Hubris - 14. The Temple

Rake stopped in the shadow of the mountain, his mouth thinned to a grim line. “There it is,” he said. Crowe didn't like the sense of disquiet and awe the sight of the temple filled him with. Accustomed to seeing one and two story buildings made of wood or stone, this was his first view of the Architects’ work, the hands that had helped Monad spin the world into shape. The temple had been carved from the mountain itself and stood out of the rock like the rib bones of a carcass. Black rock had been smoothed down, imbuing it with a sense of agelessness. It had always been here and it always would be. Steps of granite led up to the mountain, steep and uneven. It would take an act of determination to climb them. Crowe touched the pendant at his throat. It will take an act of faith. Shadows bled thickly from the open windows carved into the temple’s walls, obscuring any hints of what the temple contained.

“I should have been telling you this every step of the way, but you know you don’t have to do this, right?” Rake asked the practitioner. This time there was no mistaking the edge of respect in his voice.

“I wouldn’t have come to Timberford if I wasn’t meant to. Metropolis appeared over your village for a reason.” Crowe turned his gaze on Cenya’s pallid face. “We’ll sit here a minute to catch our breaths and then we’ll we need to start climbing. We don’t have long before nightfall is upon us again.”

A retching sound made him turn. Gregor stood several feet away, his back turned to the practitioner. His shoulders shook with convulsions. Had the sight of the temple unlocked any of the memories he’d lost? I wish I’d never given him my blood. The thought flashed across Crowe’s mind, gone before he could give it much thought. Another thought came to him. It was a mistake to bring the scientist here. He should have stayed in Timberford and left in the morning. Whatever his excuses are, with his connections to his father he would have been safe on the road. Did I bring him here to die?

Sitting on the steps, Barghast slid fresh shells in the chamber of his rifle. He looked up, meeting the practitioner’s eyes. He smiled. Crowe smiled back. He nodded at the cave. Are you going first? The incident at the cabin and the memory of the shriveled man sitting on his chest were all too fresh - this time they would be dealing with a different kind of parasite, one that took over your flesh as well as your mind. Barghast’s lip twitched once more: Yes.

“Say,” Rake said to Crowe, “can I ask you something?”

Crowe gave him a tired sigh. “Feel free.”

“I keep thinking about something the demon said when it was Tannhaus: what you did for him, have you done it before?”

Bennett’s face flashed before the practitioner’s mind. “Twice. Once with the lycan and once with someone else. They fell under a similar affliction as your village. He was a friend.”

“What happened?”

He left me. “He went to Caemyth to join the rebellion.”

Rake must have heard the change in his voice for he was hasty to ask another question. “What I really want to know is can you save all of them? Do what you did with Tannhaus?”

Crowe imagined rounding up each of the possessed night after night; he imagined slicing his wrist, once, twice, three times, until his arm was a succession of bloody cuts. He imagined Barghast holding his wrist to lick each one. Could it be done? Perhaps. Did he want to do it? In the name of the Void, no. He let his silence answer for him.

The Okanavian led the way up the steep staircase with Crowe behind him and Tannhaus taking up the rear. Barghast climbed the steps with ease, reaching the top of the stairs while the others huffed and puffed. He watched the dwindling light, gesturing at them intently. “Ahephai. Ahephai, ahephai.” His tail stood out straight against the air.

Crowe pushed himself up another step. They were so high now he could feel gravity pulling at his back with an invisible hook. Don’t look over your shoulder. Don’t look down. He knew if he were to look down he would find the ground and the trees far below him. As if the fear of falling had triggered the consequence, his sweaty fingers slipped off the step above his head. His body began to tip back. His heart caught in his throat. He reached out to grab onto stones only to feel his fingers slip uselessly against the edge. He reached again and took a hold of Barghast’s paw. The lycan hauled him to his feet.

“Thanks,” the practitioner gasped breathlessly. “Let’s not do that again anytime soon, huh?”

By the time the others caught up, the first signs of red and orange appeared in the sky. A tic of fear made Crowe’s heart skip a beat. We have an hour of daylight left. Soon the damned souls of Timberford would awaken and leave their slumbering places. Lagerof would lead them down the steps to the village night after night until there was nothing left. Crowe felt a shiver race up his spine.

“Are you really going to make me go back in there?” Tannhaus asked him in a shaking voice.

Looking at the man’s stricken face, Lagerof’s words returned to the practitioner. A hot stab of anger pierced him. It took all his willpower not to spit in the man’s face. “You should be dead. The only reason why you’re not is because you could still be of use; otherwise I know Rake is itching to put a bullet in you. May I remind you, you caused this. You were going to use this discovery to gain the approval of your father…you were going to use this as a weapon against my people, thinking the power below is something you can control. And yet you Theocracy bastards think you’re so righteous.”

“You don’t know what it’s like down there,” the scientist hissed.

“So you are starting to remember,” Rake scoffed.

Tannhaus nodded feverishly. He cleared his throat. “I don’t remember much else. A few flashes came back to me when the temple first appeared through the trees. Not long after Lagerof finished translating the hieroglyphs, another member of the team Darwin found a tunnel going underground. I remember hearing voices…screams…” He shook his head, trembling. He looked at Crowe, pleading with wide, frightened eyes. “Please. You can’t make me go in there. You don’t know what it was like…” His voice trailed away, choked off by sobs. Crowe was incapable of feeling pity for the man. The biggest test is not going into the temple, but not killing the man in front of me. Monad help me, he is insufferable.

Rake pressed the muzzle of his rifle between the man’s shoulder blades. “Since you can remember the way, you can be the one to lead us inside. Get to stepping. And you best not dawdle.”

They pulled gas lamps from their bags and lit them. The front of the temple was dominated by a large archway that receded back into shadow. Crowe paused, noting how the air went completely still, as if the very earth was holding its breath in anticipation. Would they go in or would they gather their senses and leave Timberford behind? Barghast sniffed the air, his brow furrowed in concentration. He gave a stiff nod. For now it was safe to go inside. The group entered the temple.

“I can’t tell you how strange it is to be here.” Though she whispered, Cenya's voice echoed off the walls of the inner chamber. Crowe was grateful for the break in silence. “For so long I avoided this place, kept away by the stories my parents used to tell me.” She smiled at the practitioner; the end of her staff made tapping sounds each time it touched the floor. “You have helped an old woman out of her shell, herald.”

“I doubt this is what you had in mind for your first real adventure.”

She chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

The glow from their lanterns threw patterns of light against the archaic stone walls. Hieroglyphs marked the walls and ceilings. Tapestries made of silk preserved by time hung from the corners of the chamber. “This is where we camped.” Tannhaus pointed at the half dozen bed rolls stationed throughout the chamber. “This is where everything started.”

A sigh stirred the dust in the chamber. Tannhaus let out a squeak. His eyes darted around the chamber. “Did you hear that?”

“Brace yourself,” Cenya advised him. “You know better than anyone the dangers we face.”

Crowe’s attention was drawn to a nearby tapestry. He squinted, trying to make sense of the images embroidered in the cloth. His fingers itched to touch the cloth. A cautious voice in the back of his mind reasoned against it. A shiver of revulsion and fear raced up his spine. He stepped away, wishing he could erase the images from his mind. The more he looked the more was shown to him. Surely no human hand could depict human suffering in such exquisite detail. Men and women were shackled to operating tables. He recognized the long limbs and hollow eyes of the revenants who had plagued last night’s nightmares. They experimented on their subjects with efficient glee, sawing them open to get at the jewels inside or sticking needles in their eyes. In other depictions demonic beings with massive phalluses; their pulsing erections with dripping heads and slitted glowing eyes only hinted at the carnal desires they intended to indulge with their victims.

Next to the tapestry he found a wood desk covered with sheafs of parchment. He glanced guiltily at Tannhaus. He needn’t have worried about the scientist protesting. Gregor huddled in the corner of the temple, rocking back and forth. Pulled by curiosity, Crowe shifted through the pages in the hopes they would provide a clue to his next move. He could feel the passing of every second, every minute. Barghast’s low prayer was a reminder the time before nightfall was only growing shorter. By now the people in Timberford would start gathering inside the tavern. He squinted, trying to make sense of the cramped, hurried writing. He tried not to think about the man from the cabin during his first real day of travel with Barghast. At last he was able to make something out:…this temple dates back to the first days of the Third Iteration, when this land was nothing but rocks and trees and the settlers left over from the Second Iteration. The hieroglyphs on the wall chronicles the feud between Monad and Elysia…

Still reading, Crowe drifted away from the desk. Only when he stood in front of the wall did he look up.

“Ah, the story of Monad.”

The crackle of Cenya’s voice made the practitioner jump. He looked away so she couldn’t see the flush of his cheeks. “You know it?”

The old woman’s answering smile pulled at her wrinkles. “Very well. My pa used to tell it to me every night at my request.” She looked at the first mural. The mural showed a single figure made of white light falling from a rent in the sky; winged figures clashed in the sky above the figure. Below a black hole yawned open in the crust of the earth: the Void. Monad’s eternal prison. Cenya gestured at the mural with a liver spotted hand.

The next mural showed the white figure standing in a black cell. He pressed his face up against the bars with a miserable expression painted on his features. Above his head the two sides of fighting angels met in the center of the sky, shaking hands. “With Monad tucked back away in his prison, Elysia left the material universe so Monad’s Architects could fight amongst themselves. It was Hamon, Monad’s first creation, at last able to act freely in the absence of his creator who turned the land of the Second Iteration into the fiery lands known as Inferno. There he and his followers squabbled and schemed amongst themselves, waiting for Monad’s re-emergence from his prison. In the meantime they torture Monad’s creations and keep them in ruin.”

“Until Elysia returns and the whole cycle starts all over again,” Crowe murmured.

Cenya nodded. “So the story goes.”

A low moan broke the stillness inside the chamber. The practitioner froze. Barghast let out a low growl, cocking his rifle. He stared at something only he could see. The sorcerer drew closer to him, staff at the ready. He willed the hand that held the gas lamp aloft to remain steady.

“Is that them?” Gregor hissed. “Are they coming?”

Rake flashed him a warning look. Gregor’s jaw clamped shut with an audible crack.

Reaching out with the muzzle of his weapon, Barghast brushed aside a long tapestry, revealing the length of a long corridor. It was impossible to tell how far the corridor went back. The air pulsed. Another voice sounded from within the corridor, an exalted gasp that made the practitioner’s skin want to crawl off the bone. They were not alone! It had to be one of the infected. His body tensed, poised to leave the temple and everyone in it behind. Something else kept his foot rooted to the floor. A secret compartment of courage he didn’t know he had.

Another voice and another and another raised in chant. Raised in prayer. He smelled again the fires of Inferno, the black stench of unwashed flesh and shit and bodily fluids. Crowe pulled his necklace over his head with clammy fingers. He squeezed the Lion-Headed Serpent until the edge bit into his flesh. “Monad, I know you are with me,” he whispered under his breath. “I would not be here if it was not meant to be…if it was not the way of the cycle.” He took a step forward. Two steps forward. Another and another. He heard Barghast whisper his name, perhaps imparting caution. Crowe did not look around. His eyes were fixed on the shadows ahead of him. If Rake and Cenya followed behind him he did not know. Did not care. This is my mission to complete…alone if I must.

“I long for the days when I can walk among the streets of the Eternal City. When I can bask in the light of your glory. Where I can watch the creation of a new and better world…”

Another doorway to the right. This one led down a corridor exactly identical to the one Crowe’s group found themselves in with no indication where they should head. Before he could close his eyes in prayer, something moved. A human figure parted from the murk, stepping into the dome of light from his lamp. Colorless eyes watched him from the holes of a steel mask. Long greasy ringlets of black hair hung down past its broad shoulders. Steel ringlets encircled muscular arms that suggested the mask wearer was male. He was dressed much like Barghast, the upper half of his body left bare while the lower half was swathed in a black tunic made of rough leather. His wide uneven fingers that had been broken in the past, he held up a dagger; the blade was dusted with crusts of dried blood. “You do not belong here, herald!” the figure shouted, deep voice only muffled slightly by the mask. “I will eat of your flesh and drink of your blood…MY SOUL BELONGS TO HAMON!”

Crowe did not give the man time to charge. His determination to advance forward filled the corridor with billowing flame. He watched the man dance and spin, his screams filling the corridor as he fled in the opposite direction. The practitioner squinted against the smoke.

Just as the sorcerer sucked in a breath, the floor shifted beneath his feet. Before darkness could take a hold and pull him into the black hole that had opened up, Barghast yanked him back. A human head poked up from the hole. Sinewy limbs unfolded until the figure rose out of the ground, coils of razor wire twisting out of its hands. The curve of large, bare breasts and the black eyes of large nipples suggested this new adversary was female. More figures materialized at the end of both junctions. They crawled along the floor, barking and crying in languages Crowe would never be able to understand. He thought he heard Rake shout something but the words were lost in the cacophony.

The woman before him let out a scream. It was the only warning Crowe had before the chain whipped towards his head. He ducked just in time to avoid the spikes from slicing into his flesh. He straightened before lashing out with a kick that sent the woman stumbling back against the crowd behind her. Crowe unleashed another wall of roaring flame into the dancing, undulating crowd. Animal calls of worship to Hamon turned into high-pitched screams of agony. The air steamed around him, boiling in the enclosed space. The scourge backed away, shambling the way they’d come. They cursed and spat at Crowe.

“Hamon! Hamon! Hamon…”

The moment an opening appeared he shouted, “Move, move, move!”

Barghast snarled something in Okanavian. He broke into a lunge, shouldering his way through the opening. Bodies flew to the side in his wake, slamming bonelessly against the wall. Cenya’s staff spun, emitting sparks of green light. She leaned against the wall to support herself, knocking an occultist back with a wave of mana. Rake pushed at her shoulder, coaxing her after the lycan.

“Move, damn you!” Crowe yanked a cowering Tannhaus to his feet. He shoved the scientist ahead of him. He threw a panicked glance over his shoulder. Even now more occultists crawled from holes in the wall that had not been there before. The temple was alive, walls shifting to make new openings. With nowhere left to turn, Crowe followed the stench of gunpowder and the sounds of battle coming from up ahead.

He rounded the corner of the next corridor, Tannhaus already sprinting out of sight. Crowe quickened his pace. The last thing he wanted was to get left behind in this place. Ahead of him Tannhaus stopped abruptly. He looked back at the practitioner, wide-eyed. A squeak escaped his trembling looks. “I triggered something.”

Crowe followed his gaze to his feet. Underneath the worn heels of his boots the practitioner could just make out a single tile that stood out unevenly from the rest.

A tremor shook the temple walls. Suffocating clouds of dust rained from the ceiling. Shouts sounded from every direction. The ground tilted beneath his feet. Crowe clung desperately to the tapestry. Gears churned behind the ancient stone. A hole much like the one Crowe had almost slipped through opened at the end of the hallway. The practitioner could only watch in silent horror as Barghast, Cenya, and Rake rolled down the corridor; he caught a final fleeting glimpse of their frightened faces before they dropped through the hole.

In a matter of seconds the world had turned completely upside down. Gone. They were gone. How could they just disappear like this? All it takes for everyone to go is for a stupid scientist to trigger a booby trap. Said stupid scientist clung to his leg with an iron grip, feet dangling over the drop. “Don’t let me go,” he squeaked. “I don’t want to go back. You don’t know what it was like…”

He scrabbled to maintain his hold on the tapestry. He kicked his legs in an attempt to kick Tannhaus off him but the man held onto him like an insect. His aching limbs cried out in protest.

The fabric ripped.

Tannhaus and he fell into darkness.