his face and spoke to
him, and he wished again that he could understand her.
He lay half in the water, chilled and stiff, but in less pain than he
had expected. He sat up and found his wounds stuffed with moss,
tended and cleaned. He nodded to her, and she spoke to him rapidly
until he gave in and stood up. He didn’t want to go on – he felt
at the limit of his strength – but then he remembered he was of the
Clans, and he could not give way, for he was the last. He remembered
the mocking power of the emperor, and he looked into the mist. He
had come seeking a power to match that.
Slowly, he rose and staggered into the forest, trying to shake off
his weakness, his malaise. He did not know what he was seeking, only
that he was certain he would know it if he found it. He passed among
trees and jagged, lovely crystals, and then he saw ahead of him trees
like the Tree of Death. They stood upright, branches dividing over
and over until they ended in arrowhead leaves that pointed straight
up. They were above, and now here again in the deeps of this strange
rift.
He walked among them, seeming to hear voices just beyond the reach of
hearing, and then ahead of him he saw a building made all of silvery
metal, the outside etched with sigils he could not read, and like
none he had ever seen. He approached it, and saw there was a vast
door, as far across as two men could reach with outstretched arms, as
tall as three men standing tall.
As he approached, he felt a thrum deep in his iron arm, and then the
door shone small lights and opened, lifting upward until it vanished
and revealed a blackness within. He went inside, heedless, now, his
companion awaiting outside, calling after him, but he would not turn
back. Lights glowed within as he passed, and he stepped into a
shrine.
It had to be a shrine, all of metal and crystal. A round chamber
with an altar at the center and a great sphere surmounting it.
Strange, irregular lines were etched upon the sphere, and there were
small lights that moved across the surface. It was beautiful to look
at, and very strange. He did not know what it was. There was
writing upon it, markings he did not know the meaning of.
He felt a vibration in the air, and a tingling in his iron arm. It
seemed to creep up his shoulder, as though it sought to reach deeper
into his body, to join with him in some way he did not understand.
He wondered again who the warrior had been who bore it before him.
For now he knew that the arm had come from this place, or that both
shared a common origin. This was a holy place of that ancient people
long vanished from the earth.
There was a small pedestal before the sphere, and upon that was an
impression of a hand. Slowly, uncertain, he placed his iron hand
within that hollow, and it fit cleanly. He felt a tingle go through
his flesh, and then lights played across the sphere and the lines
moved, and he felt something tickle at his mind, an awareness.
Something spoke to him deep within, and he knew things he had not
known before.
He knew the sphere was the world, lines of land and sea marked upon
it, and he knew the small lights that moved were weapons of the
ancients that rested beyond the sky. They had awaited there since
before the breaking of the world, and now they would answer to him.
They were swords such as no living man had ever seen. They would
scour the earth and destroy his enemies, and with them he would
strike down the emperor. He felt the world lie within the grasp of
his metal fingers.
o0o
When he walked out of that place, he was a different man. He went
with his head up, his back straight despite his wounds. He was
healing more quickly, though he did not really notice. Tiny lights
flickered in his blue eyes, and he felt a pressing of wisdom he could
not name or voice. He knew the names of the rocks and the trees, he
knew that the trees of death were instruments for speaking to the
weapons beyond the sky, and he took branches from them, and broke
them into pieces. From these he would grow more when he needed them.
His pale companion flew down and spoke quickly, glad to see him –
that he could see in her face. He bent down and lifted her up, put
her on his shoulder, and he laughed when she did not stop speaking.
There was water here, and food as well, that he knew. They could
leave this place and go east again. Shath the Iron Handed had gone
as far as he would go to the west, and from now his path would carry
him back toward the Black Emperor, and to the battle he yearned for,
when the enemy of his people would be scourged from the face of the
earth. Now his steps turned toward his chosen fate, and the day when
all would be decided.
Meant to tell you in the previous Shath chapter: I like your addition of the winged girl. Gives a human warmth to your iron hero. Still enjoying this!
ReplyDeleteThanks! She was one element that I kind of added without thinking about it, and she seemed to work really well.
ReplyDelete