Hubris: Pilgrimage - 13. Chapter Thirteen

The journey was agonizingly slow going. Cenya's determination was no match for the uneven terrain of the woods. Still, for a crippled woman with only one leg she maneuvered around her disabilities far better than Tannhaus who breathed like a wounded animal, stopping every several feet to clutch at his heaving sides. He glared resentfully at Crowe and Barghast who watched him with matching frowns of disapproval. “I can hear what you're thinking,” Tannhaus said through gritted teeth. “You probably think I’m just some spoiled daddy's boy…”

“We weren't thinking that at all but now that you mention it…” Rake tipped a conspiratorial wink in the practitioner's direction. Crowe turned his head away to hide a snicker. As the minutes turned to hours it became a struggle to hide his impatience. He wasn't the only one. Barghast made groveling sounds under his breath in Okanavian and even Cenya’s expression grew rigid when they reached the stream at midday. “At this rate we won't make it to the cave,” the rat-faced man hissed to Crowe. “We’ll be out here sitting ducks in the middle of the night.”

“We’ll make it,” the practitioner assured him.

This earned him a frown from Rake. “You alright, herald?”

Crowe wrinkled his nose at the name ‘herald’. “I wish you wouldn't call me that. Why do you ask if I’m alright?”

The man chuckled. “I dunno…You seem a bit more chipper than usual.”

It was Crowe's turn to frown, to wonder at his newfound sense of confidence. He looked back at Barghast who stood several yards ahead of them with his rifle in hand, scanning the trees intently. “I’ve been on the road for several weeks,” he said at last. He watched Cenya stop as she struggled to catch her breath. “You don't know what it's like out there. Even if we find a way to end this curse you won't be any safer. In a way it has protected you - shrouded you from the rest of the world.”

Rake sighed. “I know. Monad knows I try not to think about it even though there's no avoiding it in the end. We're going to have to leave, aren't we?”

“I’m afraid so.” Crowe looked the man in the eye. If he was going to deliver such a harsh truth he could at least do that much. “If you stay your people will die. I’m sorry. I imagine this isn't what you want to hear.”

When the man spoke the practitioner heard the first few touches of fear in his voice. “Where will we go? How will we make it on the road with the torchcoats burning everybody and everything to the ground?”

“There's Caemyth.”

“Caemyth is over a thousand miles away.”

“I believe Monad will guide the way.”

Rake's mouth twisted into his usual grimace. “And no offense, but you're just a kid...even after everything I’ve seen you do thus far. How old are you? And don't lie to me.”

The practitioner looked away, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Nineteen.”

Rake made a sputtering sound that caused Barghast to glance in their direction. “Nineteen? Compared to Cenya you're hardly a child. You're a newborn baby. How can Monad…assuming he can really communicate with you from the Void…”

Cenya rose to her feet motioning to Rake she was ready to move on. Crowe pressed his lips together. “It was Monad,” he insisted; the tremor in his voice revealed him to be a fool who didn't believe in his own lies.

“Was it?” Rake's eyes twinkled with merry cynicism. “Was it actually Monad who came down from Metropolis and told you to undertake such a great responsibility?”

Crowe had no answer. He remembered the day he’d stood under the glow of the Eternal City, watching as a small dot grew larger and larger with the flicker of wings. He remembered how the Seraphim's touch had seared his hand…not pleasantly warm in the way Barghast's paws were, but hot enough to leave a permanent imprint in the flesh. No matter how hard he tried to cover the breach, Rake’s words wormed their way into his mind. Is it possible all this is a game…and I'm just a pawn being manipulated? To what end and by whom? The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. When he was sure it didn't seem too obvious he was cowering away, the sorcerer drifted away from Rake. He sped up until he caught up with the Okanavian. More and more he preferred the lycan's reassuring silence and lingering glances. Communication between the two of them was both far more complicated and astoundingly simple.

Night chased their heels doggedly, making a mockery of their progress. Rake had fallen behind with Cenya, half carrying her with an arm slung over his shoulder. The old woman's face was set in a rictus of pain. Sheets of sweat sheened her forehead. Carrying the brunt of her weight, Rake didn't look like he was faring much better.

“How much further?” Crowe demanded. They stood on the ascent of a steep hill. Barghast stood at the top of the opposite hill, barking urgently at him in Okanavi. Pale faces loomed out of the trees, black eyes glittering, teeth flashing white in the dark.

“Half a mile,” Rake huffed.

“Go.” Crowe pushed his mana into his staff until the runes lit up the dark spaces in between the trees. Dozens of shapes moved towards them from all directions. Crowe felt his throat dry up. “Rake, you're going to have to carry her the rest of the way and run!” A single white-haired shape sauntered ahead of the rest, skin pallid under black streaks of dirt.

A strangled gasping sound made the practitioner look over. Tannhaus watched the shape advance with wide eyes that only showed the whites. “That's Lagerof,” he whispered.

Crowe gave him a hard shove towards Rake. “Go, damn you! I’m not dying for you…” He faces the crowd of wandering damned souls, backing slowly up the hill. Only when the rest of the group were up the heel did he turn to jog to the top. He stayed at the rear of the group while Barghast was their guide through the woods. Twice Barghast tried to drop back to Crowe only for the practitioner to urge him to stay at the front.

Cenya let out an audible sob of relief when the cave appeared through the thicket of trees. They ducked inside, breath steaming the air. Crowe dropped to the cave, not caring if he scraped his knees. He watched the damn stop just outside of the caves. Their voices rang with song and cheer; in them he heard the echoing clink of chains and the hiss of blades slicing through flesh followed by the screams of agony. The practitioner tried to focus on his prayers. “Monad, I know you are with me…”

A dark magnet pulled at his mind, breaking his concentration. A glance outside the cave showed a single figure stepping away from the crowd of singing, expectant silhouettes waiting in the shadows of the trees. Crowe recognized the flash of white hair as Lagerof. She smiled at him as if they were the best of friends. Webs of black veins spread through her skin, making her look desiccated. Though they had never lain eyes on each other she watched him with an intimate familiarity; he knew he was speaking to the same entity who’d spoken through Tannhaus' mouth, looked at him through the bear’s eyes…and through Bennett's eyes. Again he could feel the chains of fate closing in around him, constraining him to a path he would never be able to fully understand. “Herald, I see you did not heed my warning. Like the cockroach you are, you have a tendency to intrude on matters that you are not wanted in.”

Crowe gritted his teeth. Gathering his courage he advanced forward until he stood in the mouth of the cave. Why don't they just storm us? They have us surrounded and outnumbered. Why don't they attack us?

“It is not a demon's way to attack us outright,” Cenya's voice crackled over his shoulder. “Sometimes they do the way the bear did…to make us feel unsafe, like we live in a world without reason. But in truth they attack your mind. They attack your spirit. You don't need me to tell you to be careful when you parley with a demon.”

Filing her advice in the back of his mind, Crowe turned his attention back to Lagerof. “It is you who did not heed my warning, demon. I told you I would be at the temple. And by the time night falls tomorrow I shall be.”

“Brazen just like your creator.” Lagerof eyed the chain dangling around Crowe's neck. “Fitting that he should pick a benefactor who oversteps in confidence the same way he did…for why else is the world the way it is?” Lagerof lifted a hand to indicate the trees around them. “All one big mistake. And it will continue to be, again and again, one Iteration after the next, the Fourth, the Fifth, the Sixth…”

“Try to distract me all you want, demon,” the practitioner hissed even as the doubt rose in him like black pillars of smoke. “It won't change the fact that I’m coming or that your nights of terror are numbered for I will cut you from the heart of these mountains. Or…” He spread his arms out. “We could just end everything out here, right now, in the open. You clearly have the manpower. What's stopping you?” A ripple of unease cracked Lagerof’s remote features. A thrill of triumph licked Crowe’s belly. When Lagerof did not advance to meet his challenge, Crowe grinned. “You can't, can you? Not unless we let you. Not unless it’s of our will.”

A gust of wind blew around Lagerof, making the branches of the trees shake and rattle. The smell of rot blackened the air. Crowe turned his head away, his gorge rising. Once more Lagerof's teeth flashed in the dark. I may not be able to worm my way into your mind, but that doesn't mean there aren't others who are weak of will that smile said.

“Gregor,” she said. “I see you have lost your way. It's time to come back where you belong.”

“No,” Tannhaus whined weakly behind the practitioner. “Stay out of my head…”

“You came out here in the hopes you could gain your father's approval,” Lagerof continued with a simper. She let her voice trail off long enough for Tannhaus to raise his head and hiss, “Not another word, demon!”

“What is she talking about?” Rake’s eyes swiveled from Lagerof’s ghostly face to Tannhaus'.

“Don't listen to her!” Gregor squeaked. “All she will do is feed you lies.”

“Very rarely does a demon lie,” Cenya said in a soft voice she might have used with a child, but her eyes held on Tannhaus like slivers of ice. “I’d say they are more honest than we are. They're like mirrors: They reveal the truths we don't want known about ourselves. I imagine we are about to learn a lot of interesting things about you, Gregor.”

“You heard about the power in the temple,” Lagerof continued to taunt Tannhaus. She held a dirt-smudged finger up to her temple, reminding him that she’d been in his head. “Your father dismissed the stories when you brought them to his attention…superstitious hogwash spun by the locals in this region. You knew better. You’ve seen enough of the world to know there's more to the world than the Theocracy's narrow perceptions can conceive…in spite of their power. I’ll show him, you thought. You wanted to prove to him there was more to science than steam and pistons and calloused hands and the brute smell of sweat. You wanted to show him there was another type of power that could be harnessed.”

“Harnessed?” Rake croaked. His breath had risen into an unsteady wheeze that quickened with each new revelation on Tannhaus’ misdeeds. Crowe sensed he would have to diffuse this conversation soon if the scientist was going to make it through to the night. Why? You heard the demon. Just because he doesn’t use brute force like his father to conquer the world doesn’t mean he isn’t as dangerous. In the end he fell into the same trap he was going to use as a weapon against your people, it simply backfired on his people. Now look at him. You should let Rake kill him before he creates more trouble.

“Rake.”

The man did not look away from Tannhaus.

“Rake!” Crowe barked. “I need you to look at me…”

“What do you want, herald?”

“He stays alive.”

“Why?” Sharp blue eyes pierced his own. “You heard what she said, twisted truth or no. He’s no better than his father. He doesn’t care about anyone else but gaining power and he’ll do anything to get it.”

“I know.”

“So tell me why we should let him live. Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in his head and make myself feel a whole lot better. Convince me.”

Crowe sidled slowly up to the man. Rake had his rifle cocked on Tannhaus who crouched pitifully on the floor of the cave, shielded behind his hands. Barghast stepped forward , tensing, his attention fixed on Rake, his claws unfurled. Crowe’s breath hitched in his chest. A nightmare was unfolding before his eyes, a nightmare that would only end in two ways. Both ended with Rake dead. Either he would shoot Tannhaus or he would shoot Crowe to keep the practitioner from intervening. Barghast, who’s primal instincts would view Rake too dangerous of a liability to keep around.

No, he thought. This is exactly what the thing inside Lagerof wants, just like Cenya said.

“Stop.” The word came out as a strangled whisper. Rake tensed, an impulse away from turning the rifle on him. The bells of Inferno chimed through the dark. Outside the cave the souls of the damned sang hymns to Hamon the Black One, dancing naked under the moon. “Think about what you’re doing. Think about who you are. Even now, even in this moment everything you do has consequences…”

Rake scoffed. “How can you say that when this world is doomed to end? What makes you think the next one will be any better?”

Bennett’s face floated before Crowe’s mind. “I used to know someone who believed everything we do in this Iteration carries onto the next…that our actions in past cycles determine what our lives will be like in the next.”

“Do you believe it?”

“I want to,” Crowe said truthfully. “It’s what I have to hold onto to do…this.” He gestured vaguely at the naked figures still prancing around in the silky darkness. “I believe even in war principles matter. Morals especially. The Theocracy kill us…enslave us…because they think we aren’t their equals. They fear us. They think we are savages. By killing Gregor you could start a fire that you can’t put out. You could enrage his father into seeking vengeance and everything we’re doing now would be a mute point…you would doom the rest of your village for sure.”

He could see his words were starting to have an effect on the man, the knots of tension in his jaw and forehead easing. Before Crowe could decide whether or not he regretted speaking on behalf of Tannhaus’ life, Rake lowered his weapon. The practitioner exhaled a sigh of relief. He turned his head just in time to see Lagerof recede back into the shadows. The night was too early to gloat in triumph. Exhaustion took root deep in his body. He sensed a power had been at work he’d only now become aware of. It was not the same power he channeled through his staff, but the power of words, the power of reason, the power and influence to divert violence and catastrophe. It was far more exhausting to wield but equally rewarding. He fought the urge to grin. He slouched to the floor, exhausted.

“It would seem stories of the herald are true,” Cenya told him with a tired smile.

“I was never told stories of a herald,” the practitioner admitted with a bitter grin.

“Your power is more than just fire and fancy flashes of light. You have a way with words. That’s more important than you think. Make sure you feed it. It could serve you well down the road.”

Crowe held up the Lion-Headed Serpent in her direction to tell her he would do just that.

“You should rest,” Cenya told him. “I will take the first watch. Don’t get me wrong, my body aches all over but my mind is as restless as ever. The older I get the longer I go without sleep. I go weeks without sleeping now. If something happens I’ll wake you up.” She glanced in the direction of the lycan. “I doubt I’m the only one who will be keeping an eye out.”

Crowe nodded, grateful to her. The parley with Lagerof had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit. He unrolled his bedroll at the back of the cave. Rake and Tannhaus had already settled into their pallets, muttering uneasily in their sleep. Barghast lowered himself into a sitting position next to Crowe’s pallet where the practitioner knew he would remain for the rest of the night.

“Good night, Barghast.”

This earned him a tail wag. The lycan leaned over, ruffling his hair gently with a leathery paw. “Twin o’rre.” It was the equivalent of Good night.

That night Crowe was shaken by troubled dreams. He stood naked under the red skies of Inferno while flakes of ash dropped down over his head. Naked bodies pressed against him from all sides. Spiked chains dug into his flesh until his blood filled the cracks in the stone beneath his scabbed, blistered feet. No matter how hard he tried to stand tall and find steady ground, the sea of undulating bodies tugged him this way and that. Nails caked with ash and soot clawed at his flesh. He grappled desperately with the person in front of him, trying to get away.

Tall, slender limbed figures moved among the columns of twisting limbs. The surrounding gloom made it impossible to tell what they fully looked like. Two arms and two legs suggested beings of humanoid origins. Empty eye sockets looked upon the writhing souls who went still under their merciless gaze as if afraid of being struck. Metal surgical instruments gleamed from crude belts looped through steel rings embroidered into the slavers’ tunics. Crowe was glad he could not see them from a closer vantage point. He knew only one word for these creatures. Revenants. The undead servants of Inferno.

At the top of the black spire in the middle of the slave field stood the demon who had possessed Lagerof and Tannhaus. While it was not the most powerful of its kind, the demon did claim the power to possess multiple bodies and link them under one influence. Crowe knew that if it was left unchecked it would continue to spread throughout the world until it engulfed everything. Imperious red eyes scanned the multitudes that gathered in fearful reverence of the being, souls who had fallen under its grasp never to return to their own bodies; the practitioner knew if he searched closely enough he would find Lagerof’s soul in here.

Just as the shadow of a revenant fell over him, Crowe jerked awake. The first thing he was aware of was that he was cold. Never mind that he felt as if he’d been baking under the Inferno’s alien sky seconds ago, he was truly cold. He couldn’t feel his own body. In the dying glow of the fire he could see Tannhaus, Cenya, and Rake had huddled together, united temporarily by the need to survive. Just as he was about to draw his knees into his chest for warmth, he felt the blanket he’d huddle under shift.

“Twin o’rre.”

He looked up to find the Okanavian towering over him. His eyes burned like molten coins. Stupid from sleep and cold, Crowe’s eyes traveled from Barghast’s head down the length of his torso. Scars both long and round, young and old cut through his fur, glimmering. Only when his eyes reached below the lycan's hips did he realize Barghast was completely naked. Crowe’s gaze lingered on a certain spot. Monad help me.

He’d never seen Barghast naked before; the lycan had always worn his tunic before if nothing else. Anytime they’d stopped at a stream or a river in an attempt to wash the filth from their bodies, Crowe turned away, never allowing himself to indulge in his curiosity. Now he had no choice.

The tree of fur that started out at the top of his chest, trailed down down his torso; Crowe took particular notice how the muscles, solid as stone, pressed through the fur. The trail of fur continued down to his groin. His eyes halted on the lycan’s sheath. It seemed to twitch with a life of its own. The skin was a dark pink with darker veins of purple branching through it like tributaries. The saliva in his mouth evaporated at the sight of the lycan’s balls - massive things larger than the practitioner’s fist. Barghast’s sheath twitched again with movement. A drop of viscous white fluid dripped from the column of spongy tissue that hardened as his arousal became more and more apparent. The tapering head peeked through.

Crowe felt all the blood in his body travel down to a single point. Barghast grinned at him, a deep growl sounding in his throat. His tail pointed straight up in the air. Crowe rolled away from the lycan so that he faced the sleeping form of his other traveling companions. He managed to swallow. The inside of his throat felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. “Barghast, what are you doing?” he whispered without looking back at the Okanavian.

“Crowe.” The Okanavian’s eyes bore into Crowe’s back. The practitioner sensed movement at his back as Barghast lowered himself down to the pallet. Crowe shifted in spite of himself, making as much room as he could in the pallet. He turned on his side but watched the Okanavian crawl onto the pallet, mesmerized by the size of the organ bouncing in between Barghast’s legs. He tried to pull away when the Okanavian touched him but Barghast would not be denied. Strong arms wrapped around him like a bow around the trunk of a tree. Barghast pulled him in until the practitioner’s back was pressed directly against his chest.

Crowe didn’t move. His thoughts spun, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Why are you surprised? Bennett asked him. He touches you all the time. You always act like you don’t want him to at first, but then you let him.

He’s never stripped naked before. Not like this.

What’s there to complain about? When’s the last time another man has touched you?

“Twin o’rre.” The lycan’s hot breath tickled his ear. He could feel Barghast’s eyes on the back of his neck. With his body dwarfed by the Okanavian’s own, he could feel sensation returning to his numbed flesh. His teeth had stopped chattering. Warm fingers sifted through his hair, making his scalp tingle. Something hot and hard poked insistently against his backside. The sorcerer tried not to think about it even though he knew damned well what it was.

Eventually Barghast’s unwavering attention and steady breathing pulled Crowe around to face him so that they laid so close together their noses almost touched. Their hips did touch. Blue eyes beheld amber. “Ymg' mgep ya bthnk," Barghast rumbled. “Ymg' mgep ya orr'e. Y' ephaisyha'h ymg' ah'ehye mgepnnn.” A finger traced the line of Crowe’s cheekbone.

The practitioner felt something inside him that had been clenched from the moment of waking unfurl. “Good night, Barghast,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. This time he did not dream.

The next morning the group moved in silence, bodies sore from sleeping on uneven ground. Crowe had feared Barghast sleeping naked in his pallet would draw disapproving glances from the others, but he needn’t have worried. Rake and Cenya huddled together as they packed the rest of their things, the villagers from Timberford on one side of the cave, the outsiders from the highway on the other. Only Tannhaus remained alone with no one to consort in private with. It occurred to Crowe they were too busy dealing with their own inner turmoil to give a damn about what he and Barghast did.

In the process of folding his pallet, Crowe paused to watch the scientist thoughtfully. The previous night seemed to have taken more of a toll on the scientist than it had on the sorcerer: he looked around the cave miserably, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Dark circles marked his sockets. His eyes were red and puffy from crying tears all night. The practitioner wondered if they’d dreamed of the same thing last night. A dozen questions spun inside his mind. Tannhaus was the only one he could think of who could answer them. Making up his mind, Crowe approached the scientist. Tannhaus stiffened slightly.

“What do you want?” he asked shiftily.

The practitioner looked around the cave. He spotted the Okanavian standing by the mouth of the cave. He watched Rake and Cenya work, an impatient scowl screwed on his dark features. “How much do you know about lycans?”

Tannhaus frowned, studying him more intently. “Not much more than you do, I expect, but probably a little more thanks to Lagerof. Why? Is there something you want to know about your lycan companion?”

“It’s not easy traveling with someone I don’t understand.”

“No, I imagine it’s not. How long have you traveled together?”

“A week.”

Gregor’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile but it was gone before Crowe could say for sure. “Interesting?”

“Lagerof is the only person I know who has had any exposure to the lycans. I can’t speak for the drifters, but as a culture the Okanavi people are closed off. They are hostile to any outsiders who go into the desert; they are equally hostile towards any lycan who strays away from their clan. Once they leave the desert, the drifter is exiled from their clan for life; they can never again return home.”

“Why would a lycan leave their home if it costs them their clan?”

Tannhaus shrugged. “Who knows? A bad case of wanderlust. Eternal glory. You would know better than I would.”

Crowe ground his teeth together in frustration. “I don’t know anything. He just follows me around wherever I go. When anyone else tries to approach me he gets hostile…”

“Overprotective?”

“Yes.”

The scientist nodded as if he understood something. “He’s just protecting what he thinks is his.”

“What he thinks is his? He thinks I’m ‘his’?”

“It’s no different than a mongrel protecting his master.”

“I’m not his master. I’m not anything to him.”

Tannhaus cocked a knowing grin at the practitioner. “How can you say what you are and are not to him? I’ve seen the scars on his body. Some of them look fresh. Fresh enough for me to put two and two together. He looked like he was beaten. Badly. You saved him?”

Crowe let his silence speak for him. After a moment he said, “He keeps calling me twin o’rre.”

Tannhaus’ eyes brightened with surprise.

“You know what it means?”

The scientist studied the Okanavian from where he stood a long time before answering. “It’s a term of endearment. It means ‘twin-spirit’. The Okanavi believe they are born in pairs…in spirit, not in body. According to their doctrine, there is no greater bond than that between a lycan and their twin o’rre. It means neither sibling or lover, but both.”

“He thinks I’m…his lover?”

Gregor grimaced in a way that said he was ready for this conversation to be over. “Who knows what he thinks? The only way to find out is to spend more time with him. Pay attention to what he does. Always remember this: Actions speak louder than words. He may not be able to communicate with you the way we do…some might see that has a sleight, but I don’t think it is. He tells you the truth every day not by what he says but by what he does.” He turned to walk away. “A final thought to think about: I would say you depend on him every bit as he depends on you. And you try to act like you don’t care, but you clearly do. I would say things aren’t entirely one sided.”

The practitioner floundered for an answer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Gregor flashed him a knowing grin. “Pride is the downfall of man, herald. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times. I see the way you look at him. The way you always draw close to one another. You may have only been traveling together for several days, but in those several days it sounds like a month worth of things have happened. You two are bound together by more than just survival. My advice is this: Only time will tell. Things will become clearer with patience. As for the Okanavian…Do you trust him…?”

“With my life,” came the answer without hesitation.

Another nod. Another knowing smile as if this had been the expected answer all along. “It seems to me you already have the answer you need. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”