Chapter 6: Creatures Born Of Light, Deep Within The Night

I was outside the border of Ossary awaiting a late messenger; a Cataphract of some renown. His name was Goth. He was not so thickly sinewed as Turk, nor so evenly proportioned as Oscar. In a way he was built more as I am, tall and thin and wiry. But Goth was much taller than I am, for while I peer over the crowns of most other men, Goth peered over mine, even when I saw him again as a man.

  He had been detained by a pack of tickroaches that devoured half his escort, and even managed to wound him when he ran them down. I was tasked with waiting at the far-crying-bell for a shame I hadn't earned, and the cold air wormed up from black vents in the ground beneath me, robbing my argent skin of all feeling. And so a creeping grub pricked its long, spined feet into my leg, then my hand, and then my arm, prodding my frozen skin with its labium all along the way without me noticing. Its stinger scraped along a vein in my neck, and had it not it may have slain me quickly, with ample time to carve out a hollow in which to nest its larvae. But I felt the stinger's heat against my throat, and so I sat as still as I could, desperate to know exactly where the creature started and ended, so that when I lashed out with my hand I did not miss. To find its feet when my body was so numb seemed impossible, and I daresay even now that the monster knew of its mistake, as it avoided touching me again with its stinger.

  They sting the eyes, and a slow moving rot sets in, driving you mad in a matter of days after being stung. All the while the grub dogs you; following you into rooms and waiting just on the other side of a door, or around the corner of a hallway, until you either faint from exhaustion after terrible convulsions, or are restrained by others for their safety and yours. Then it comes upon you boldly, heedless of where its stinger touches. I've heard they might even drag their stinger along your skin so that their venom seeps in through your pours, causing horrific pain and hideous lesions for your torment when you wake. When you do wake up, you live through the agony of playing nest for their brood, feeling your own brain matter being consumed as the larvae grow, and your pain is coupled with remorse as you are puppeteered into spreading the eggs among your fellows. This was not the end I desired, so I sat carefully, and struck when I was as sure as I could be that the creature was spanning the bridge of my nose.

  Goth arrived with his train of refugees, and when I awoke he was gone and the second generation of Ossarians had settled in. The Dolomites restored me to health and service, and I could find no sign that my brain had been made a nest for fledgling creeping grubs. The sign that still remains, even now as I watch Turk's silhouette slowly patrol the ramparts of Clarion, is the gentle grip of the creeping grub's feet on the top of my hand, making its slow and macabre progression up my naked skin until its stinger, throbbing from the ooze of its hot venom, scraped ever so softly along the soft tissue over my jugular vein. I felt it when I first saw the dark drainage from the tyfloch mother's broken egg in the top chamber of Clarion's highest tower, and I felt it when I heard Oscar tell one of his fellow vandals that the tarrasquin sellswords were drifting further afield, and some key posts had been left unmanned.

  I went immediately to the sanctum to report this to the Dolomites, and found them all in their deep study chamber pouring over anatomy volumes of the different kindreds. I may as well have not have been in the room, as they ignored my presence and my speech, even when I nervously stood before them, daring even to wave my hand before Fuligin Adept's hooded face. I went to them a second and a third time that week, finding them in the same chamber each visit, the only change being that the third time they only had volumes of study on tyfloch physiology. I hoped that they were researching a way to cure their rot, but I knew they were long past such altruism.

  Oscar and Dolores were quick to mobilize their people in an effort to fill the gaps in the patrols, even arming some of their younger children and setting them on long watches. Three times I found myself without duties and helped, learning from the vandals the basics of spear wielding. One small girl tried teaching me to fight with a sword, but with my long, thin arms and narrow frame, I felt a greater affinity with the spear.

  I had a chance to participate in some drills led by Oscar and was amazed by his skill. Dolores was proficient as well, and one day we were working so hard we all stripped off our warmer layer of clothing. I saw then that she too had been branded, though I didn't recognize her sign. I questioned her on her beliefs and which labor pool she had been dumped into as a child, but she knew nothing about the labor pools, and said she firmly believed the Fall of Tarthas was due to sins committed consciously in the distant past. I puzzled over this for an entire week, even questioning Albedo Adept when I chanced to find him out of doors. He clacked and squawked a dismissive reply, stating that the vandals were of lesser stock than I. I mentioned the matter to Martas, and to my surprise he feigned the same ignorance as Dolores, even claiming to not be one of the Boys of the Batch. The latter I could conceive of, and had to admit to myself that I had only assumed him to be thus due to the higher tiers of service granted him. But I noticed that he, like me, had been turned back when attempting to enter the examination chamber. Neither of us complained, however. The examination feasts were unpleasant, no matter how jaded we'd become.

  Day after day my duties felt more trivial to me. I performed manuel tasks and data storage, stowing away codices and parchments, even performing copy work where needed. I met with traders as they came our way, directed their attention away from the sanctum, and met with the outrider of one Cataphract in search of another. Martas was far more vocal with me then, telling me how his village had fallen to a terrible dust storm that leveled all their buildings, even their magistrate's holdfast. He'd been an only child and his mother died on the road. His father died shortly afterward, living only long enough to see his son settled in Ossary. Brother Sirion offered him a position among the porters when he turned eleven. It seemed a young age to me, but then I was beginning to realize just how many assumptions I'd made of all my surroundings.

  I spoke more of myself as well, telling mostly of my earliest memories of serving at the sanctum. I left out any talk of the labor pool, as that topic seemed to bring only confusion or discomfort to any I mentioned it too. I surmised then that I must have been one of the last children to be processed in that arrangement, and that it must have been less commonly known of than I'd figured. I briefly entertained the idea that it may have been something I imagined, perhaps to cover over some trauma, but I quickly dismissed that thought as my memories of the labor pool were the most real of any I had.

  "Victor," said a worried voice. It was Brother Astartes. Martas and I were heaping sacks of cornmeal bought from a caravan from one of the coastal townships. They had purchased the food at an unusually low price from people fleeing some terror on the mainland. I did not ask, but I suspected they might have demanded the refugees sell at such a price in exchange for asylum.

"Astartes," I replied.

He was running to me, and slowed himself when he saw Martas.

"Can you come with me, young master? I have a matter to discuss that pertains to you. I can arrange for another to help Brother Martas."

"No need," said Oscar. I had not seen him, but he had apparently been nearby, and went right to work piling the sacks of cornmeal onto our cart.

   I shrugged and followed Master Astartes to the occulary. He pulled his keyring from his belt and fumbled at the lock, then opened it and quickly ushered me in. The torches lining the walls flickered an instant after we entered the cold, dusty antechamber.

  "Best to speak privately of this," he said nervously.

  Brother Astartes was so large and strong many claimed he had giant's blood. Even in the presence of the Dolomites, he was calm and undaunted. Whenever a tarrasquin stepped out of line, it was he who demanded their captain put her subordinate in its place. To see him afraid made me afraid.

  "Of what?", I asked, quickly growing impatient.

  "The Cataphract that was here..."

  "Turk," I said when his voice trailed off.

  "Yes, Turk. He's a dangerous man. I don't know how he managed to slip past our border, but somehow he managed to enter the sanctum. Anyways, he won't be allowed to return, and he's done no harm that we can tell. If you should see him, hide. Do not speak to him, Victor. Become as a shadow." He looked me up and down ironically. "A white shadow. Understand? This is for the good of the sanctum and Ossary. I am most bothered by his interest in you, to be honest."

  "Why?", I asked.

  Sweat beaded on his brow. "You, Victor, are the Boy of the Batch."

  "A Boy of the Batch."

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  "Yes. The thirty ninth. You are the current Boy of the Batch, I meant to say. There has only ever been one of you, at a time I mean, though I can understand why you may have been confused on this point. I do not know this Cataphract's intentions, but I do not like such a man paying such close attention to you and the masters. As for the Dolomites, they seem to have forgotten what makes you special since their convalescence."

  I stood there silent, watching Brother Astartes desperately search my eyes. It seemed he was hoping to say as little as possible, and that I would be able to infer what he left out. I shrugged again, irritated and concerned.

  "They're seeking to replace you," he was so visibly agitated I wanted to grab his wrists and calm him. "It's as if they forgot of all the work they've put into you, let alone what was done before."

  Again he searched my eyes, but found only impatience. Then he took my wrist and led me to the auditorium of the occulary and to the far wall, then through a series of depressions in the wall so slight it seemed we were traversing the space between fibers, and we went so quickly I could not see how Brother Astartes was navigating the labyrinth of walls within walls, but it was clear he'd done this many times in a state of urgency.

  We came by way of a subterranean hallway to a network of tunnels unmarked on any map I'd seen. There was a soft luminescence that was always ahead of us, but somehow the light was contained so that it only showed the floor. To prevent from falling, I kept my free hand on the wall to my left. Where I expected a smooth surface, I found instead a wall marked by strange shapes glossed over by hardened ash. I felt mostly roundness; semi-spherical protrudences with occasional hollows. Some had rows of smaller nodules placed like so many miniature piano keys, while others were lined by razors. I began to run my hand in an undulating wave so that I might take in more detail of the place, as I wondered as we ran if ever I would pass through it again. The protrudences were not limited to my arm's level, but seemed to run the entirety of the wall from top to bottom. Near the end of the passageway I felt a number of them with holes pierced into their upper centers.

  The passage ended abruptly at a flat rectangle of metal cut out of the stoney underground. There I saw where the light had come from, though I did not understand how it was generated. Brother Astartes pressed his hand to the surface and it slid quietly away, and beyond it was a dark chamber floored with smooth stone. He dragged me in, then released my arm, but lowered himself to his knees and firmly gripped my shoulders.

  "You must listen to me, Victor, and do exactly as I say."

  I nodded to him. I was so scared.

  "I am taking you to the Dolomites' most secret laboratorium. They must not know we are here, or they will do what they must to keep this place both hidden and supplied, if you follow my meaning. Now, we are going to enter a gallery where their work can be viewed safely, so long as they do not become aware of us. We can make it, but you have to do exactly as I say. Hug the walls as tightly as you can, for there are many djinni in this place and if we step into the middle of any passageway or room, they will greet us, and the masters will know."

  We kept to the walls, ignoring the old lamps that guttered and flickered as we snuck beneath their sconces. Their dingey yellow light faded in and out and at times seemed to dance. We went left, then left again, then left again, always descending through hallways and chambers furnished with settles and chairs upholstered with smooth black hide. There were flameless firepits, and crystals that emitted faint light embedded in the ceiling. The whole space had the wet and sick feel of decay about it, as many surfaces were coated with spider webs and inches of dust. Now and then we found a space where the ceiling had collapsed and we were hugging the wall while we traversed piles of rock and metal and wood, and a powdery substrate that the latest population of Ossary favored. I once found a Cataphract killed by a crossbow, and saw a similar matter spewing out of the hole in his breastplate. I thought of Asher's hand as it broke from his wrist, and the sight of him being taken by the cold winds while I gave him his name. It seemed to me then that all of Tarthas was rotting.

  The viewing room was lit by a faint red glow that came from a trough of flame cut along the edges of the wall where it met the ceiling. There was a glass window with painted glyphs that told of the doings in the chamber beyond, where I saw the Dolomites gathered around a stone table. Brother Astartes led me to the right corner, where our view was partially obstructed by a table in with two hide wrapped chairs and an array of small, dimly lit crystals. Without thinking, I began to step into the center of the room, wanting for a closer view, but Brother Astartes slammed me into the wall and pulled my foot back with his. I quickly whispered an apology.

  "We can speak," he said in a low voice, "quietly. But we cannot step into the center of the room, or we risk waking its djinn."

  I nodded, and accepted Brother Astartes' assurance that we had the clearest view possible. What I could make of the procedure was that a young boy, perhaps half my age, had been splayed open and was having his organs removed one by one, then replaced after being tended to by the Dolomites in ways I could not see. I saw something of the boy's face, noting that he had large eyes and bright yellow hair, which Xanthous Adept frequently ran his long fingers through. The boy seemed partially awake at times, but he was given some tonic that kept him from stirring. We were only in the viewing room for a moment before Brother Astertes led me back. When we emerged in the occulary I began to ask what I had just seen, but Brother Astartes shook his head.

  "I've been absent for as long as I can afford. I must return to work instantly. VIctor. Tell what you saw to no one. It was only for you to see."

  "I do not know what I would even say, for I know not what I saw."

  The big man kneeled again and put one massive hand on my shoulder. There was pity in his eyes.

  "Victor, we all have more knowledge than we realize. We bury what we don't need in the present moment, and sift through whatever surface layers suit our mood when our hands are idle. When the time comes, what we need most is returned to us from the depths, and in those moments we show who we truly are."

  He then left me, alone and confused, to sit in the gallery and think. I summoned the stars as I sat, basking in the black sky and wheeling pinpoints of light in the room's domed ceiling. The stone walls of the auditorium seemed to melt and warp under the spinning light coming from the crystals that summoned memories of a distant past, tormenting me with a teasing of the sky we'd lost, and in that moment I felt the first kicks of a child I had conceived; a child called purpose. Later I wandered to the upper catwalks and ran my fingers along the black back of the dome, covering the intermittent holes in its surface with my fingertips, as if I were a mighty being who could with a finger destroy a Sun, or block it from the world so dependent on its light. I thought then of a cow feeding its calf, and wondered at the power I would have over the beasts of the world if I could close off their teats with a thought, and reopen them at my pleasure.

  The following day I found myself again relegated to menial labor, and was asked by a worried Dolores if I had seen Milo, one of their young children. To my shame I simply said I'd had trouble remembering the names of all their little ones, and even when she described his big eyes and yellow hair I merely shrugged and played ignorant. But I saw Milo again that night. While I slept, I wandered in dream to the labor pool and the questions they asked me, and felt again the heat of the branding iron, and remembered the foul taste of the tincture they gave me and the number written on its vial. After seeing Milo hovering within a great alembic, I felt a familiar pain; that of so many serpents and worms crawling through my skin, and of a single worm, a large and hideous helminth festooned inside my nervous system with thousands of fine tendrils..

  The next morning I was sent by Griseo Adept to help the lower tier porters fill the growing gaps in our patrols. Kendra came to visit me, bringing me food and showing me the crown she'd made of twigs and roots. Some flying creature made several passes overhead during my shift, and I wondered if it might be a tyfloch searching for Asher, or perhaps deciding if it wanted to join our community. The vandals had settled in well, and despite Milo's disappearance showed no signs of wanting to leave. Maybe there was a band of tyfloch refugees nearby and they sent out a scout. Whatever it was, it flew perilously close to the torchlight border, though it always wheeled away before the exalted beams could do it harm. If nothing else, I sensed a violent temper when its wings passed over me.

  That day the Sun was pale but bright, and the high ceiling of rock and dust seemed a fine blanket of silken black mist, turned yellow and grey where it touched the Sun's aging fingers. The tarrasquin were all but gone, and the Vandals and Ossarians had divvied up what their numbers could spare to make up the difference. Those sellswords who remained were tight lipped about the retreat of their colleagues, but as we were grateful for their loyalty we did not question them much. The Vandals did not question them at all, and the Ossarians seemed afraid to even approach them.

  I was patrolling with a Vandal boy, keeping close but behind him. He was the first to see the approaching shapes. They were descending the circular desert wall of our domain very quickly, and in growing numbers, creeping as shadows across the empty stretch of land between the sandy slopes and the borders of Ossary. I told the Vandal boy I'd report what we saw to Oscar, but when I turned around I saw Rouge Adept in a flash as he covered my face with a damp cloth. While my consciousness slipped away, I felt the creeping grub's hot stinger brush the thin skin over a vein in my neck.

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