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Chapter LXXVI : Haunted
Lateday of Diapente, Twenty-Seventh Day of Autumnmoon
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Bram gazed upon the grandeur of the Great Crevasse. From his vantage point atop a nearby hill, he saw craggy cliffs wind across the rocky, barren plains, like a snake splitting the land in two. The canyon was only a hundred spans across, but it stretched out for many leagues, farther in the distance than the eye could see. Shadows cast by the lateday sun gave it the appearance of a crooked grin. Bram felt like the world was mocking him.
Mica craned her neck from atop her viscar, her eyes starry with admiration. “Majestic, isn’t it? I’ve never seen it firsthand. I’ve only heard about it from the other priests and priestesses.”
“It is.” Bram felt just as humbled, but he also felt the need to push onward.
“The path to the shrine is further south. That way.”
Based on where she pointed, it looked to be another day’s travel. Bram nodded and directed his viscar down the hill.
The mounts made the trek down the old Gaian road an easy one, but as he and Mica neared their destination, the terrain grew treacherous. The wooded, grassy hills transitioned into a parched, barren landscape. The path ended, blocked by sharp rocks that jutted out of the earth. Bram no longer felt the viscars would be safe, so he set them loose and offered them the remaining beets. The viscars ate and departed.
He was eager to keep moving but noticed Mica dragging her feet, wearily. They had travelled nonstop since dawn, so he figured it was time for a short break.
“Let’s eat and rest up. We still have time to reach the basin by nightfall.”
She looked grateful. Bram smiled as she unpacked the fruits and cornbread the Gurudeva had provided. She was a novice traveler, and a few weeks earlier, her slow pace would have made him anxious. Now, he felt more comfortable as her mentor, ready to go at the pace his student needed.
Based on Mica’s prior warnings about spawn near the crevasse, he decided to survey the area. Something bothered him. The place felt haunted. Menacing, even. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but nevertheless, something sinister hid just beyond his periphery. He usually trusted his instincts, so he circled the camp in search of threats.
A short distance down the hill, he found himself in a rocky depression with boulders, likely the result of an old rockslide. They were larger than he was, creating a maze of stone. A noise caught his ear. It sounded like pebbles, disturbed by footsteps. He wished he had his sword. The only tool nearby was a large stick, which he picked up, just in case.
In between a set of rocks, he thought he saw a person scurry away. He lunged forward and caught sight of a young woman, but only briefly. She disappeared before he could get a better look. He was only able to make out blue robes, like the ones worn by priestesses in Minoa.
As far as he knew, no one else was on a pilgrimage to the shrine. Unless the Gurudeva sent a spy, this person wasn’t supposed to be there. He decided to track her path, while maintaining a brisk yet steady pace. She moved quickly, weaving in and out between the boulders, but Bram kept up. He worried that the woman was intentionally leading him further from the camp, as if trying to separate him from Mica. He needed to cut the chase short. Rather than follow the woman down the same path, he circled around to outflank her. His plan worked. But when he finally caught up, the woman took him by surprise.
He recognized her. She had been in the meditation room the day he and Virgil broke inside to take the sunstone. One of his men, driven by Virgil’s spell of compulsion, thrust his sword straight through her breast. Bram saw her die. Yet there she stood, robes stained crimson where the wound had been. Her flesh was pale and her eyes, wide and vacant.
She said nothing. All he heard was a slow, deeply unnerving breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Like a hollow breeze. He inched backwards with a furtive step, when a twig snapped behind him. He spun around, only to face an old man. One which, once again, he knew to be dead.
During The War, he had been ordered to root out enemy soldiers posing as villagers in a small Koban town. He was certain was of them was hiding in an old farmhouse, but when he went to investigate, the owner attacked him with a pitchfork. Bram didn’t want to hurt a defenseless peasant, but the man persisted. He had merely meant to knock him unconscious with the hilt of his sword, but the farmer dodged, and Bram’s blade accidentally nicked his ear.
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He remembered staring in disbelief as his blade’s toxins coursed through the farmer’s body. He wanted to call for the village sorcerers, but the Angkorian army punished troops severely for giving aid to the enemy. All he could do was watch as the man writhed on the ground, bellowing in pain. Worse, the farmer’s family watched on the sidelines, faces drenched in frightful tears. Bram had long since repressed the terrible memory, but the man’s blackened, rotted ear reminded him vividly of what he had done.
His legs weakened, and his heart ached, as other men and women gathered around him. Each had familiar yet horrifying faces. He had murdered so many during The War, and he couldn’t escape the truth that many were no more than innocent villagers. The suffering … the pain … all at his own hands.
It was a miracle that Quon Nan and Zhao Peng trusted him, not to mention Józef Brandt, Konrad Rommel, and many others. Gnostic Knights were the epitome of fear and loathing in the world, and he despised himself for being a member. Whatever he hoped to achieve by joining their ranks, the harm and death he caused was a sin he could never wash away. No wonder Virgil had expected him to be a willing lapdog.
By now, he was trapped. His back was flat against one of the boulders, while the bodies of those he killed closed in. He was paralyzed with fear and self-revilement, and there was nowhere left to run. To his left, a woman who had been with child. She had sneaked up on an Angkorian soldier with a knife, forcing Bram to judge her life against his comrade. It was a snap judgment, but one which cruelly ended two lives at once. To his right, an adolescent who had taken up his father’s sword in a vain attempt for vengeance. Ahead, a woman with long white hair … Yuri’s mother.
He was petrified as more of the dead from his past entered the clearing. Their blank visages gutted him to the core. They were the damned and forlorn, creatures of his own making, with blackened teeth ready to consume his flesh. He dropped the branch he had been carrying, having no more will to defend himself. He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Emotions that had trawled in his soul’s abyss for so long, suddenly surged to the surface. He screamed and sank to his knees, cowering.
An explosion—loud and abrupt—jarred him to his senses. He opened his eyes to witness the nearby brush set aflame, and the dead that happened to stand on top, ignited. A second blast blinded him, but it succeeded in scattering the nightmares in all directions. Some grabbed the charred remains of their brethren before leaving. By the time Bram pulled himself together, the bodies of the dead were gone.
He opened his eyes and tried to make sense of what had happened. His heart raced as he stood and scanned the area. The only one left was a man in plain, gray robes, who approached carrying a familiar walking stick. Bram blinked, trying to recognize this vision from his past.
“Matthias?” His throat was raw, and his voice cracked. “Don’t tell me you are … that you’re ….”
The scholar cut him off. “Don’t say anotha word. Ah don’t wanna know what ya saw in those … things.”
Bram didn’t understand, so Matthias explained.
“Those were doppelgangers, Lad. Dangerous spawn that can summon a person’s worst fears b’fore they attack.”
Bram finally found his words. “What are you doing here?”
The old man scoffed. “Ah should ask you th’ same thing. Where’s yar sword, and what’re ya doin’ in those old clothes? Are ya incognito, like last time?”
Bram had no way to summarize the terrible events since leaving Rungholt.
“It’s … complicated. I’m actually here to escort someone to the shrine at—”
His heart raced as he remembered Mica.
“My companion! She’s not too far from here. If those doppelgangers found her ….”
Matthias raised his staff. “Lead the way.”
Bram retraced his steps through the rocks and brush at breakneck speed. Just as he arrived, a giant spider reared on its hind legs, mandibles thrashing. Heavy beads of venom dripped from its maw. Bram rolled to the side, just in time to avoid an attack. A ball of fire whizzed over his head and exploded on contact with the creature. Bram heard a bunch of them scatter, further down the path.
He recovered and dashed forward. Even without a weapon, he didn’t hesitate to reach Mica in time. Fortunately, he found her huddled fearfully against her travel bag, in the middle of the clearing. Seeing that the spiders had fled, she dusted herself off and stood up.
“Thanks be to Gaia! I, uh … probably should have warned you that doppelgangers were known to be in this area. You see, I’m deathly afraid of spiders, and—oh, who are you?”
She made eye contact with Matthias, who greeted her with a gracious bow. “My name’s Matthias, my dear … Matthias, the Ambisanguinous.”
Her eyes went wide, fears ostensibly forgotten. “No way! My Vinetan friends have told me all about you. They say you have both blue and red manna. I’ve never met anyone like that before!”
The priestess’s flattery paired well with the old man’s ego. He practically gushed. “Well … Ah’m happy t’ reveal the rumors are true.”
He must have realized how he sounded. He stopped and cleared his throat.
“So, eh … Bram tells me yur headed t’ the Crevasse. Ah just so happen to be goin’ there, maeself. If ya don’t mind, what say we travel together for a spell? For mutual protection, o’ course.”
Mica turned to Bram, like a child pleading with a parent. “The Gurudeva didn’t specify we go alone. Wouldn’t it be wise to ask Master Deleuze for help?”
Bram had some questions for Matthias and wanted to know what his old companion had been doing for the last few weeks. Of course, he couldn’t forget that the old man nearly killed him in a fit of blind rage. But, considering it involved his daughter’s tragic death, he was willing to call it water under the bridge.
“It’s your call.”
The scholar’s eyes narrowed, suggesting the comment took him by surprise.
Mica paused for a moment and nodded. “I say we go together. There’s no downside, right? And we could use some protection, in case the doppelgangers come back. And, oh yeah. My name’s Mica.”
The priestess-in-training made a proper introduction, and before long, the three resumed their journey.