FirstStepBeforeTheFallTemnal turned the corner to see the familiar grey spires of Crome Hall looming ahead of him. After a lengthy day of classes and research, the foreboding stone gargoyles were a welcome sight. Even his usually superior Duk’Zarist endurance had been most sorely tested between the scholastic sadism of Professors Advocat and Opalneria. The latter – in particular – had been most cruel, drilling him relentlessly on Chaosian geography of The Wake. He sensed she’d been searching for something, her line of questioning directed by a covert theme to it he could not quite put his finger on. As if she thought I knew something I'm not supposed to know, he thought, his shoulders hunching as if against a chill wind. As his foot touched the bottom step of his dormitory, the whispering ring of Twelfth Strike echoed across the campus. With it came an unnatural grinding noise from up above – like the fluttering of a hundred stone wings. The coal-lamps that illuminated the Hall’s front sputtered and died, caking the stairs in sticky darkness. Cracks sprouted around his feet, bleeding scarlet tendrils. Temnal sprang back with a sharp gasp, off the step and into the courtyard behind him. The fluttering came again, drawing Temnal’s gaze upwards. And a hundred glowing eyes stared back down at him. The gargoyles, he thought. At the same time he was reminded so powerfully of the multifarious demons of the Courts, any one of which could be ally or enemy at a whim, that his hand went automatically to the place at his hip where his crossbow used to hang. Of course it was not there. Weapons were forbidden on campus. But this wasn't...this was Amber. Or was it? Was it a nightmare? Nothing so easily escaped, his gut told him. Panic starting banging around in his chest like a trapped moth. They've found me! He swatted it down. He straightened, gazing upward to meet the multitude of eyes, while his hand slipped under his shirt to find the two small objects that always hung around his neck. "What do you intend?" he challenged them, in the sibilant Thari of the Courts. "In the sight of the single eye of the Serpent, I charge ye, speak!" “The Flesh sees us,” a dozen voices whispered, eerily mimicking Temnal’s vocalizations. “It speaks to us,” another dozen replied. “The Flesh confronts us,” other voices corrected. “Most curious,” the gargoyles agreed, their burning eyes flashing with keen interest, the stony rustle of wings intensifying. “Not like the Formless Ones. It is Meat. It is Blood... “And yet...” The voices dissolved into a sharp chittering that grated the nerves. "The 'Flesh' can also hear you," Temnal informed them, letting dry irony edge his voice, then whipping it out again like a lash. "I repeat, what do you intend?" At the same time he eyed the doorway he'd backed off from. Winged creatures were at a disadvantage in enclosed spaces, but if something else was lurking inside... “The Flesh inquires.” “Most insistent Flesh it is.” “A rude tongue, indeed.” “Answer it should we?” And then a silence that drew out like a razor. Until finally, as one, they answered, “We must know. Dig and cut we shall. Find out what the Flesh is. Unlock the puzzle. Piece by piece.” Something heavy impacted on the steps behind him, stone on stone. He felt the gust of wind on wings tingle on the back of his neck. With just a quick glance behind him, Temnal made a dart for the doorway. He'd chance whatever might be in there. He impacted against the heavy door, causing a shower of rust and paint. But rotted as it may have been, the door held firm, barring him entrance. Behind him, stone steps splintered under the weight of the approaching beast; a languid pursuit, as if the thing recognized the inevitability of this drama. Temnal looked over his shoulder at the creature, wanting to know what he was up against, while at the same time he reached for the door handle. He'd never found it locked before... but then, this was hardly the Crome Hall he knew. He glimpsed a blocky mass of cold-iron and stone rumbling up the stairs. Its malformed head had been shaped from fragments of glass and green copper, while masonry and old shingles formed its musculature. Ribbons of dried leaves and pigeon feathers and filth covered its body like a stinking skin. It loped forward with simian movement, while a sown strand of human tongues drooped from its ghastly maw. And just as the thing reached the top of the steps, Temnal heard a blessed sound. The door latch clicking. The door yawned open, offering a murky sanctuary beyond. Temnal ducked through the door and immediately dodged sideways, intending to get his back to a wall while he assessed the situation in the front hall -- and incidentally getting himself out of the gargoyle's path if it tried to follow him in. Tallow candles offered the only light in the transmogrified chamber. Damp rot claimed much of the former furniture, dissolving it into lumpy piles barely recognizable beneath the mold and mildew. Rusty stains coated every surface, while the former tapestries shivered like flayed men. Behind him the door slammed shut and the bolts thrown into place. The thing bellowed its rage outside, but remained impotent against the door’s sturdy construction. Temnal’s savior turned around, his wide eyes absorbing the sooty light. Ghostly pale and frail, the boy – between eight and ten years old -- appeared to have long suffered from some childhood disease or malnutrition. His bluish lips pulled upward into a smile, revealing stark, white teeth. “Welcome.” Temnal, his back still to the wall, returned the apparition's gaze for a moment. He licked dry lips, then said in a voice fighting hard to stay even, "You're the new porter, I suppose?" The boy giggled, “You talk funny.” He began to stalk around Temnal, heading toward the reception desk. Outside the bellows devolved into a phlegmy snuffling sound around the door’s bottom. In time, this faded into silence. Whether or not it had retreated remained unseen. “It’s foolish to taunt the Broken,” the boy said. He pursed his lips in a mocking smile. "Or is it pride?" Temnal took a deep breath. "Neither, by intention," he said quietly. "But where I come from, with creatures like that ... show weakness, and you're done for." He remembered his instructor saying, When dealing with predators, don't act like prey. The boy grinned brightly and climbed up onto the desk, dangling his gangly legs. “That makes sense, mister,” he said. “Sort of like when you need to scare off a bear. Rawr!” He raised his arms, his hands like claws, and then made a passable bear-face. His arms dropped into his lap with a weak shrug. “Of course, doing that with a Broken will get your skin ripped off. And Shadows too. Only they’ll do much, much worse.” He grinned, apparently pleased with his cleverness. "What is it that they want?" asked Temnal, more than willing to be instructed by an apparent native of this skewed world. "And in what way are they Broken?" The boy rolled his eyes and giggled. “Your skin, silly! And bones and teeth and stuff. They don’t have any of their own, so they take whatever they can get from those who have it. That’s why they’re Broken. Because they’re nothing but squishy pieces. And rocks and twigs... and snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.” His head rocked from side to side as he hummed and kicked his feet. "If they are Broken," mused Temnal, "could they be mended? And what are Shadows?" Somehow he didn't think the boy meant the same things that he would by that word. The boy’s dark eyes turned to polished onyx, studying Temnal with an unnerving maturity. Then he giggled and clapped his hands. “I knew you’re the one I needed! I just knew it. Mend the Broken. Heh heh. Yep. Definitely the one.” "The one for what?" Temnal asked warily. The boy ignored the question, thoughtful. He kicked his feet. “Nope. Can’t fix them. They were made that way. Can’t Unmake them. Wouldn't be nice. But Shadows. They’re different. They can be fixed. And you gotta fix them. Fix‘um good.” "What are they, then? And how can they be fixed?" “Kill them,” the boy said frankly. “They’re trapped souls. And they need to be freed. You’ll know them when you see them. There’s the tiny ones. And then there’s the big ones. You have to free the big, ugly Shadows. ‘Kay?” Temnal regarded him. "Big ugly creatures, trapped souls or no, are not often easy to kill. Do they have any special vulnerability?" Light, he thought, would be the antithesis to shadow... but he'd wait and see if the boy suggested it without prompting. “Look to the Elementals,” the boy said with a nod. “Each shadow is vulnerable to at least one of the six forms. Even the Twelve you must seek out have weaknesses. But some are attuned to certain forms and you could make them much stronger. Use the wrong one and they’ll eat you. Crunchy-munchy. Get it?" Temnal nodded. “Big swords work pretty good mostly. Mostly.” "I've never been a big-sword type of person," Temnal commented wryly. "Would a crossbow work?" “Well, duh,” the boy snorted. “Clubs, arrows, anything that’ll do physical damage. At least for most of them.” The boy picked at something in his ear. “Some are squishier than others. Or made out of stone or living flame. You’ll figure it out. Or you’ll get eaten.” He gave Temnal a blasé shrug. “You may need to find others to help you.” "I'll take all the help I can get," replied Temnal. The boy smiled. “Well, you’ll find them soon enough. Or they’ll find you.” He jumped down and stretched like a contented cat. “Find and kill the Twelve. Alone or with others. I don’t care. Just kill them, ‘kay?” He started walking toward the front door, skipping to some unheard music. "Be careful," Temnal couldn't help saying. "Be sure one of those Broken isn't lying in wait for you outside the door." The boy paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder with impish pride. “Oh, I’m too fast for them,” he said. “We’ll meet again, Temnal. See ya!’ He put his hand on the door handle and pushed. However, the door never opened. Instead, the boy appeared to walk directly into the stygian shadows surrounding it. The door shimmered like oil for a moment and then returned to its normal – if corrupted – state. The empty hallway became oppressively quiet. Temnal looked around cautiously, then headed for the staircase that would, in the Crome Hall he was familiar with, lead up to his room. Whatever else had shifted in this weirdly altered reality, he hoped that his personal shrine might have held steady. Nevertheless he kept alert for anything that might be lurking on the staircase. As he made his way through the building, Crome Hall revealed its new horrors. Scattered through the halls were obsidian coffins, each standing upright as if they’d risen from the moldy floor boards. Bloodied handprints decorated one wall like some terrible script, their author apparently dragged away to some unknown fate. Dank and foul water dripped from the roof, pitting the floor. Corridors that should not have been there stretched into the distance, offering the opportunity for foolish exploration. Temnal found his room easily enough, but it too had undergone an unnatural transformation. A web of chains and locks, corroded and caked in filth, bound the door shut. In this nest of rusted steel someone had painted the word, “Sleep.” As if anyone could sleep through this, Temnal thought wryly. He was determined to get through the door if he could, but at the same time cause as little damage as possible. There were a few things he could try... To start with, he fished in his pocket for his room key. His room key appeared to still work on the door itself, although he had some difficulty due to the rusted metal. The door remained firmly shut, however, held tight by the chains and the other locks, each requiring various keys and combinations. Some were even warded with strange glyphs, of which Temnal sensed darker magics lurking within. <Someone went through a lot of trouble to keep that door closed, boy. Why are you so eager to open it?> a male voice said, its silkiness tingling like a thousand spider's webs. <Because it's my place,> Temnal responded with a flash of anger, <and 'someone' hasn't yet shown me any right or reason to keep me from it.> The Voice laughed <No need to be snarky, young man. I was simply cautioning you. As it appears our fates are invariably linked, pressing headlong into a potential dangerous situation seems imprudent.> Temnal could almost feel the Cheshire Cat grin shining in the darkness of his mind. <Our fates are linked?> Temnal echoed cautiously. <How? And why? Who are you?> Temnal sensed the Voice’s humor fade, a flare of frustration replacing it. After a moment, the Voice replied, <I cannot recall. I find myself at a loss. This is unacceptable. You must rectify this situation and with expedience.> Around him, the building let out a frightened breath. Whispers of life began to filter through the ether. Color began to bleed back into the walls and door. The rot and decay began to heal before his very eyes. It was so like the fading of a dream (or nightmare) of the sort which makes one feel that great truths would have been revealed had one had just a few moments more of sleep, that Temnal had a paradoxical desire to hold on to the illusion (if that was what it was) at the same time he felt relief at its passing. <Wait!> he cried, soundlessly. <What do you remember? How can I find you?> <I shall find you,> the Voice replied. <I am as close to you as your Shadow> The chains and locks on the door fell to dust. The world he’d always known returned in stark relief to the horrors of a moment before. And a few paces away, one of the coffins shrank away to reveal a male student—Siakal, if memory served. The spectacled brunette yelped as he nearly walked into Temnal. “Oh! I’m sorry. Excuse me. I didn’t see you there.” Temnal offered his housemate an apologetic smile. "Class ran late," he confided, as if that explained everything. He trusted that, in the still dim light of the hallway, Siakal wouldn't notice the slight tremor in his hand as he unlocked the door of his room. Siakal’s lips mimicked a smile, but his eyes remained wary. “I’ll say,” he replied unevenly. “Uh. Professor Opalneria was here looking for you. Well, her familiar actually. Creepy damned thing. Kept pecking at my window all night. Must have thought it was your room.” The boy shivered, rubbing his arms. Temnal had seen the thing once, a construction of bone and bird feathers with blazing red eyes. No one was quite sure where it’d come from. In truth, no one really wanted to ask. It occurred to him that the creature would have fit right in to the nightmare scenes he'd recently been experiencing. For Siakal's benefit -- though with a certain amount of sincerity -- he rolled his eyes and said, "If Professor Opalneria wants to see me, she can wait till class tomorrow. I've sweated enough blood for her already today, and right now I need to get some rest. A good night to you, Siakal." “And you’ll sweat more blood if she has her way, I’m sure,” Siakal half-joked. “Night, Temnal.” His footsteps receded down the hall. Temnal swung open the door of his room. And much to his surprise, discovered... Nothing. Nothing out of place and nothing changed whatsoever. Not a single thing had been disturbed while he’d been out. The room remained wholly ordinary in its layout and appearance. Letting out a soundless breath of relief, Temnal closed the door behind him. He walked slowly over to the bed, and with one finger tapped the colorful butterfly mobile to make it dance as he regarded it with questioning eyes. After unfastening his long cloak and tossing it on the bed, he turned to the washstand, poured water from the ewer into the basin, and rinsed dried sweat from his face and neck. Only then did he make his way around to the far corner and kneel before the softly gleaming moonstone statue on its velvet-draped pedestal, hands pressed to his heart. "Lady, Thy hand be over me," he whispered, "Thy voice sing to me, Thy light guide me. Out of the depths I cry, out of the dark that blinds the sight, out of the dread that blurs the will. Help me to know, and to do, and to be in accord with Thy purposes. Thus speaks the one Thou didst draw from the waters. Eä." After a moment of contemplation, Temnal felt a whispered brush of fingertips against the back of his neck. *My purposes are broad and many, cherished disciple.* a scintillating voice said, so soft it could have easily been dismissed as his imagination. *But my task for you shall become known very soon.* The curtains stirred as if in a breeze, even though the window remained closed. Temnal drew a deep, cleansing breath, the tension in his back and neck insensibly relaxing. What felt like cool moonlight flooded his soul and washed away the lingering stain of the night's horrors. *Lady, I ask nothing better,* he responded. *Thou knowst Thou art first in my heart.* The moonstone’s light bloomed like a silver flower, surrounding him in its warmth. *I know this, Temnal. Thou hast forever been a loyal and cherished disciple. I have chosen you because you will not fail me when the time comes. I offer you this gift for your diligence.* He felt his hair stir as gentle lips anointed his head with a kiss. *Sleep now, my Child of Shadow. You will have little rest in the days to come.* Temnal felt the Lady's peace settling over him like a gossamer veil. He rose, started to turn... only to find the immaterial folds drawing him down onto the bed, and deeper into sweet oblivion. |
