LIADAN I

  The marvel of the Tengu caves was breathtaking, the roofs of unfathomably large chambers glittered like the night sky and bioluminescent fungi made Liadan’s glowing hand mostly superfluous. Deep in her heart she knew that the reason that she maintained the holy light was to cling to her battered faith and find solace in its physical manifestation.

  Liadan was beyond grateful that she and her companions no longer delved through that wretched tomb, full of dangers and evil. Despite emerging into a more welcoming environment, she still felt residual claustrophobia from the ordeal that they had barely survived. After they had escaped from its bowels, she had tried to heal Guillaume of the wounds he suffered from the monstrous rainbow scarab and could not understand why she could not aid her friend. He was rapidly growing weaker and she was terrified that he would not last much longer.

  Liadan had lost track of how many times she had pressed her hands against the wound running from Guillaume chest to his shoulder, once more her healing attempt was rebuffed by a powerful force within her friend.

  As she knelt by the Jotling’s side, Esker tensed and put her large hand to the floor of the cavern. “Run!” she shouted. “Run for your lives!” In one smooth motion, she slung the barbed insect limb she wielded as a weapon over the shoulder of her maimed left arm and stooped to cradle Guillaume like a swaddled infant.

  “Why the bloody rush?” Eógan snapped, still in a dark mood from his time spent apart from the others in the dungeon. He cocked his head, the spectral tattoo of the owl on his chest mirrored his movements. “Oh fuck me, I do not like the sound of that.”

  “Sound of wha-“ Liadan could not finish her query before the Pecht grabbed her by the hand and yanked her to her feet.

  “Run!” Esker and Eógan shouted in unison, terror apparent on both of their faces. Liadan felt a bone rattling tremor, moments later fissures arced along the walls of the cave. She ran with wild abandon.

  As rocks began to rain from the roof of the tunnel she felt as if she had been shattered into similar fragments: those pieces could be reformed into a beautiful mosaic, or lay strewn about the floor, lost in the dust. Her conviction had never before been so tested.

  The betrayal she experienced at the abbey by the senior sisters and the abbess was bittersweet in that it led to her communion the Broken Man and the Holy Mother. The cruelty and hazing that she had experienced at the nunnery was counterbalanced by a sense of discovering the path to salvation.

  The web of wyrd that Lady Galdr had ensnared Liadan and her companions within had reinforced a steely resolve: she wanted to help those around her and had the opportunity to do so, not just for a village, but for the land she loved.

  In retrospect, her childhood idealism felt naive. The stinging bite of betrayal when the fairy tale of her courtship by Sir Marin turned into a nightmare. Was she stupid to believe? Clinging to a false hope that would only ever lead to unbearable despair? She had tried to help her people confront the Jotman and that had led her to the literal bowels of the earth, beset by the undead, fleeing for her life.

  This was not how Liadan wanted to live, not how she could survive. Her breath quickened into a rasp as she struggled to keep pace with Esker’s long strides and Eógan’s fleet feet. The glow emanating from her palm faltered, flickering for a moment, before it died along with her hope.

  ESKER I

  This was not the homecoming she imagined. The collapsing cavern triggered the trauma deep within the geode of Esker’s mind, forcing her to confront the memory of when she lost her arm and of Loess’ sacrifice. This was not a time for burying oneself in pity, it was a time for action. Her friends depended on her and she would not fail them.

  The path arced gently downward and she was grateful that it was scaled to the height of Tengu: it would be difficult to run while carrying Guillaume’s limp body if she also had to stoop. Esker’s large eyes relaxed as the bright light behind her dimmed and then ceased to cast erratic shadows on the cave walls. She was relieved for a moment until the cause struck her like the point of a pick. Liadan had been desperate in her attempts to revive their friend.

  “Eógan,” she boomed into the darkness, “take Guillaume from me and run ahead with Liadan.” She altered her stride, matching his pace, and delicately extended the Jotman boy towards him.

  “Bloody hell, must I?” Eógan snapped. One look at the expression on Esker’s face silenced the Pecht’s protests. “You are quite scary,” he said with a quirk of a smile as he clamped the spear between his teeth and gathered Guillaume awkwardly into his arms. Eógan’s small stature would have made the maneuver comical in different circumstances. The Jotman’s gangly limbs nearly dragged upon the hewn floor.

  “Do not stop running,” Esker commanded. “No matter what happens.” A flicker of concern lit Eógan’s face, but for once he held his tongue from its customary flippancy; perhaps it instead was the weapon lodged firmly in his mouth. He nodded and took off.

  Liadan was laboring to catch up, her face was crumpled. Even in low light, Esker could see tears in her eyes. “You are strong Liadan,” she called gently to the Gaídel. “I am humbled by your compassion for others.” Liadan’s eyes never lifted. “You must go on ahead, I will be close behind you,” Esker lied. She would give to her friends the gift of life that Loess had granted her.

  “Thank you for the kind words,” Liadan replied stiffly as she hurried to catch up with Eógan.

  Esker ran her hand along the cracks spiderwebbing down the side of the wall as debris fell like rain on the surface world. She took a breath, calming herself and reached deep into the stone, feeling the chain of events that caused it to fissure. The tunnel from where they emerged from the dungeon was gone, a massive rent tore up through the mantle and sliced through the outer core. Rubble had filled in the gaps and the force of such a cataclysm radiated along the path of least resistance, where Esker now stood. She had no hope of reversing such power, it would tear her apart.

  Shards of rock stung and scored her skin, she felt the trickle of blood running down her brow. The memory of a martial art demonstration from her childhood came to the front of her mind. The frail sensei had easily bested vastly large opponents by using their momentum against them, tossing them with ease and moving like water.

  As the onrush of force tore through the tunnel walls and ceiling, Esker grasped and guided it, sending it downward into the sturdy lithosphere to dissipate where tectonic plates shifted below. The resulting wave of force sent her flying and the ground rippled like a liquid. She closed her eyes and waited to be buried by the collapsing tunnel, hoping that her friends were a safe distance away.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  EóGAN I

  Roan's fucking spear would not stop taunting him, it mocked him incessantly, “You will die in this hellish underworld Pecht, alone and betrayed.”

  “Mmhph umhm nnuff,” Eógan tried to respond. Due to clenching the shaft of the spear between his teeth, his witty retort was unintelligible, apparently even to a sentient weapon.

  After a long pause, it spoke again into his mind, “I… do not know if I care to ask you to repeat that…” the spear’s macabre intensity momentarily diminished.

  Eógan spat the weapon out of his mouth as he skidded to a halt, gently lowering Guillaume’s limp body to the floor. “I threatened to turn you into firewood, but I doubt even that would give me any satisfaction. WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT?!” his echoing shouts were barely audible over the thunderous sounds of the passageway shattering in the distance.

  As abruptly as it started, the rumbling ceased. One final bone-rattling shake threw him off his feet. His face ended up dangerously close to the pointed blade of the spear. “Nice fucking try Roan,” he grumbled.

  The spear twitched a bit closer to his nose and laughed. Eógan shot backwards. As he scrambled away, he nearly collided with Liadan.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asked softly.

  “Do not wait for me to tell her, that is your task Pecht,” Roan taunted.

  Eógan looked at her for a long moment and then down at the spear. “I suppose you cannot hear him can you?”

  Liadan gave him a bewildered look. “Hear who?”

  Eógan sighed. “The spear…”

  “We have been through much, but I do not th-”

  He cut her off, “I know how it sounds. When we were in that first chamber of the dungeon, something awakened with in the spear.”

  Liadan stepped closer and knelt by the weapon. “I felt a powerful evil within the tomb. I do not feel anything now.” She looked at him, trying to hide her skepticism. “Does it have a name?”

  “Roan.”

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  “The owner of this spear.” Eógan bent to retrieve it. “He was among the Gaídel we met along the riverbank. I killed him in the forest.” He rubbed his hand along the smooth wood, appreciating the weapon’s craftsmanship despite its irascible nature.

  “They tried to kill both you and Esker in order to capture me. You had every right to defend yourself,” Liadan consoled.

  “Even if it was justified, I would be angry too.” He flipped the weapon in his hand. The balance was perfect. “Is there a way to make this right with you Roan?”

  “Stab yourself in the throat Pecht,” the spear suggested, as it lurched in his hand with a light tug.

  “I do not think your heart was in that one. Can we find peace between us?”

  “Fine…” the spear pouted, “I am so hungry and tired.”

  “Then I shall carry you for a bit,” Eógan hesitated and then ventured, “friend.” He patted the weapon affectionately, gave it a twirl and brought the butt of the staff to rest on the ground.

  “You are quite odd,” Liadan said, staring at him wide-eyed. “Where is Esker?” She turned and looked into the dusty gloom of the tunnel behind them.

  Eógan felt his stomach lurch as he remembered the last words of Esker’s instruction. “Keep an eye on Guillaume, I will go check on her.” He did not wait for a response before tearing down the passageway. The collapsed portions had stirred up a thick dust, soon he was coughing and nearly blind. He desperately hoped that the blasted Tengu had not done something stupid, they were doomed in this underground world without her guidance.

  There was scant light, even the eyes of his owl were of little use; instead he reached out with other senses, quit literally. Edging his toe forward, he ran a finger tip along the smooth wall, maneuvering around chunks of fallen rock. “Esker?” he called out softly.

  A creature with far too many limbs scuttled past his, brushing against his legs and making all of Eógan’s hairs stand on end.

  “Esker?” he tried again. There was no response. He continued to move forward in the pitch black, cursing to himself that he had not thought to send Liadan with her holy light instead. After stubbing his toe for the fifth time, he reversed his grip on Roan’s spear and used it as a blind man’s staff, probing and shifting away the smaller pieces of stone in his path.

  “This is most undignified,” the spear groused.

  “I will make it up to you,” he offered.

  “How?”

  “I will… find a whet stone and keep you sharp?”

  “I would like that.” Something in the spear’s response rang different than it had before.

  A strange tension hung in the air between them and Eógan was glad for the dark, for it hid his furious blushing. Leading with the spear, he carefully traveled through the tunnel. Judging distance was a challenge and time dilated. Eógan took a series of deep breaths to still his pounding heart.

  The butt of the spear clattered into a large chunk of rock, too heavy to move. Probing with it, he again struck big pieces of stone on either side of it. He shuffled forward and pressed his free hand against the wall of rubble. “Oh Esker,” he whispered. The Tengu must be buried beyond the collapsed end of the tunnel. He felt the loss deeply, he had not known her long, but the connection had been strong.

  The tunnel was not wide, but it spanned greater than the lengths of his arms fully stretched. Eógan sniffed and turned around, groping with his hand to find the opposite wall and made his way back towards Liadan. He did not make it far before he tripped over something with more give than a rock. The spear staff became entangled with it. Cursing and wriggling his way loose, Eógan took his hand off of the wall and tentatively searched. His hand found warm flesh, slightly slick with blood. “Esker?” he ventured?

  A dazed groan answered.

  “This is no time for a nap lass, we have places to go and people to save.”

  “Am I dead?” a familiar rumbling voice asked.

  “Not yet, plenty of time for that later.” Tears ran down Eógan’s face as he hugged his friend tightly.

  GUILLAUME I

  His eyes opened to a nearly indescribable landscape. Guillaume was drifting through a void, an archipelago of spherical landmasses swirled in the distance. His body was suspended, as if in a buoyant liquid, yet he felt no resistance when he moved his limbs.

  With a startle, he remembered the excruciating and crushing pressure of the giant scarab’s mandibles as they closed about his upper body. Reflexively, he reached up to probe the area, terrified with what he would find. He concern did not abate when there was no blood or wound to be found on his left shoulder.

  “Where am I?” he asked aloud. His voice carried peculiarly and he felt very alone. It dawned on him that he had been to this place once before, this was the Land of Dreams.

  One of the drifting islands slowly grew in size as it drew closer. It was not a comforting sight: leafless twisted trees clung to barren soil. He shivered despite not feeling cold, despite not feeling anything at all. The ball of land was now close enough that he could see creatures stalking across the surface. Their eyes glowing with malice, they moved with the lithe stride of a predator.

  Guillaume trembled, recalling nightmares that had tormented him as child: of being chased and hunted, of being unable to escape while no one came to his aid. He would run until his legs gave out, tumbling to the ground, watching as feral monsters tore open his stomach to feast upon his innards.

  As a child, Guillaume would wake up from that recurring nightmare screaming, drenched in sweat. He was no longer so helpless. He squared his shoulders and reached within himself, finding the power that was kindling within. A blast of negative energy burst from his fingertips, dissipating the tiny world which floated towards him, banishing the unwelcoming terrain and the specters that haunted it.

  “Good dearie, very good,” a familiar voice comforted.

  He turned to see Lady Galdr, she was in her guise as small child. “I am glad to see you again, where have you been?”

  She ignored his question. “I would have sacrificed anything to have given you more time to realize your true power.”

  Guillaume was confused by the witch’s phrasing. “I nullified some skeletons with a touch,” he said with a hint of pride. “I was the only one who could stop them.” Lady Galdr blinked at him. “Esker and Eógan pulverized most of the undead, but their little bits would not cease from hunting us.”

  “That is good, well done dearie.” It was jarring hearing the voice of a crone coming from a small girl. “I do not fault you for the limitations in your abilities, you had no one to guide you. That will change now.”

  “Why are we in the Land of Dreams?”

  “I think you know, sweet Jotling. Search within.”

  “Am… I…” he swallowed, a lump was in his throat, “dead?”

  Lady Galdr smiled sadly at him. She flew to his side and put a little hand on his left shoulder. “We both are.”