The Brass Tower

JIRA ne'JIRAL

"Find the hatch. At the top, you should be closer to the Heartforge," Silof had said before he vanished.

The halls outside of the tavern-like room extended for miles. Miles turned to days, and days turned to weeks. Or so it felt. The sun never set in the wasteland outside anymore, and there was no moon to be seen in the dusky light of the sky. No celestial beings to be seen through the fog, smoke, and ash. Only the things wandering the outside on the land could be seen, devouring each other in grotesque displays only to spawn some distance away like maggots from a corpse. A great city, roaming on wheels like those of Tahrir, could also be perceived in the far-away stretch—the furthest part of the horizon visible in the vapor. No signs of life could be seen within it. Nothing was outside but death.

"We're not going out there unless absolutely necessary," Jira told the others.

Alden shared her gaze out the vast window to the wasteland. "Agreed," he muttered, rolling his shoulder to hoist his pack higher.

On they went, up and down crooked ladders and spiral staircases and through narrow tunnels and dimly lit hallways, clearing out entire rooms of horrid monstrosities that defied reason and reality. Gangrenous creatures on four legs with leprous sores and metallic arms that bent and whirled like the clouds of a windstorm. At times, Silof would help them against larger hordes, slashing and carving his way through them with fist and claw, more animal than man, and more abomination than animal. Within these spectacles of violence, Jira and the rest could only watch in horror, the adrenaline that pumped through their veins cooling like a pot taken off heat.

But even Silof could not tide the storm that was this Tower. More and more did the hordes assault the group in swarms like locusts, lurching and gurgling, their mouths drooling with rot and viscera from unseen victims. Jira stabbed her sword through the face of one, carved it out through the side, and decapitated another. Svend bisected his own beasts, using growing strength to deflect their attacks and lead into brutal chops at their waists. His armor, the chains so linked together they appeared like wool, became stained in fluids that stunk like sewage pits. For travels after the fights, he would lead, far from the rest to spare the the stench.

Then came the room that appeared as a cathedral, and the beasts within it. Unlike the creatures from before, these ones remained moving even after the fight. Halved bodies grew new legs or bodies, while sliced off heads grew wings or tentacles to move. Goscelin slashed at them with expertise despite his blindness as Alden hacked with furious resolve, taking down monster after monster until all that remained of them were chunks as decor. The Bear Maiden ripped them apart with her hands and crushed them with her hammer, the strongest and most defended of the group. Everyone else took wounds small and bothersome, save for Gíla.

Peace was rare. For every moment they took to collect themselves, new clusters of nightmares charged them. For every moment they took to examine their surroundings, a trap was activated. For every moment they took to consider their new route, waves of blood, gore, and decay blocked off three. It drove Gíla mad with fury the further they went up the tower, urging her to initiate the attacks with the creatures and shout defiling words to the heavens as she did so.

Her wrath was questioning, and Jira could read it in her face. Why was she here? What had she done to deserve this hell that was unfit for a Nujant Chhank? She had never expressed such rage. Such center of self. Such concern for herself. Jira wished she could answer her questions, but no answer save those from the the thing that ruled this tower would satiate the woman. Jira was uncertain if those answers would be suitable enough as well.

At long last, after what Jira assumed was a month and a half of constant fighting for survival, the group found a moment of true solitude and calm. With what supplies remained in their packs, they constructed a makeshift camp in the center of the small, oval-shaped room that appeared to bear the aesthetic of a stable. Of course, Jira had little belief that that was what the room actually was. Too many encounters with similar areas had shattered that illusion. Still, it was calm, and the sound of horrors was far gone.

"I can't keep doing this, Alden," Goscelin admitted, much to Jira's overhearing concern. "I am blind and old. I can't keep up."

"Nonsense, Gos," the young man shook his head and dabbed a cloth on the cut of Goscelin's forehead. "You just need to take this moment to actually rest. Sleep."

"A blind man always sleeps, Alden," the blacksmith said in a grim tone. "But I will humor you and at least try to relax for as long as this moment allows."

"Good man," Alden said before he helped the blind man settled down on his bedroll. Jira saw him take a breath before he stood up and moved away, walking to where Gíla sat and scrubbed the divots of her armor.

"A long time for this," Svend grunted, slumping to his backside beside Jira.

"Too long, and for little answers."

"We got all that we can expect from Silof," Svend said, removing his helmet and tossing it to the ground. Jira considered him. His eyes were once almost celestial in hue but were now a dark ruby surrounded by black. His teeth were sharp, specifically his fangs, and his palor had grown paler and paler, so much so that the abyssal tone of his veins glowed through his skin. But he was not sick. He was not dying. He was already dead. The glamour was merely melted away.

"We should have gotten more for what he is asking of us."

"We just need to find the Heartforge," Svend said.

"And then we need to get out of this Tower. And then we need to get to Tahrir? And find this supposed sphere in the first bit of land created by a pantheon that no longer exists save for the bastard that controls this Tower and meddles with life so much that it is causing its own destruction? You realize how insane that sounds?"

"Does it sound more insane than what you were charged with doing? Sent by your father to discover the cause of the world's growing madness and violence at any cost? To uncover the truth behind the Khirnian's rising use of mystharin and destroy it? Oh yes, siding with the man who apparently hated it in every form was the best way to get to it, wasn't it?"

Jira's eyes narrowed at the man, her lips crooked with frustration. "I told you that I did these things-"

"I'm not judging you, Jira. We've been friends for too long and I wish to do nothing but assist you in every way that you have assisted me. But you cannot deny that it sounds insane, doubly so now that the man you sided with wasn't telling the truth either. Lies upon lies on top of a graveyard of lies."

Jira lay down on the bedroll, using her folded arms as a pillow. "I refuse to believe it."

"Why? Because you tricked yourself into thinking that Audax was the man you were fighting for this whole time? That you weren't just using him to uncover what you needed? That's like me saying I wasn't just using Khirn to hide from the...well, it's pointless now, anyway. Doesn't matter. It's all salt in the sea."

"It just doesn't fit. It doesn't make sense."

"Had this happened at the beginning, I wouldn't have believed it either. But with the way our battles descend into gluttony. The way things are just excused when any other time they would have been condemned wholeheartedly, the offenders put to death or exile. What else can answer for that than the meddling of god-figures? This Tower alone proves it. Silof proves it. Because we don't have the knowledge or wherewithal to question it in any meaningful way. This is how it is."

Jira said nothing, for there was nothing she could say that mattered.

"Does Gíla know that Aqella has fallen into the same chaos as Khirn when she and her family left it?" Svend asked.

"No. I don't believe so, anyway."

"Unfortunate. But that's her lot to figure out as this supposed narrator."

"A role conveniently suited for her, being a Nujant Chhank is all."

"Stories. People. Their forte, certainly."

"If anyone will survive this damnable place, it's her."

"Perhaps that is for the best. Maybe no one but her should escape."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Alden?"

"I've seen his eyes that longer these days become. He's going to become an issue."

"Goscelin?"

"Old and blind and ready to die."

"Us?"

"Need I say anything?"

Jira only sighed and went to sleep.

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The ladder was rusted and extended up the wall into a shaft long enough to become invisible in the darkness.

"What do we do now? Just...climb?" Alden asked hesitantly, testing the ladder's durability with a tug on one of the rungs. It creaked but did not move.

Jira clicked her tongue and gazed up the shaft once more. "Yes. Looks like it."

"Silof...he said not to look down, right?" Goscelin inquired. "To keep climbing?"

"That's what he said," Svend answered.

Gíla huffed loud. "I cannot climb it. Even if I took my armor off, I cannot climb it."

"There's no other way you can get up there," Alden noted. "You have to try."

Gíla thought then shook her head. "No. There was a door half-way back the tunnel. I will check that out. Maybe it will lead up."

"That's a terrible idea, Gíla," Jira said. "Separating now is-"

"It's either that or I stay at the bottom of the ladder forever. I cannot climb it. I will go through the door and see what happens. Maybe Silof will help."

Before the others could protest any further, Gíla walked away and vanished beyond the door down the barely lit passage. The door slammed shut with metal creaking and Jira, too exhausted to hunt her down and bring her back, only blinked. Alden, who had taken some steps with hushed requests for Gíla to stop, was similarly tired and took to climb the ladder first with a sniffle. Goscelin followed, Jira next, and then Svend.

Each ascent of the rungs panged her heart, and each accidental slip sent shocks through her body. But she climbed still as the darkness of her rise shrouded her like a cloak. Alden and Goscelin were surprisingly quick in their climb, while Svend was slow after her, more cautious with his steps, and kept calling up to ensure the rest were secure. They always answered in the affirmative, calling back down to him to ensure he was also. Each time, he said yes until, at a point, he stopped asking and stopped answering.

"Svend?" Jira called down to him. "Svend, are you okay?"

Svend did not answer. Nothing answered but a chilled wind that traversed up the shaft to make her fingers clench on the rusted metal and threaten to snap the rungs in half.

"Svend! Are you there?" she called out to him again, but there was no answer. "Alden! Goscelin! Are you okay up there?"

No answer, and Jira suddenly felt the cold hands of isolation fall upon her.

"Don't look down. Don't look down."

Jira climbed and called out for her allies with every step. They never called back to her. The only sound she heard was her own breathing and hands shivering on the metal. She reached the top of the ladder and pushed open the hatch that kept her locked in the dark, lightless shaft. She climbed into the illuminated chamber that awaited her and scrambled away from the pit that, in an instant, echoed with distant screams of a man in the purest form of agony.

Jira resolved her heart and crawled towards the ladder, prepared to descend after Svend.

The hatch was slammed shut by a woman in reflective, platinum armor edged with polished maroon. Her skin was moon-white, glowing with an aura of ethereal purity. Her hair was darkened to a silver gray, darker than Jira's, and her single red eye glowered at her with disappointment. She was strong in her body's physique, a leaner form of Orlantha Xathia.

Jira was confused as she stared at the woman, trying to make sense of a senseless situation. "Lady ne'Banuus? Wh-what hap-happened? I need-what happened to the others."

"They all looked down," Yvon ne'Banuus said. "They took them."

"What did?"

Yvon sighed and turned away from the Silver Knight, heading towards the large double iron doors on the far side of the chamber.

Jira rose to her feet and ran after her. "Lady ne'Banuus! What took them?"

Yvon stopped just shy of the doors.

Jira grasped Yvon's pauldron and spun her around, finding that the Belanorian gave no resistance. "What!? What took them? We were only told not to look down, not that there was-"

"You were to climb and only climb. They looked down. They're gone."

Jira narrowed her eyes and shoved Yvon away by her shoulder, shaking her head. She backstepped away. How was she here? She was in Acocaea, fighting the Runemaster. Everyone couldn't have been transported to this hellish place. It couldn't have been everyone. "No! No! You...are not Yvon. You are not the Great Blade."

The Yvon imposter breathed sharply through her nose and looked past Jira's shoulder. The Silver Knight followed her gaze and only just became fully aware of the world she was in. It was a vast scape of ash and darkness, barely lit, with only a great sphere of obsidian and red runes in the near-center of the expanse. It was set over a dark pit, gripped in the air by a stand of hooked claws. It hummed with power and ancient epochs. Jira shuddered and turned back to the Yvon imposter, who was now a towering draconic bipedal thing of grey scales and pitch-black hair that flowed in place like smoke. Dark eyes that ate the surrounding light, glared down at her. "I am much of Yvon as you are of Belanore." Its voice was the end of all things.

Jira's blood froze in her veins as her muscles stiffened. "Wh-what?"

The draconic thing, dressed now in perfect robes of purple silk, exhaled that sharp breath and walked past the Silver Knight toward the sphere. "You named yourself Jira ne'Jiral. A lie of lies. You are Mɪ̃di of the Black Glass, an agent of your people sent to Khirn to discover the source of the rising levels of mystharin and destroy it or reveal it to your people's army for them to do the deed. 'For the greater good of the world. Khirn cannot be trusted with such power.' Only... that's become an issue. How can you be expected to destroy that which is natural to life itself?"

Jira felt herself growing dizzier and dizzier with each truth this thing uttered, barely able to follow it as her vision began to vibrate and crackle, dark veins spreading through the corners of her eyes. The expanse of nothing was filled. Bodies by the thousands lay on stone slabs that rose from the ground, angled to be slid into ever-roaring furnaces that yawned open beneath them. She recognized them all. Soldiers of her aedo. Soldiers of Dioúksis Audax. Soldiers of Aslofidor. Soldiers she had killed personally. Men and women she had failed to protect or succeeded in taking the life of. Her breathing was shallow. Sweat ran down her face. Muscles throughout her body clenched and stiffened, and her bones ached and cracked.

Jira's left arm began to hurt tremendously. Her chest felt clogged. Her throat ran dry. "How-how do-how do...you're wrong. I am of Belanore. I am Jira ne'Jiral."

The draconic thing shook its head, clicking its tongue in a tsk-tsk fashion. "You can lie to everyone else but not yourself, Mɪ̃di. You are a traitor to traitors, and your facade will fail in time. And when it does, they will hate you. They will execute you."

Jira stumbled, bracing on a stone slab full of sharp, rusted knives. A piece of reality opened somewhere, and a man entered the expanse. Tall and broad, armored in ink-black and sky-blue armor. Fire the color of rainbows burned in his gaze that was visible only through the visor of his frog-mouthed helmet. He glared at Jira and snarled with hidden teeth. Jira gawked at him, her mouth hanging open with lines of drool that formed at the corner of her lips. She made a move, minute and unimportant, and it was all the man needed to tear open a sliver of the air before him and throw it at her chest. It pierced her like a ray of sunlight, and she collapsed to the ground, watching with tears bubbling in her eyes as the air formed itself into something weaponized. A spear of non-light, as black as the draconic thing's eyes. It pulsed with power, shockwaves of its energy severing tissue from bone. She screamed, and the sound carried for miles in this place.

The draconic thing kneeled beside her, hand outstretched to brush her hair from her face. "With me, you will not suffer this fate. With me, you will not have to lie. With me, you can be as truthful as you were born. Do not suffer for the ignorances of the rest."

Jira's screams became silent, gasping groans as the thing's claws buried into her skull. She felt her blood run freely from the wounds. She felt her skull crack and chip and split from the digging motions. She felt her brain turn to mulch under its grasp. And then, it lifted her into the sky, the spear dislodged from her chest, and she fell onto the floor of a metal-smelling room, the hatch to the ladder open as Svend crawled out of it with a heave.

Alden tapped her face with his palm. "Are you okay, Jira?" he asked, concern spread across his leonine features.

"What?" Jira asked with a dry, gravely voice, her breaths hard and quick as though she were awoken from a nightmare. Sweat ran on her face, which was blotched red and hot.

"You climbed out of the ladder and collapsed, are you okay?"

Jira sat up, and she felt no wounds or fatigue, or pain. No blood. No gore. No spears or claws. Her helmet lay aside from her. She stood without issue and turned in place several times to gauge her surroundings. The room was small, square shaped, and designed like an armory. "Wh...what is this place? What happened?"

"We climbed," Svend said, standing beside her. His concern was as equal as Alden's, even through his helmet.

"This looks like an armory, which means we might be close to the Heartforge," Alden said, stepping away to pick up a stray dagger on the ground. "I don't recognize these metals or designs, so..."

"We must be close," Goscelin concurred.

"Where's Gíla?" Jira asked.

"Hopefully not lost or dead," Svend grunted, moving toward Alden and picking up a war hammer of black steel.

Jira rubbed her eyes, unsure if what she was seeing was real, but when it didn't change and she saw them standing there still, she nodded to herself and rolled her shoulders, retrieving her helmet from the ground and replacing it. "Then let's get this over with."