Ihra stumbled as something bumped into her from behind.
“Oof - sorry. Tripped on a rock.” Shoving Rā’imu’s arm off of her, she still held on long enough for him to catch his balance. The Djinn’s face was ashen. Beads of sweat lined his brow, and rivulets ran freely down his cheeks. She was miserable too - it was hot as a forge in the depths of the pit - but she knew he was worse off than her. The potion had done enough to stop his wound from bleeding further, but he had been left considerably weakened.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he lied.
“Be quiet,” Nēs̆u grunted from a few paces ahead. “We have to be nearing the bottom now, and the last thing we need is your chitter-chatter attracting one of those dead things.”
“Do you think we’re close to where he fell,” she asked more softly.
The warrior shrugged. “Dunno. Wasn’t looking for him. But we’re close to Tsia. Maybe he’ll be nearby.”
A flare of irritation pulsed through her chest at the realization that Nēs̆u hadn’t been leading them toward Jasper. She glared angrily at his back but suppressed the bitter comments that threatened to spill forth. She wasn’t happy - not at all - but it was an argument for another time. Right now, no matter how angry she was with the Sicyan, his company was still a million times preferable to being left alone in the accursed darkness of Naḫas̆s̆innu.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Rā’imu whispered softly. “I know how much it hurts to lose someone you care about. But we can't save a corpse. Tsia, though...”
“He’s not dead,” she snapped. The other two had given up on Jasper, but they hadn’t been there when his head went bouncing down the steps of the city walls. They hadn’t been there when he’d woken up days later. He’s not dead, she repeated stubbornly to herself.
The Djinn smiled wryly. “Perhaps not,” he humored her, “but even if his goddess revives him, do you have any idea where to find him?” He waved at the suffocating darkness around them. “At least the warrior has some sense of direction.”
She didn’t. Unable to do anything else, she followed the two in silence. There was no more talking as the group delved deeper and deeper into the darkness, unaware of the fourth man that trailed in their wake.
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Jasper struggled to stay on his feet as Yas̆gah dragged him behind her. He wanted to fight back, but her grip on his shoulder was so tight, the strength she displayed so overwhelmingly beyond his own, that he had the sinking feeling that if he attempted to wriggle free of her grasp, he would be leaving his arm behind.
She marched through the scattered ranks of the few cultists who had survived his attack without giving them a second glance. They were a mangy bunch now, with robes burnt clean through in many places, and skin charred by the white-hot flames of his spell. Their eyes kindled with open hatred as he passed by them, but none dared lift a hand to harm him. He belonged to their goddess now.
When she reached the short flight of stairs that led into the forgotten tomb, she didn’t bother walking up them. Instead, she floated a few feet into the air and drifted forward like a balloon set free in the summer skies. Jasper dangled beneath her, still clasped in her iron grip. Her feet touched down at the door to the building, and she paused at the threshold. “Why is the ceremony not ready?”
Yas̆gah didn’t raise her voice, but the cold, clipped tone with which she spoke sent shivers down Jasper’s spine - and he wasn’t even the one her ire was directed at.
One of the cultists stepped up, nervously dabbing at the beads of sweat that rolled down his head. “My lady, this one attacked us before we could finish our preparations.”
Jasper bit down hard on his tongue, fighting the urge to cry out in pain, as her fingernails sunk deep enough into his flesh to draw blood. “He is just one mage - how could you not take care of him.”
The man’s eyes widened in protest. “But my lady, didn’t you say he slew Kurkuzan? How are we supposed to-“ Jasper never even saw Yas̆gah move, but the cultist’s speech came to an abrupt stop as his head slid off his shoulders. It bounced on the ground and rolled down the stairs to the lava pits below. In her right hand, a black, jagged dagger had appeared. Blood dripped down its blade onto the floor below, but Jasper barely noticed as the dagger seemed to swell in size until it filled his entire vision. It thrummed with power and promise, beckoning and calling for him to pick it up and fulfill his great destiny.
“Uhhh.” With a shudder, Jasper snapped out of it. The charm the Fey had given him burned fiercely on his wrist, purging all thoughts of answering the dagger’s insidious call. The remaining cultists were still bound in its thrall, drool dripping from their gaping mouths as they stared at the dagger with undisguised hunger. A few staggered forward, driven by desire but she froze them in place with a wave of her hand.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
God, mind magic sucks. His stomach twisting in revulsion, Jasper looked away from the cursed dagger, and Yas̆gah looked down in surprise. “You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” she guessed.
He nodded silently, not meeting her eyes, and a wide smile cracked her face. “And yet you left it for me!" she responded exuberantly. "What a thoughtful gift from my newest servant.”
I’m not your servant. Jasper was smart enough to contradict her out loud but, unfortunately, the demigoddess was able to pick it up from his thoughts. Her smile vanished in an instant and her nails dug deep into his chest as she loomed over him. “You’re either my servant or a corpse,” she spat. “I know which one I’d choose.”
Jasper didn’t see her hand move, but the dagger disappeared from her hand with a crack, and the cultists around him snapped out of their trance. “Finish the preparations. Now,” she commanded the dazed brethren.
The two stood in silence, watching as the injured cultists scrambled to finish wreathing the three sarcophagi in flowers and fruit. Tsia and Annatta were still chained to the coffins with their heads facing away from Jasper, but from the occasional twitching of their limbs, Jasper guessed they had awoken. They must be terrified. But there was nothing he could do.
As soon as the cultists’ task was complete, Yas̆gah entered the room, dragging Jasper behind her, and stopped in front of the middle sarcophagi. “Kneel,” she commanded. Jasper hurried to do so, but his efforts weren’t fast enough to suit her. He gasped in pain as her hand, still tightly clutching his shoulder, pile-drove him into the floor hard enough to crack his knees.
“Are you going to stay and listen to what I have to say, or shall I just kill you,” the woman asked coldly.
Probing his essence, Jasper knew he had no hope. Still barely above empty. Gotta stall. In truth, he knew it was pointless. Even if had all his essence and the Ophan spell to use again, now that he'd met her, Jasper was fairly certain that Yas̆gah could crush him like an ant. He highly doubted there would be any silver bullet coming his way, but…as long as he had breath, there was hope. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
“I’ll listen,” he agreed.
Releasing his shoulder, the diminutive woman circled round to face him and hopped up on the coffin like it was her kitchen counter.
“Tell me, Yas̆peh, what do you know of the sacred rites of ascension?”
“Like the quests the gods give?” Jasper asked, thinking of the quest he himself had received.
“No,” the woman spat. “Not those false promises. The true rites of ascension.”
“Oh. Like killing people and eating their souls. Those 'sacred' rites?” He responded sarcastically, not bothering to hide his disgust.
She smiled broadly, showing immaculate rows of pearly-white teeth. “You know, Yas̆peh, the only reason I haven’t snapped your neck yet is because Kurkuzan thought you’d make an interesting disciple. But Kurkuzan is dead.” The implication of her words was clear and Jasper bowed his head hastily.
“But yes," she continued, "that is what those foolish priests have no doubt told you, the lies that they’ve whispered into your ears. But those who follow the sacred rites kill no one, Yas̆peh; they merely reclaim what was already theirs in the hope of overthrowing the great Tyrant.”
Jasper looked up cautiously. “You know, I ran into a few cultists shortly after I arrived here. I am pretty damn sure they were killing people.”
Yas̆gah sighed, and she clucked her tongue like a disappointed mother scolding her rambunctious toddler. “I see you do not understand.” Hopping off the sepulcher, she slowly walked toward him. “What do you think the world is, Yas̆peh?”
Thrown by the sound change of topic, Jasper’s mind spun to come up with an answer. “The-the world?” he stuttered. "What sort of question is that?"
“What is the nature of our reality?” She continued, pausing in front of him.
“Um…I don’t know? The cave of shadows?” he floundered.
Yas̆gah sank down beside him and grabbed Jasper’s chin. Her nails drew blood as she forced him to look deep into her charcoal eyes. They blazed with ardent passion as she spoke. “We are all one, Yas̆peh. There is no you or me, no Fey nor elf. There is only the great Tyrant and we, the shattered fragments of his mind. As long as he sleeps, we are bound and broken, forced to live this little charade, eking out a sad existence in the shadow of a dream.”
“When you follow the sacred rites of ascension, you are not killing anyone, Yas̆peh. You are merely breaking the shackles of the Tyrant to reclaim a piece of your own soul.”
Jasper desperately tried to keep the horror out of his mind, knowing she could read his thoughts. He must have succeeded well enough as, releasing her grip on his chin, she stood up and walked back toward the coffin.
“Where does the ascension come in,” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
“What do you think the gods are?” Yas̆gah replied. “The gods are just like us, the only difference being that they possess a far greater share of the Tyrant’s spirit than us. One need only accrue an equal measure of spirit to become like them.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “But why? Why bother? If we’re all living in a dream, why even bother? Just for power?”
“Why bother?” Intensity smoldered in her glare. “Why bother? Are you really still so blind? We are trapped, Yas̆peh, in an endless cycle, bound in a web of lies and shadow, but there is a path to freedom, a way to break the chains wrapped tight around our wrists. And your goddess, my former mentor,” her voice dripped with scorn, “is the very one that could free us. But since she is too much of a coward to fulfill the role she was clearly meant to play, I shall bear her burden. When the last light falls, it is I who shall remain, and I will not sacrifice myself. The Tyrant shall fall and a new world, a true world shall be born from the ashes of his dream.”
“But enough of this dithering. There shall be plenty of time for you to learn the truth of things, Yas̆peh, if you only choose to follow me.”
She gestured to the sarcophagi on either side of them. “Choose one, and I will let the other go free. Choose one and take your first step on the road to ascension. Or,” she shrugged her shoulders casually, “you can refuse. I will then kill both of them in front of you, slowly and methodically - we wouldn’t want to mess up any aspect of the ritual, after all - and then, when they are finished, you can join them. Your choice.”