Many have only some idea of what The Bowels are. While most assumptions about them are correct, I find they don’t accurately capture how thoroughly they violate everything that was previously thought about our world. It is true that during the Merging of the Planes that entrances to The Bowels began to open up in very specific places. If a man takes a spade to any old piece of dirt he will just find more of the same, but if he digs close to a Bowel entrance he will uncover something rather shocking.

Flesh. Blood. Sinew. Bone. The Bowels can truthfully be described as the veins of the world. Previously unknown to us, travelling down these paths reveals a twisted and winding journey into the abyss, where the groaning of the deep and the sounds of hibernating Ferals combine to form a din that defiles and confuses the senses. Some have attempted to excavate and map The Bowels in their entirety only to end up insane and tearing themselves – or others – limb from limb. And so they remain swathed in fearful mystery.

I have traversed them a number of times and – because I am careful to an almost paranoid degree – my mind remains unscathed. What nags at it still though, whenever I approach an opening, is the implication of their existence. The strictures of Numenism do indeed recount an episode of the Numen’s creation of the world; the folding of elements to produce a home in which her creations could thrive, only to find that without giving life to the celestial body itself, she would rule naught but an empty and desolate rock.

This was thought to be metaphorical in nature, or that the Numen’s touch of life was a lighter and subtle than the strictures made it out to be; planting the seeds that became trees, filling great chasms with water that became the seas. It was unimaginable that our world could be alive, with a pulsing heart laying beneath our feet, rooted in its core – The Heart of the World. If not for how widely The Bowels had become known to the general populace, I doubt they would have even acknowledged their existence.

As much as I was wrapped up in these thoughts, I knew Kastyn did not harbor any of the sort. His was an order of faith before reason, and the modern truth was far outstripping the strangeness contained in any ancient stricture, therefore it was far easier for him and his kind to be rigid and unyielding to a further understanding of the world. He drew a neckerchief over his nose as we approached the pit, the smell of wet grass and rotting flesh mingling in a pungent odor.

‘By the Numen… such a foul stench,’ he said.

I reared Relampago and tied her to a tree a good twenty paces away. ‘You get used to it. Breathe through your mouth if you have to.’

I watched as he helped Elinora from his horse. A passerby may think us highwaymen looking to dispose of a pilfered body. The dearth of color her skin possessed along with her matted hair made her look dead, if not for the slight groan that escaped her lips as Kastyn hoisted her onto his back. In truth, I was glad to have someone to share the load.

I lit my torch and Kastyn followed suit. ‘Never stray more than five paces behind. The darkness down there is different, it drives you off the path and into a labyrinth, and by the time you realize you’re lost, The Bowels have already consumed you.’

‘I understand,’ he responded dutifully.

‘You don’t, but you will. We’ll likely encounter Ferals. Is your blade consecrated?’

He frowned. ‘Every knight wields a blessed blade. Of course I have it with me.’

I grunted. ‘I’ve known plenty to place a blade’s value before its use. Guess what happens when they’re set upon by a Daemon, and the only weapon that can save them is hanging in a smithy, traded for zatas.’

Kastyn looked perturbed. ‘It is heretical to have such little regard for the Numen’s blessing.’

I retrieved my own consecrated blade from Relampago’s saddle. ‘Armor and blessed steel does not a knight make, Sir Kastyn. You’d be surprised to learn just how much heresy, practical or not, runs within your order.’

His jaw was set hard, clamping down on words that he clearly wanted to say, but felt he couldn’t. Some of them came out anyway. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand.’

Though we had supplies to last us at least three days, all being well, I thought our sojourn shouldn’t take more than a day, but I had learned that all is rarely ever well in the realms of men, let alone the realms of daemons. I lit my torch and we advanced on the dark hole. The stench redoubled its efforts to make us gag. I set a small branch alight and dropped it to discover a ledge that slanted downward.

‘Five paces,’ I reaffirmed, eyes on the now mostly ashen branch, ‘I’m the sword down there, but should any get past my steel, drop the girl and draw your own.’

‘I understand,’ he replied, a drop of fear ironing out the sour attitude he’d begun to develop towards me. ‘Time is of the essence.’

Dropping down to the ledge, I discovered that there was a stair-like structure to the entrance here, each step sloping and gradually evening out after a time. Kastyn bent over to vomit after the first two steps, and even that much constitution was commendable. The first time I ventured into The Bowels I deposited my breakfast on my shoes before even entering the place.

As the small light of day receded behind, stark tenebrosity took its place. The light of my torch lit just a few paces in front and behind. The pocked and crimson tinged walls of the tunnel pulsed every so often, and paired with the somewhat slick terrain underfoot made for a rather vertiginous experience.

‘The darkness,’ said Kastyn, ‘It’s so thick, it feels like I’m shouldering it myself.’

‘A trick of the mind, nothing more,’ I said. A distant screech reached both of our ears and I held up a hand to halt our trudging. ‘Sounds like we’re about to have some company. Light your torch.’

Kastyn allowed Elinora to take her own weight while he struck his flint and lifted her over his shoulder once more. I drew my blade from my back and we made our advance, daemonic yelling marking our progress.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

‘How do you know where these altars are?’ Kastyn panted. ‘It feels like we’re going in circles.’

I tapped the flat of my blade against my temple. ‘I’m keeping track, we’re not going in circles. Ferals tend to gather around altars. There are a few theories, but no one really knows why. For now, we just follow the noise.’

‘Perhaps they have a faith of their own. Despite their blasphemous nature, their status was akin to humans on their own plane before the Merging. Haven’t we always strived for enlightenment through the conduit of the strictures?’

‘An astute observation. I’ve witnessed Ferals make offerings to these altars and they tend to be more… tenacious. They don’t reach the heights of an Enlightened, but I’d rather grapple with more secular daemons. I find them less ferocious.’

‘You’ve fought them before,’ Kastyn commented. ‘Many times.’

‘I have.’

‘As far as I know you’re not an inquisitor or a knight, so why?’

I chuckled. ‘I can hardly take up service with a lord. Touched occupy a unique and convenient place in Numenistic theology; we’re a perversion of humanity, a thing that shouldn’t be. That makes us canonical pariahs.’

Kastyn sighed. ‘And if you were to raise your sword against a man, you would be hunted, regardless of the legality of it. So it is Daemonic problems you solve.’

‘Indeed. Tell me, Kastyn, would you raise your blade alongside your fellows to run down one such as I?’

There was a pause, though I detected it was not one of reticence, but genuine thought. ‘I would only bring justice to those who would seek to breach the Viceroy's peace, or the strictures. And even then, I would hope myself able to discern that if you were to infringe one of them, it would weigh against the service of the other.’

I smiled. ‘Like now, for instance?’

Kastyn exhaled sharply. ‘I suppose so. Numen, forgive me.’ I detected in him two men; the rational and ruminative one he was born as, and the reverent knight that was carved by the collective piety of the region. These two men, I realized, seemed engaged in subtle yet constant combat with each other. One man would question, and the other would deliver an unsatisfying, but ultimately definitive answer steeped in the dogmatic ramblings of the strictures. I found myself pitying his plight; as a Touched no one would raise an eyebrow at any reasonable secular comment I would make, but Kastyn was forced to bite down on words that would ostracize him if given voice. He was not a man in that case, only a devoted blade to be swung by lords and rectors alike.

We came to a clearing in the Bowels that was wider than the previous tunnels. Silence reigned, and I felt there were too many angles in here to cover with just one blade.

Our eyes met in the gloom, our two torches highlighting our faces. ‘Drop her and draw, now.’

I was lucky this was a man who knew how to follow orders, for the quiet was immediately shattered by the searing shriek of the daemons. One leapt out from the dark, grey-skinned and naked, the size of a small child. It had a purple blotch on its chest which suggested its alignment. This wasn’t of the Glace that had touched Elinora, nor of the Ichor that had touched me so long ago; it was a Feral Umbran, daemons forced to find safe haven underground, for the sun would mean a painful end for them.

Kastyn drew up in a well-practiced single arm stance and sliced through the Umbran’s abdomen in one clean stroke, and it wasn’t long before two more came running from the black. I hadn’t the luxury to see how he would fare, however. I had attackers of my own.

The first was startled when I didn’t wait for it to leap. I dashed forwards and that surprised look remained on its face after a swift decapitation. The other, perhaps sensing my guard was down, launched itself at my back. I spun, shifting my hips sharply to aid in the delivery of a jaw-shaking blow to the Daemon’s head with my torch. Dazed, it could do nothing when I thrust my sword into its heart.

Some think of combat as something that sticks in the brain, shaking the grey matter with nightmares when a man’s guard is down, when in reality it is a blur with stark images thrown in. It is only the opening and closing moves that form clearly in the mind after the fact. There were twenty or so in that pack Kastyn and I faced. I remember him rending one of them from scalp to groin. I recall a sneaky Umbran darting in and out of the shadows to bite my flank, and it received steel through the back from my knightly companion as penance, before I chopped over his head and into the side of yet another attacker. There were more than I had feared, and I sensed they were trying to drive us apart. While adolescent Ferals were of less danger, the sapping of the spirit unique to The Bowels made every swing costly, even for me.

My memory snaps back when Kastyn’s torch was extinguished and I heard him wail.

‘Kastyn! Keep screaming!’ I wanted to use the sound to pinpoint him, but the dizzying atmosphere of The Bowels’ darkness foiled me. Kastyn’s yells reverberated off the walls every which way. I cursed and whipped a small knife from my boot and cut at the scar on my wrist. The glancing pain was familiar, and I dabbed two fingers with my blood and wiped them over my eyelids.

Blood magicks are a costly art, but compared to other magicks they are highly versatile. I opened my eyes and the clearing was coated in a crimson hue, my torch now too bright for my vision to handle. I tossed it to the floor and I heard Kastyn call.

‘I’m on my feet, Vyde. Rally to Elinora!’ He was clutching his sword arm while crouching low in a defensive stance. The Umbrans advanced on him slowly, eager to savor the hunt. I turned to Elinora with a mind to defend her, but the Daemons were prioritizing the more lively prey, perhaps thinking they would save her flesh for later.

I knew I needed to finish this quickly. If there were more Ferals deeper in The Bowels they would head towards this skirmish, landing us with yet more obstacles to Elinora’s cure.

I wiped blood on my sword and set an incantation in my mind. The length and width of my blade doubled, granting a scarlet edge that was sharper than diamond. Sliding within range I swung wide and cut through all assailants with ease, flesh tearing and bones shattering. They dropped to the floor as if a puppeteer had dropped their strings, bodies limp and broken.

A stark lull returned as I surveyed the scene. My ears failed to catch any opportunists nearby. Kastyn was still on his feet, teeth bared in pain but sword raised nonetheless.

‘Vyde?’

‘Breathing,’ I reassured. ‘They’ve retreated for now, and they haven’t touched Elinora. But we can’t stay here.’ I retrieved a bandage from my pocket and wrapped the nick on my wrist. I had performed this so many times it was like breathing to me.

‘Thank the Numen,’ Katyn wheezed. ‘I dropped my light, I can’t see a damn thing.’

‘Hold on.’ I picked up Kastyn’s torch not two paces from where he was standing, but in a dark like this he would’ve wandered for ages, never to see it again. I took his arm and led him to where Elinora lay, as if she were sleeping. ‘Here.’ I placed the torch into his hand.

I saw his face shift from relief to mild confusion. He looked at where he thought I was, eyes unfocused and his gaze wide by a few paces. ‘You’re able to see in this murk?’

‘Profane tools, Sir. I didn’t ask for them, but I won’t squander their uses.’ I lit my own torch once again with my eyes closed, then wiped the blood from my lids to return my vision to normal. Were I alone I would’ve kept such a boon until the blood dried, but fire was too bright for blood-tinged eyes, and I couldn’t have my compatriot stumbling around blind as a bat with a sharp implement in his hands.

I gestured to his bloodied shoulder. ‘How is that wound?’

Kastyn squinted at me through the torchlight. ‘It looks worse than it is. I can still carry her.’

‘Good. It’ll need wrapping later at the very least. This place feeds the fester of wounds.’

Kastyn hoisted Elinora onto his back, asking the question. ‘If those daemons are hunting, where do we go?’

I struck my flint and my torch roared to life. ‘If we’re to find an altar, we go to them.’