Chains of a Dark Goddess (14 page)

The cage was unloaded and carried inland, to what was once a gladiatorial arena. The stands had crumbled into piles of rubble except for a section on the far side where a tunnel yet remained. The batrakosians knelt and the shaman chanted. 

From the tunnel emerged a tall figure. At first Breskaro thought it was the Keeper of Death. It had the same basic appearance as the Keeper of Death: the body of a seven-foot-tall, muscular man with the neck and head of a falcon and wings sprouting from his back. But this Keeper’s wings were white and rotting, his skin splotched with scabs, his eyes pale, his beak discolored.

Firrus and Perolo gasped and shuffled to the back of the cage.

“Be calm,” Breskaro whispered.

The Keeper scanned the kowtowing batrakosians with disinterest, until he spotted the cage. Fixated on it, he took a deep breath and sputtered several phlegmy coughs. He limped forward, passing through the batrakosians, and stopped in front of the cage. 

“Release these prisoners,” the Keeper said, and both the humans and batrakosians understood his language.

Two warriors opened the cage and untied Breskaro and his knights. Firrus and Perolo, in awe of the Keeper, immediately bowed before him. Breskaro stepped out of the cage but remained standing.

“Remove the gag from the sorcerer.”

The batrakosian shaman spoke urgently to the Keeper.

“Do as I say, High Priest.”

The shaman gave a command and the gag was removed.

Breskaro then bent down onto one knee and said, “I am honored to meet you, great one. I am Breskaro Varenni.”

“I am not the first Keeper you have seen, Breskaro Varenni.”

“To return to life from the Shadowland, I had to pass the test given to me by the Keeper of Death.”

“It would not be easy to pass my cousin. I suspect few have ever managed it. Why then have you come all the way from Death to Peithoom?”

“I seek the Akythiri Mechanism.”

“I have that device. I am its guardian.” The Keeper cocked his head and wheezed. “But the Keeper of Destiny did not predict
your
arrival.”

“My need is urgent.”

“It may be, but if your arrival has not been foretold, it can only mean that you are not meant to have it.”

“Could the Keeper of Destiny have made a mistake? Perhaps he couldn’t see my arrival because—”

“He predicted the arrival of one who would claim the device. You are
not
that one.”

“I need the device. I
must
have it to restore my daughter’s health.”

“The device is dangerous. If you are not the one foretold, then it is not your destiny to use the device.”

“You must make an exception.”

“You are not the first to come seeking this artifact. You will likely not be the last. I have slain countless adventurers and sorcerers seeking the device. Do not become another casualty of greed.”

“It’s not for greed that I need it but for love.”

“I have a mission to guard this place and the artifacts here until the people foretold come for them. I will perform this task for as long as I live.”

“Then I will take it from you by force.”

“If you insist. But I must warn you, your actions are futile. You cannot defeat me.”

“Are you certain? Because you look nearly as bad as I do.”

“I have been sick for a thousand years. I shall live a few centuries more, I think.” The Keeper turned to the batrakosian shaman. “Do not interfere.”

“You have a spear and I am unarmed.”

“That is a shame. But I am a guardian, not a knight bound by a code of honor. Besides, weapon or not, you do not have a chance.”

Without warning, Breskaro sprang forward and tackled the Keeper, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him to the ground. He twisted his hands, trying to break the Keeper’s neck, but even despite his supernatural strength, the bones held. The Keeper grabbed Breskaro’s hands and pried them free. He stood, lifted Breskaro, and slung him a dozen paces away.

Breskaro rolled up to one knee. The Keeper rushed in on him. Breskaro lurched to the side. The spearpoint missed him. The Keeper furled out his wings to stop his momentum. A wingtip caught Breskaro in the face. Then the shaft of the spear struck him in the side. Breskaro struck the ground and came up just in time to dodge another jab from the spear. He lunged toward a batrakosian warrior and wrenched the club from its hands. He wasn’t fast enough. The spearpoint stabbed into his shoulder. Breskaro pulled away, flesh ripping, and struck out with the club.

The Keeper, supernaturally fast, dodged easily then swung the spear. Breskaro blocked the strike, but only just. He tried to mutter the
spell of the strength of three men
but had his feet swept out from under him before he could finish. 

Breskaro dodged another attack and noticed that the batrakosians were agitated, pointing at him and talking to one another.

The Keeper landed a blow to Breskaro’s stomach with the butt of his spear. He kicked Breskaro in the head and raked his talons across Breskaro’s chest, tearing through the armor. He shouldered into Breskaro and stabbed him in the leg.

Breskaro hit the ground hard. He tried to rise but fell.

“Harmulkot, aid me!” he cried. The viridian in his eyes was fading. His pulse weakening.

The batrakosians murmured.

“She cannot help you,” the Keeper said.

The Keeper stepped back, spun his spear, and prepared for the killing strike. Breskaro climbed up to his hands and knees but could go no further. 

The Keeper lunged with his spear.

Chapter 21

The moment before the Keeper’s spear struck, there was a loud thunk. Droplets of bright, blue-green blood sprayed into the air.  The Keeper staggered with his head bent backward. He raised a hand to his bleeding forehead. Dazed and unsteady, he eyed his hand with glossy, rapidly blinking eyes.

Breskaro struggled to his feet but couldn’t summon enough strength to attack. He merely stood panting as the Keeper recovered and readied his spear for another attack.

“Stop right
now
!” yelled a high-pitched voice.

Holding her sling at the ready, Esha darted between a line of batrakosians and sprinted into the arena.

“This does not concern…” The Keeper paused. “
You
.” He lowered his spear. “As foretold by the Keeper of Destinies, the one who shall take from me the Akythiri Mechanism has arrived.” He looked upon Breskaro. “You are in luck. I did not know you traveled in such esteemed company.”

Breskaro’s withered face knotted into a frown. “Neither did I.”

“Don’t hurt my master.”

“Your master? This one, Breskaro Varenni?”

“That’s what I said, demon.”

“I am no demon. I am the Keeper of Peithoom.”

“Whatever you are, leave him alone.”

“As you wish,” said the Keeper, “since you have come at last.” The Keeper bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I assume you have the part.”

Esha eyed him suspiciously. “What part?”

“That which can repair the Akythiri Mechanism.”

Breskaro stumbled over beside Esha. “It was lost. Stolen from us. We—”

Esha stopped whirling her sling and pulled Breskaro’s pack off her back. She reached in and pulled out the part. “You mean this?”

“Indeed,” the Keeper replied. 

He called out to the batrakosians. A toad warrior approached Breskaro hesitantly and held out the funeral mask, with the leather bands fixed. Breskaro tied it back on. They released Perolo and Firrus and handed them their weapons.

Breskaro glared at Esha. “How did you get here on your own?”

“I ran and got lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“I stumbled onto a path through the swamp. It was dry the whole way until the big lake. I swam across it and nothing swam up and ate me.”

Breskaro started to say something else to her but then shook his head and let it go.

“Please, my friends,” said the Keeper, “follow me.”

The Keeper of Peithoom led them through a tunnel and into a courtyard contained by a still-intact wall. A stone pedestal the height of a man stood in the center of the courtyard. The Keeper held out his hand and chanted. The pedestal split down an invisible seam and opened like a clamshell. Curved shelves lined the interior of the two halves, but there was only one object within.

The Keeper waved his hand toward it. “You may retrieve the mechanism, Esha.”

She bounced forward, seemingly unimpressed by the Keeper. The device was an ornately carved bronze box with two handles made from coiled copper wires. She picked it up and rotated it to get a better look. One side had a set of interlocking gears and in the center a piece identical to the one in Breskaro’s pack, only this one was cracked, half-melted, and blackened. Esha carried it to Breskaro.

He pried the broken part loose with a knife and attached the replacement part, matching its prongs to the corresponding slots. Nothing happened and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“When you are finished with the device, one of you will return it here to me,” the Keeper said.

“What if we don’t?” Breskaro asked.

The Keeper clicked his beak a few times. “Someone will. It is foretold.”

“Was that the last item you were guarding?” Esha asked.

“All I have left are two secrets, neither of which I will share with you.”

“Do you get bored?” Esha asked. “Waiting around all the time?”

“No, my dear. I do not. And I shall continue here contentedly until I’ve given out the second secret, at which point I shall embrace Oblivion willingly.”

“But not Paradise?” Breskaro said.

“You assume Paradise is better than Oblivion.”

“Well, it makes sense,” Firrus dared to say.

“Of a kind,” the Keeper said. “Of a kind. But it is not
my
kind of sense.”

“The batrakosians seem to worship you,” Breskaro said.

“They are primitives. Once, they were a mighty and sophisticated people who came to Kaiwen from another world. Far have they fallen. This world was not kind to them. In their heyday, many millennia ago, they ruled much of Pawan Kor.”

“If I could speak their language, they would be useful to me,” Breskaro said.

“As an army for some wicked plan? Why should I help you? You’re going to raise an undead army.”

“I must do what I must, Keeper. Do not judge me.”

The Keeper eyed Esha intently then said to Breskaro, “Tell me your story.” 

Breskaro told the Keeper everything. When he finished, the Keeper nodded solemnly and weakly unfurled and stretched his wings. 

“When it is time, the batrakosians will fight alongside you. It is their destiny. They have not forgotten Harmulkot. They are bound to her still. They served as her slaves when Peithoom was the center of her empire. And the batrakosians, few in number and reviled by humans, chose to remain here in Peithoom, even as the swamp overtook it, expanding rapidly in the days after Harmulkot’s defeat due to a powerful curse.”

Breskaro turned the Akythiri Mechanism in his hands. “Do you know if it will work as Harmulkot promised?”

“The device has such power, yes. It can mend tissues and bone when used by one with the right knowledge to do so. To answer your next question: No, I do not know how to work it. But Harmulkot does.”

Esha stretched and yawned. “I’m sleepy.”

“Go get some rest,” Breskaro said. He pointed at Firrus and Perolo. “The two of you as well.”

“I wish to stay by your side, master.”

“Do as I say.”

Esha left with the two Rrakans, and the Keeper rubbed his forehead which bore a red mark where the lead bullet had struck and drawn blood. It was healing rapidly. “Devilish with that sling of hers.”

“Why was she the one from the prophecy and not me? There’s more to her than it seems. Who is she?”

The Keeper tilted his bird head back. “Ah, the prophecies. They are specific. Highly specific. I cannot say why it named her and not you. As to who or what she is, I cannot tell you.”

The Keeper ruffled out his wings and folded them back in. “While Esha and your men slumber, entertain me. You say, in life, that you were a great knight. Tell me of your quests. “

“Every Issalian squire must undertake a quest of some sort to become a knight. Mine turned out far more involved than most. And then later I got involved in another quest that took me, my squire Kedimius, and a Mûlkran scoundrel named Whum off on a strange adventure.”

“Go on.”

When the sun rose and Breskaro’s tales were at an end, the Keeper stood and stretched his wings. “I enjoyed talking with you, Breskaro Varenni. You should be on your way now.”

Chapter 22

Breskaro returned to the edge of the swamp in the escort of two dozen nervous and reluctant batrakosians. The High Priest had told Breskaro that his people feared leaving their swamp almost as much as they desired to serve their goddess. At the edge of the swamp, Breskaro dismissed them. He hoped he could later motivate them sufficiently. He would need a lot of manpower to save Mûlkra.