For two days, they rode the strider through the Clash-Mounts' crevices, anticipating another attack from the stormspawn. The black storm that was destined to hit them narrowly missed their passage. Only Tuls and his fellow channelers seemed to remain wary. There was corruption, but it was in distant canyons, far away from the strider. Even so, every channeler seemed to feel the rocks around them quiver with distress. There were always eyes on every deck and blades at the ready.
But they had other concerns too. The first night after they departed Heldair, Vincent began to exhibit odd behavior. One of the soldiers found him standing on the deck as if caught in a trance. Any attempt to get his attention was met with an unresponsive silence and he kept staring into the distance. It wasn’t unheard of for people to walk in their sleep, so they guided him back to his bed and thought nothing of it. But it happened again both on the second night and again the third. When asked about this, he insisted he knew nothing about it.
They reached their destination on the third day. After spending several days straddling between walls of stone, it was refreshing to have the Clash-Mounts open up to flat lands with scattered marshes. The dock they used for disembarking was far less populated than Heldair. In fact, it almost looked desolate. It was little more than a platform carved into the side of the cliff. The only building present was a home belonging to a small family who watched in amazement as the expedition unloaded their cargo. Three little ones ran back and forth with excitement, scaling the walls and watching with astounded snouts.
“Probably not used to seeing this much traffic,” Sperloc mused, “cannot say I am surprised. This is the closest the Walaki will come to The Gash and The Stillwater. Many people share their superstition, so you don't get many travelers in these parts.”
“Or it could be the humidity,” Vincent groaned, “I feel like I stepped into a sauna.”
No, Sperloc is right, Tuls thought.
Though the Walaki crew didn’t show it, it was clear they did not want to be here. In fact, they were almost reluctant to even set foot on the dock in order to help the expedition disembark, as if afraid the stone itself would curse them.
As soon as all the landriders and cargo were unloaded, the expedition headed out. They followed a path down the cliffside until it emptied them out into the flat lands. When Tuls looked back toward the dock, the cleft-strider was already gone.
Before them laid an expanse of golden meadows. Small, but stout trees with knuckled branches stood like wandering drifters navigating the sea of yellow verdancy. A lick of wrongness lapped at Tuls' cheeks and for a moment, he scanned the horizon for signs of stormspawn. No...this had a different “odor” to it, it felt older. Could The Gash's dormant malice be felt even from this distance?
For a day, they traveled across meadows that grew more featureless. As the heat swelled, the horizon shimmered and the humidity clung to everybody's flesh. Having grown up near marshes, Tuls wasn’t bothered by it. Vincent, however, was chewing on unspoken expletives. He went into a quiet tangent about how “reptiles should not sweat”.
Throughout the day, Tuls could feel the ebbings of the ancient wrongness grow stronger. It did not have the hunger of a predator tracking prey. It felt more like trauma, of horrible nightmares remembered. He shot a glance toward the other channelers to see if they could feel it. A few of them did. Mkari shared a knowing glance but said nothing.
Figures began to appear on the vista, totems built from sticks and bones. Skulls of beasts were draped in fur and staked as sentinels. Warnings. Tuls felt a brief surge of intense fear coming from one of the nearby escorts. But whoever it belonged to, snuffed it out before he could discern who it had been.
“There it is,” Sperloc growled.
In the furthest expanses of the vista, Tuls thought he could make out the wavering reflections of a marsh. But it was what stood between them and the marsh that drew everybody's attention. It filled him with a quiet, unfamiliar dread. A depression in the shape of a crescent sliced across the horizon as if the land itself had been cut with a knife. Though the cliff on the opposite shore was not tall, being more of a ledge than cliff, the descending sun cast its shadow over the lake, turning its murky waters into blackness. They bled forth from the wound with such reticence, one would be forgiven for thinking it was stagnant.
The expedition navigated around the lake, giving its shores a wide berth. Confused, Vincent tapped Sperloc on the wing.
“I thought you said we were stopping,” he said.
“We are,” the tuhli rasped, “but not on the lower shore. We camp on the cliff.” He pointed with a wing. “You never camp on The Gash's beach unless you despise sleep.”
Vincent looked like he was going to ask for more information, but he remained silent.
“You are talking about echoes,” Tuls said.
“I am.”
Tuls knew about the lake's reputation. He had prepared himself for it prior to leaving Meldohv. Just looking at it, one could tell the place was cursed. It, as well as the swamps behind it, were blights on the land. The Gash was the source of the land's subtle throbbing. He could sense its malignance like one could smell the stench of a corpse in the wind. There were fewer signs of animal life as they approached it. He thought he saw trails left behind by the occasional kelta, perhaps one that had lost its herd, but the grass upon which they walked was fresh and undisturbed.
They set up camp on a narrow stretch of dry land overlooking the lake and that separated The Gash from the marshes. They chose to forego the shelters for the night. If Tuls remembered his geography correctly, he knew the marshes in their immediate vicinity weren't any more threatening than those of a typical swamp. The domain of The Stillwater was further in. No, he was more worried about the black lake beneath them. Though it was well known that the lake was less of a threat than the marshes, his instincts nagged at him to get out of there.
After speaking to one of the zerok scouts, Akhil approached Vincent.
“You will ride with Menik tomorrow,” he said.
“Okay?”
“We will enter The Stillwater's marshes. When we do, you must be silent. You must keep movement to a minimum to avoid making any noise. If you need to speak, you will whisper and even then, only do so if it is urgent. If your madness returns while we are in The Stillwater, you will alert Menik. Tap his shoulder. Do not cure yourself. Your coughing will make too much noise. Lastly, you are not to leave the landrider's back unless Menik or one of us tells you to do so. Even then, you must not touch any body of water you see, no matter how small it may be.”
“A marsh filled with scary monsters, huh?” Vincent said, using a hand to brush aside one of his wings, which had drifted into his own face. He still struggled to control them.
“The water itself is the monster,” Sperloc interjected, “submerge any part of your body in it, it does not matter how small it is, you will not be able to pull it out. Place claw beneath the surface, we'll have to cut your finger off to free you. As for the silence...some say The Stillwater is alive and it hunts by the sound of speech. Whether or not it is sentient doesn't matter. It has been well-observed that those who chatter will 'attract' its waters.”
“Do not try to understand it,” Akhil said to Vincent's visible confusion, “just do what you are told.”
“Right.”
Tuls inspected and lubricated his crossbow, then set it down next to his mat. Sleep did not come easily. The stench and wrongness of the place kept intruding on his mind. At some point, he awoke when a shadow passed over him. He opened his eyes to find Vincent standing in a trance as he had the previous nights. Niftel and Tarn were at his back, casting twin shadows with their purple and crimson ambiance, limning the wild luminescence of his irises with darkness. Tuls flinched and by the time he got a hold of himself, he realized his arm had already reached toward his weapon.
“Vincent?” he whispered. No response.
Several others were awoken by Vincent's strange behavior. He did not resist when they guided him back to his mat, but he raised a finger and pointed silently in the same direction he was staring. A few of them shot a glance in Tuls' direction. Vincent kept pointing until they got him to lay down. Then he let his arm fall in place, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Tuls stood in confusion for a few moments, unsure of what to think. Then he realized he wasn't the one Vincent had been pointing at. He had been pointing in the direction of Crefield.
***
Sometime during the night, a strange noise arose in the darkness. It was the sound of distant chains dragging over stone. Vincent stirred in his sleep and turned onto his side. The clangor grew quieter, allowing him to sink back into slumber. The night was silent again, with only the whispers of the insects. Then somebody began to converse in the distance. He couldn’t hear their words, but their voices dragged him out of his dreams. Groaning, he turned onto his other side and plugged his ears, nearly stabbing his ear canals with the claws.
“Can you knock it off?” he murmured, “I'm trying to sleep.”
Somebody laughed at his comment and continued their strange conversation. Vincent opened his eyes and sat up. Clouds now obscured the sky, with only the occasional patches allowing light through. He looked around at the escort, preparing to bitch at whatever dumbasses could not keep their voices down. But he realized something was off: the laughter wasn’t coming from the camp, but in the direction of the lake. He felt around his pockets, trying to find the vial of Triasat. The laughter slowly faded into the distance as if the night absorbed its mirth. He noticed a lacertine silhouette standing nearby.
“Hey,” he said, “I can't find my meds.”
“Your...'meds'?” The voice belonged to Slade.
“The...Triasat.”
“It is by your feet. But you will not need it. We hear it too.”
“What...” He now noticed several more outlines in the darkness. “What...tell whoever...is doing that, to keep it down.” He was about to lay back down when Menik responded.
“Nobody is speaking,” he said, “be quiet and stop moving. We are trying to listen.”
Vincent was about to lay back down when he froze. At first, he didn’t hear a thing except for a very subtle breeze. But the chains returned. Something about the quality of their clangor was off. The expedition made their camp in the middle of an open space, yet the chains clamored with a reverberating echo. A luminescent sphere of light fizzled into existence above Akhil, casting the nearby lacertines into a pale relief. Those who still slept began to stir, some turned away from his spark, others rubbed their eyes and sat up.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“What...” Tuls yawned, “what are you...what is that noise?”
Akhil walked toward the cliff and sent the spark over its edge. It flew above large protrusions of rock, chasing shadows along the water. Several more sparks appeared and dove over the cliff, weaving across different parts of the rift. They skimmed above calm, albeit murky water. The chains continued to rattle against metal, yet the spheres revealed nothing.
“Kiolai,” Akhil said to Slade, “you and your kin are all tethered to the wards that you placed around the camp. Did you feel any disturbances before this began?”
“No.”
“Do you think we are about to be attacked?” Tuls asked.
“We do not know what is causing this,” Akhil said, “it is most likely an echo, but we must be on guard.”
The sparks continued to chase the source of the sound, yet they revealed only water and stone. A new noise joined the chains: Iron screeched as it ground against steel, echoing from a thousand unseen surfaces. Yet the lake remained undisturbed. Oris' light raced along the opposite shore while Akhil's came towards his from the other direction in an apparent effort to flank and 'trap' the source of the noise between the orbs. The darkness closed between them and any moment now, the source would be revealed. Yet, when the two lights met up, they revealed nothing. The chains continued to drag unseen as more spheres joined the search. But then all noise stopped. It was as if somebody shut off a radio.
“Did you see it?” somebody whispered, “I thought I saw something in the water.”
“Where?” somebody else asked.
“I didn’t see a damn thing.”
Vincent felt chills as he approached the edge. He started a little when Menik placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going over.
“I saw it right there, next to that rock!” The speaker's spark flew over the rock in question and dived into the surface, revealing nothing but muddy water.
“I will have silence!” Akhil barked, then he turned to his brother. “Do you hear that?”
I don't hear anything, Vincent thought.
“I do,” Oris replied, “I hear a child crying.”
“Crying? It sounds like laughter to me.”
It was very subtle. At first, Vincent couldn’t hear it. But sure enough, he could make out the sound of a little girl giggling. Unlike the chains, which sounded far away, this sounded much closer, perhaps just beyond the cliff. Akhil must have had the same thought because he brought his spark back and scanned the shore. Vincent carefully peered over the cliff and saw nothing except jagged rocks. Yet his ears told him there was a child down there. In fact, they told him right where she should have been; perched between two large boulders.
“Do you see her?” somebody whispered.
“No...what would a kid be doing out here? The nearest village is–”
“–thought I saw something move again.”
Although the night was cool, Vincent felt his clothes becoming damp. Moisture that had nothing to do with the humidity gathered at the edge of his snout and on his brow. He was used to hearing voices without bodies, yet there was something different about this. The giggling abruptly stopped, leaving others to wonder where it had gone.
“Oy!” Oris called, “is somebody down there?”
Tuls raised a hand to cover his nostrils, his eyes furrowed with nausea. Mkari and a few other channelers did the same. The voice of the unseen child returned, only she was no longer laughing. Pitiful sobs emanated from the shadows between rocks, from the darkness hidden under the crevices and crags of the cliff.
“Oy!” Oris repeated before looking at his brother and shrugging.
The shadows played tricks with Vincent's eyes, casting shapes where none belonged. The sobbing grew louder as though the child were in pain. She was being tormented. The unseen youth moved across the rocks and the lights began to follow. Their light only revealed more of the shoreline. There was a struggle communicated only by sound, and the child's sobbing became a muffled keening, as though somebody were suffocating her with a pillow.
“And this is why you camp on the top,” Sperloc growled, “you do not want to be down there.”
“Why?” Vincent asked, “what is that?”
“We call them echoes. Nobody knows what they are. They could be spirits, could be the dead. Some say it could be memories themselves, trapped and imprinted in the land. What we do know is that few things contest their qualities as a laxative.”
“So...it's not real...or..I mean...should we..” Vincent’s sentence fragmented as the girl's keening grew into muffled, terrified shrieks. In his mind's eye, he could see a child, perhaps no more than 3 or 4 years old, thrashing as her parent smothered her to death with a pillow. The soldiers in his periphery were familiar with this phenomenon, so if they were frightened, they hid it well. Only Tuls seemed to reflect his own discomfort.
Then it went silent. After a few moments, the chains returned. They were much further away now, and they were accompanied by the tumbling of rocks, a thousand boulders toppling over each other. Yet still, when the shandan's lights raced across the lake, nothing revealed itself. Vincent scanned left and right, looking for a break in the water or a plume of dust. He thought he saw a ripple but couldn’t be sure it wasn't fish disturbing the surface. Trees could be heard groaning under duress until their trunks split. There was a crash as timber hit the ground. There were no trees nearby, however. Unseen forests were being demolished. Eventually, the chains faded into the distance until they could be heard no more.
“Oris! Akhil!”
The La'ark came trotting up on her mount. Vincent had not seen her approach. Several of the channelers held their hands out over the cliff's edge and pulled them back as if being burned. “We need to–”
The La’ark was unable to complete her sentence, for there arose a noise so loud and terrible. It had the bellowing quality of a bull being slaughtered. A long, spiteful keening pierced the night. And it arose from a place just behind Vincent. Cursing, he spun around expecting to see some monstrosity leap out at him, but there was nothing, no source of the shriek. Yet the chaos it unleashed was immediate. The ground trembled as spooked landriders panicked, knocking over tents and scattering ashes. A spooked landrider stormed toward Vincent. He didn’t move out of its way fast enough, so its flank struck him and sent him flying over the ledge.
Vincent crashed against the surface of the lake and his wings slapped the water. The impact left him stunned and disoriented as he fought for his life. His arms flailed and his feet kicked. Something was closing in around him, ensnaring him in flesh. Images of Lovecraftian beasts came into his mind and he beat back against the walls closing in. But he realized they were just his wings, which had been pushed around his body by the impact.
Acrid water filled his nostrils and burned his sinuses. He had to find the surface, but he had no idea which way was up from down. Every movement got him tangled in something new, whether it was in his wings or aquatic plants. He managed to find the surface, broke it, and tried to draw breath. But the collision with the landrider had left him winded and fighting for air. Phosphenes danced at the edge of his vision as his lungs struggled to work.
Fortunately, the water was shallow enough for him to touch the lake bottom with his toes. He leaned forward against the current and shoved off to the next rock. He did not trust himself to swim in this body, so he wanted to avoid doing so at every cost.
The wailing continued to shriek in the encampment above as he slowly felt his way around the lake floor, using his feet to push himself from rock to rock. Incredibly, he managed to reach the shore at the base of the cliff. He looked up, but he couldn’t see anything except the vague outline of the drop. He estimated that he probably fell fifteen, perhaps twenty feet.
“Shit,” he gasped, looking around, wondering if anybody saw what happened.
He considered calling out, but decided against it, he did not want to draw the attention of whatever the hell that was that lurked in the darkness. He could see two distant lights bobbing along the shore, chasing a panicked landrider. He started to make his way toward them, but there was barely enough light to show him where he was going. The rocks, which formed a narrow shore between the cliff and water, were jagged and loose. Any misplaced step could mean a broken ankle. He needed a source of light.
Trembling and thankful he hadn't been wearing the armor, he took off his shirt and tied the sleeves around his waist. As he was doing this, the howling stopped. He froze in place, waited for a few moments, then he reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew the remnants of the spark Menik had cracked open. Illuminations spread from the point of contact, turning his body into a walking lantern. The light cast the path ahead of him in hues of vibrant blue and purple. He supported himself by placing one hand on the cliff face and using the other for balance. He carefully made his way from boulder to boulder. Occasionally, he would stop and listen, to see if anybody called for him, then he would continue.
The chains made their return, dragging themselves unseen across the surface of the water, echoing off a thousand walls. Vincent cursed silently and shook from tremors that had nothing to do with the cold. His heart hammered against his ribcage, yet he didn’t dare cry out. Surely somebody had to see him by now! He was the brightest thing near the lake.
All right Cordell, he thought, you should be used to this shit by now. Get a grip, your phantoms have pulled a lot worse stuff. The chains made another pass before fading into the water. Right now, I have to get back and find out what the hell happened.
He froze in his tracks when he heard a child's giggle to his left. There was nothing there except stone and sediment. Swearing, he forced himself to continue onward, hoping there would not be a repeat of that tormented girl. Only now he was becoming paranoid. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, steps disguising themselves to the rhythm of his own stride. Or perhaps it was the way the acoustics of the cliff reflected the sound. He found himself stopping a few times to listen, convinced he heard stones drop into the water behind him, convinced he was being followed. Yet not a ripple could be seen.
He heard voices from the ground above him. A light bobbed over the side of the cliff as Tuls leaned over.
“Hey!” Vincent yelled, catching the relos' attention. “Down here!”
“Vincent,” Tuls called, “what are you doing down there? Are you all right?”
“I got bored of standing around, so I decided to take a swim. What the hell kind of question is that?! Somebody's damn landrider knocked me off!”
“Stay there! I will get help! They have a rope ladder we can use to get you out.”
“That'll work. Just get me out of here! No...wait! Don't leave! Damn it!”
Vincent swore to himself as Tuls disappeared, leaving him alone in the darkness. He kept his eyes focused on the cliff. He didn’t want to be down there any longer, something was terribly wrong and even he, who lacked the senses most channelers seemed to be endowed with, could see that. It was a terror that at that moment, seemed more tangible than any hallucination. A few rocks dropped into the lake behind him and he froze.
The ebb of the water licked gently against the stones. Somewhere, a fish snatched a fly from the air. But he did not dare turn his head, he did not dare open his eyes. There was something horrible nearby, something that could not be described by any words. He heard another laugh from the little girl.
“Oy!” Menik shouted from above, “are you all right?”
“Jesus...yeah, I'm all right,” Vincent said, “listen...is there something behind me?”
“No.”
“All right...all right.”
He heard stakes being driven into the ground and a moment later, a rope ladder was dropped. It unrolled with a “clack” and hit the rocks. He grabbed the first rung and gave it a tug, testing its hold, then he began to climb. Being a construction held together by rope, the ladder swayed with his movement, making his arms and legs feel wobbly. He found it difficult to make any purchase, yet every nerve he had told him he needed to get out.
“Go slow,” Menik said.
“You're right...”
He carefully ascended each rung one at a time, leaning out to counter the ladder's sway. The ropes thrashed across the rocks below and splashed into water. The fear he felt was incongruent with his background. To normal people, voices that had no source were the stuff of nightmares. But to him, it used to be Monday morning. So why was he so terrified? He was about halfway up when his ladder stopped swaying. Something jerked at the ropes.
“What the...” he said, gripping tight.
But as soon as he said that, he immediately knew what the motion meant. Somebody or something, had just begun to ascend the ladder below him. He could feel its movements in the rope. Swearing, he raced up the ladder, crying out to those above to cut it. He moved too fast and ended up missing a rung. His feet slipped and for a few moments, he hung by his two arms, kicking at the air, the ladder acting as a swing under the overhang. He kicked at it until his feet made purchase again, then he pulled himself up. But something gripped his ankle and squeezed, trying to pull him back down. Screaming, he kicked at his unseen assailant, his foot passing through the air where an arm should have been. He shook loose of its grip and threw himself up the last few rungs. Akhil and Oris pulled him over as soon as he got within arm's reach.
“Cut it!” Vincent shouted, for fuck's sake cut it!!!”
A few of the soldiers nearby raised their weapons toward the ladder and Vincent expected something to rise over the cliff's edge. But nothing ever did. Instead of cutting the ladder free, Oris began to pull it up. What the hell was he doing?!
“Oy. Are you well?” Menik asked.
“S-something fucking grabbed me and tried to pull me down.” He could still feel the tickle of the attacker's grip around his ankle.
“There is nothing there,” Akhil said.
“The hell it isn't! I felt it grab me!”
“Yes, you did. Not surprising.” Without elaborating further, Akhil headed off toward a group of soldiers who were arguing loudly. Vincent couldn’t hear their words nor could he care, he was trembling too much from the surge of adrenaline.
“Now you know why nobody camps down there,” Sperlock growled, “the echoes around the rift are lively.”