Chapter 6

Thunder rumbled through the black sky as the storm rolled down from the eastern hills. Lightning gave light to the forest in fitful flashes and rain fell in torrents, not the light drizzle of the past few days. Underbrush and pine needles were swept away as the rain ran down the hills in small rivers and left the ground a slippery, muddy mess. The trees provided little shelter against the deluge as the storm let loose its fury in a falling tide of water that cut through the canopy of pines.

The six that remained from the party scrambled through the trees, their vision clouded by water as the forest seemed to press in around them, its oppressive blackness playing tricks on their minds. Ag stumbled along, unaware of how long they’d run only knowing he had to keep moving. Torvund and Martine were beside him, that he only knew from the larger man's ragged breathing and the small whimpers of fear from the younger. They pressed on, heedless of the branches that barred their path and cut their faces, arms, and legs.

Ag didn’t know how long they would have gone if Esker hadn’t stopped in front of him. Ag was too tired to notice until it was too late and he barreled right into the man’s back. They fell forward onto the sloping ground and it was only Torvunds’ quick reaction that stopped them from sliding back the way they had come. Ag used a tree to pull himself to his feet and rounded on Esker.

“What’d you stop for?”

Esker gasped for breath for a minute before he’d filled his lungs enough to respond. “There’s a cave over there, I’m sure of it. We can’t go on like this much longer and my arm needs a bandage.”

They all turned to where he was pointing but saw nothing more than the blackness of the rest of the forest.

“Your eyes are playing tricks on you.” Torvund rumbled. “I don’t see anything.”

Esker marched forward, resolute even with his arm limp at his side and shoulders sagging from exhaustion. They followed, there wasn’t much else they could do and sure enough, as they reached the top of the slope they’d been climbing for who knew how long, there was a cave. The opening wasn’t especially wide but ran at least twelve feet up a rock face.

“I told you.” Esker said before squeezing through the gap.

They all fit, though Torvund had to suck his gut in to make it, and the inside seemed wide enough that they could all fit comfortably. Ag collapsed onto the dirt floor that was blessedly dry. The others followed suit, finding their own wall and sliding down, too exhausted to examine the space any further. Esker, the only one with a pack besides Ag though his only held his lute, began rummaging around through the canvas bag until he found a roll of cloth. He struggled for a while with unrolling the cloth and bandaging his arm until Genine crawled over to help.

“Thank you?” He groaned as she wrapped his upper arm tightly and tied it off.

“Don’t mention it.” She replied before moving back to her spot.

They all sat there awhile, no one speaking although they all knew they had to make some sort of plan. One by one they drifted off to sleep and the cave fell back into silence.

__________

The storm swirled around the tower, the black clouds a swirling mass that concealed its peak. Deep beneath it, the pit stirred as Balasar extracted more of the black matter at its heart. One of the stone skins rested on a table nearby, still as death, as he had ordered Stone skin was the common man’s word for it but the true name was Kisuk, the lowest of the corrupted forms. A man, a slave, pumped the machine that pulled the viscous substance up through a series of metal tubes and into a vat suspended over a great fire. Balasar watched the flames curl and the substance bubble, an acrid smell of death and rot escaping with each pop.

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The voice still whispered in his mind, urging him on but for a moment he resisted. His mind was far off, seeing, vaguely, through the eyes of Gomon. His lieutenant had marched off with his pack in search of the intruder. It was one of the Spears, he was sure of it. The damned Therudi clan in service to their twin headed god had plagued him for months but their most recent strike had nearly killed him on the road. The few that survived had fled and were either eaten by stone skins or vanished into the mists of the mountains. One had been caught, Gnomon, the starving retch they held in the dungeons, but he had little of use to tell them. His time on the table would come in due time but for the moment refining the beast before him was the task.

Balasar dipped a cup into the black stew, his hand not feeling the burns that appeared upon contact with the boiling mass. He withdrew the cup, his burned skin healing as more black matter seeped from his pores, repairing what was broken. He had been given the gift beneath the earth but it had not taken his mind, the voice needed him to think to advance its plans.

He stepped up beside the Kisuk and mentally ordered it to open its mouth which it did without hesitation. He poured the still hot liquid into its mouth and watched it slowly swallow what it had been given. He’d strapped it down, which wasn’t required until now. As the last of the liquid drained down its gullet the creature began to spasm, its body feeling the effects of the transformation.

Black ooze appeared wherever the stone was not and the red in its twisted chest and eyes burned brighter than it had before. A chittering wail escaped the thing as it continued to twist in what seemed intense pain. Its body grew, the skin rippling and the stone expanding as layers of the black substance rolled over it. Even as it grew its body became more twisted and deformed, the swirl in its chest expanding and seeming to pull the rest of the body into it. This was only one stage in what would be the long transformation. Eventually the substance would be refined to the point that all Kisuk would transform as Balasar released more of his new breeds. More men might succumb to the new strain of the plague as well, their resistance burning away beneath the strength of Balasars’ experiments.

The voice would have its creatures perfected, what it needed beyond that Balasar could not say but, at the very least, he would have some place among them. He left the Kisuk to writhe in pain and instead sat on a chair by his experiment table, his eyes looking once again through Gomons’.

Which of the group had been part of the Spears he wondered. He had seen the bodies the Kisuk had mangled but they had all born marks of fealty to the fool he’d once served. The few survivors had been seen running off into the distance, they had not been Andelmars’ dogs, he was sure of that. He had not seen any of them close enough to tell, but Gomon would find them and at that point it didn’t matter which was a member of the Spears, they’d all be dead.

He reached for a glass and a bottle of wine he kept close by. He poured himself a glass then took a long swig, relishing the taste. A fine stock, very old. Andelmars’ father had kept it hidden away in the cellar along with a few other bottles of the same vintage and a barrel of even older stock. Doubtless they had been for his own use on special occasions but now that the old man was long dead there wasn’t much sense in letting it go to waste.

He noticed his test subject had stopped moving so he stood to examine it. He loosed the straps and ordered it to stand which it did. He stepped back and surveyed his work, a smile of satisfaction breaking his dour expression. The creature stood nearly a foot taller than it had and though its body twisted, giving it a hunch backed look he knew it would move with lightning speed when attacking. He was getting closer, just a bit farther and he might reach whatever the voice was pushing him towards.

The whisper laughed in his mind as he looked at the newest form he had made. It was an insane sound, a cackling chorus of madness ringing in his mind. It cheered him on, spat insults at someone he did not know, and ranted in a garbled tongue he could not understand. All these sounds came sometimes alone, sometimes ringing together like a symphony he could not follow. He trembled at the sound, the rippling voices rising in volume as they spoke until it was nearly unbearable.

Balasar clutched at his head, trying to stop the sound, to calm them in some way but nothing he said halted their chorus. Suddenly, all at once, they were silent, and he had his head to himself for a while. This dance had been going on since the plague had begun in the south. He assumed someone there had found something like this pit, the voice whispered of others between mad ramblings.

This place had been walled off hidden deep beneath the spire and the pit itself had been capped with a massive plate of metal that still hung above the opening. Whoever had built the spire had made it as a prison for this, somewhere in the shadows of time that no one alive remembered.

Balasar realized he had fallen to his knees and stood, calling for another Kisuk. His work continued, it would be done, and he would have his place in the new world. He hoped.