Chapter Forty-Two: The City of Sorrows

“What was there before Wyd?

“Some say there was nothing; just an empty void. Some say there were the stars, and Wyd simply raised the land and the seas.

“Me? I think there was an entire history before our almighty Creator came to be. Perhaps gods and races had already come and gone, and Wyd simply grew new life from the ruins of the old.”

—Kirin Wright, Religions of Faengard

They somehow avoided running into any more of the constructs, or the ‘Steel Guardians’ as Rhinne had started calling them. The corridors eventually gave way to open ground.

Tall, rectangular buildings stretched towards the sky in the haze, their tips hidden by the mist. They were made from some kind of grey stone Ein had never seen before. It was too flat and smooth to be carved from one piece, yet it lacked the cracks and seams that came from joining multiple bricks together.

“Do you have any idea where they might be?” Ein asked.

Rhinne gave a start. She’d been on edge since their encounter with the Steel Guardian. “I know as much about this place as you do.” She stared ahead into the gloom. “I can see through the mist, though. I’ll let you know if I notice anything dangerous.”

Ein nodded. They continued walking down the road, taking quick but careful steps, staying in the shadows of the buildings. The dweor city was like a dark mirror to Aldoran. Several of the larger structures had collapsed upon themselves, revealing living quarters decorated with mountains of rubble and debris. Steel pipes and wires stuck out like maggots in flesh. Dark green growth crept up along the walls, seeping from the great cracks that split them asunder.

The city was broken, as if the wrath of the gods had come down upon it and then left it for Anturia to reclaim. There were crumpled steel carriages, rusted hunks of coloured metal that rested along the sides of the road with rubber-rimmed wheels. There were street lamps that stretched high into the sky, thin cords running between the poles. There were shops with brightly packaged food, metal implements and more of the black screens they’d seen in the sentry bunker. Everything in the city was made of either steel or seamless grey stone.

They passed an enormous statue of Zaxiem, a short, stout figure hidden beneath a hood. At his feet was an open treasure chest depicting gold and gems. The statue alone remained untouched, while every other statue they’d come across had been hammered to the ground and left to deteriorate.

“Ein,” Rhinne called. She pulled him to one side and they ducked behind Zaxiem’s legs. “I see something in the distance.”

A piercing ray of light shone through the mist, sweeping over the spot they’d just been standing. It continued its arc, tracing the road like a lighthouse beam before disappearing into the darkness.

“What was that?” Ein whispered.

Rhinne brought a finger to her lips, still peering around the side of the statue. A moment later, a hovering sphere flew past them, heading down the road from where they’d come. Three whirling blades kept it afloat. It stopped midway, shining the light from its Celesite core into one of the side streets, and then continued on its way.

Rhinne allowed herself to breathe again.

“There are more of them out there,” she said. “Floating eyes. But whose eyes are they?”

Ein stepped out from behind the shadow, looking into the mist. He was beginning to feel nauseous.

“Rhinne. Is it just me, or is it getting hard to breathe?”

He felt like there was weight pressing down on his lungs, stopping them from expanding to their full capacity. The sensation worsened every time his heart rate increased.

“It must be the mist,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “It isn’t… clean.” She looked around. “Let’s take shelter in one of the buildings. I think they keep the mist out.”

Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed his hand and led him towards one of the store fronts. The door was locked but the window had been shattered, so she kicked away the stray shards of glass and hauled him inside. Ein drew a deep breath, feeling the cloudiness clear from his mind.

“Thanks,” he breathed, slumping on a plastic crate on the ground.

“It’s not safe to be out there,” the dragonoid said softly. She knelt down before him. “Are you crying?”

“I…” Ein brought a hand to his eye and realized it was wet. “It’s not what you think it is.” He snapped his head toward the window. “A place where widows cry… I think it’s the mist, Rhinne. I can’t think straight when I’ve been in it for too long, and my eyes feel irritated.”

“I understand. I don’t mean to rush you, but we don’t have many supplies left.”

Ein nodded, wiping his eyes. “We’ll get moving soon. Just give me a moment.”

Rhinne stood up and began inspecting their surroundings. The store had been pillaged, the contents of its shelves long gone save the odd tin can or foil packet. Rhinne picked one of cans up, holding it to the light. The labels were faded away, the runes etched upon them unreadable. She sniffed it tentatively.

“I don’t think we should eat anything from here,” Ein said half-jokingly.

Rhinne scowled. “I know that.” She shook it and listened, then replaced it on the shelf. After that, she made her way to the front counter where a metal contraption sat. Ein heard the jingle of coins as she reached in and drew out a handful, inspecting them one by one. They were of different sizes and thicknesses, with the thinnest as slim as a fingernail. There were also notes with faded pictures of men and women.

Something else caught her eye, and she replaced the currency. There was a wire stand next to the counter with several thin booklets on display, their pages bound together by metal wire. She opened one of the booklets carefully, blowing the dust away. They crinkled as she flipped through, scanning through the foreign etchings.

“I don’t think Mor’Gravar belonged to the dweor,” she said at last, closing the book.

“What do you mean?” Ein stood up, his head clear again.

“The pictures on the notes and in the books. They look just like us, though obviously dressed differently.” She held one of them up to an open page. There was a faded picture of a woman upon it, smiling. Ein held his breath. He’d never seen a portrait so realistic—it was like reality had been captured and printed onto paper.

“The dweor were small folk,” Rhinne continued. “They had horns and brown skin. There are some us who still remember them from before their disappearance.” She gestured at the shop. “This doesn’t look like a place designed for the dweor. The door handles are too tall; the shelves and the counter as well. It’s almost as if… as if the city was occupied before the dweor found it. In the Age before Ages. The Age before Wyd created the world.”

The idea was a daunting one. Ein couldn’t imagine a world before the Creator. What must it have been like? What existed before the Almighty?

“If that’s true…” he said slowly, “then the Master that reclaimed Mor’Gravar is something far older than we thought.”

Rhinne suddenly dropped the booklet, tilting her head to one side. Then, she turned her head to the corner of the ceiling. There was an orb mounted there, a small red core of Celesite pulsing in its centre. An Eye.

She lashed out without warning, vaulting off one of the shelves and stabbing it. Glass shattered and the core dropped onto the ground, the light fading away. She turned back to look at Ein. Understanding dawned upon him.

Moments later, something whirred outside. Multiple somethings. Footsteps moved towards them, trudging through the mist.

#

Talberon ducked into one of the abandoned buildings at the first chance he had, taking Garax and Aeos with him. The makeshift rope he’d sang to life was still around their waists, preventing them from straying too far.

“We should be safe here, at least for a while,” the Druid said, passing a brief glance across the ceiling. “I see no Eyes. We’re in one of the few blind spots in the city.”

They’d taken shelter in an old restaurant, a dilapidated single-storey building wedged in one of the back-alleys of Mor’Gravar. Part of the wall had caved in, revealing a section of the shop next door. Tables and chairs lay strewn across the ground, interspersed with large chunks of rubble and shattered glass.

Aeos leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. His head felt dangerously light, and when he brought a hand to his forehead he found tears in his eyes. Talberon tapped him on the shoulder and handed him what looked like a handkerchief grown from a patch of moss.

“Breathe through this,” he said. “It’ll filter out the mist. That’s what’s causing the dizziness.”

“A deadly combination,” Garax murmured. “With eyes everywhere and air that kills, it’s no small wonder the city’s remained untamed for so long. Whatever controls this place doesn’t welcome strangers.”

Talberon took a moss gauze for himself and took a few deep breaths. Then, he pushed a pile of tables in front of the door, barricading it.

“We don’t have any supplies,” Garax cursed. “We left them back in the bunker with Ein and Rhinne.”

“They would have gone looking for us by now,” the Druid muttered. “We have to find them, before something else does.”

“Just what exactly is this ‘Master?’” Aeos growled. “What does it want?”

“It’s an entity,” the storyteller said. “An ancient being, perhaps as old as the gods, though from a world completely different to ours. It ruled the city before the dweor found it, and now that they’re gone, it’s back.”

“Thanks for telling me what I already knew.”

“You think I know everything, boy?” Garax snapped. Then, he drew a deep breath. “I’d say it’s magic, of a sort. Not Songweaving, but something older. Something that belongs to the Age before Ages. All these Eyes we see and those metal golems we sneaked past back in the sentry bunker, they all run on Celesite. I’d guess that the Master is the same. Somewhere around here is a giant Spirit Font that powers, or powered the entirety of Mor’Gravar.”

“Garax,” Talberon said. “Keep a lookout while I enter Astreal. Make sure our albino Prince doesn’t do anything rash.” He propped his wooden sword against the wall and sat down, closing his eyes.

“Here we are, deep beneath the earth being hunted by an enemy we can’t see, and the wizard takes a nap,” Aeos said.

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As he breathed through the moss again, he wondered how his father would react upon news of his death.

Not as grievously as he did for my brother, that’s for sure.

#

Talberon flew free from his body, surveying the void from above. It was quieter here, dimmer, like a pond under a moonless night. He was far away from the overworld and its distractions, far away from the Faceless and the Apocalypse Knights that lurked around every corner. He was in a place Al’Ashar had no power over; a place where the Oathbreaker could watch and exert his presence, but not touch.

He lowered himself deeper into concentration, extending the reach of his mind. He was like a tree, spreading its roots across Astreal, probing, touching any and all things that shone. He touched upon rodents in the dark and burrowing boreworms. He touched upon beetles and other mites of the earth. He touched upon the roots and saplings that lay deep below the ground, clusters of moss and fungi that decorated the caves. In the absence of the Forsaken One, he had free reign over the Spirit realm.

He hovered in the air, searching. He tried to see past the shining lights that were Garax and Aeos. Where was Ein and the dragon girl?

Protect him with your life, Morene had said. One simple task he’d been given. Talberon drew a metaphysical breath. Focus. Losing one’s focus in Astreal was incredibly dangerous.

He lowered himself further still, like a dead stone plunging into the silent depths. Where were they?

Then it hit him.

Like a monster from the depths, writhing, clawing, thrashing. It slapped him out of the air, dragging him deeper still. Talberon cried out and struggled, flapping his wings, kicking, clawing, biting at the invisible tendrils. He lowered the barriers in his mind, slammed shut the stone gates, but the thing slid a limb in between and pried them open. He was drowning. The wind was tearing at his body, wearing it away as his mind split threefold. He Saw something, briefly—what looked like a chair made of metal, surrounded by panels and panels of screens and buttons. On the screens were views of the entire city, all its rooms, all the dark streets and alleyways. The chair was empty, yet there was something there. Something was connected to the Eyes. Something controlled the Steel Guardians. An ancient spirit that lived inside all the metal devices and the circuit-covered boards, one that controlled the lights in the city, the doors, the heating and cooling units, anything that had Celesite inside it.

Their minds touched. He understood. This was the Master that ruled from the throne of steel, a hive mind that would preserve itself to the bitter end. Talberon let out a weak sigh and allowed the darkness to embrace him.

#

The Druid had begun to scream about an hour into his rest. It was a soul-wrenching scream, one that sang of wilting flowers and crumbling trees. It was the breath of autumn, a shattering of glass, a withering of life into a blackened husk. The mould that leeched off the walls went black. The ivy winding its way up the streetlamp outside became dust. The moss bleeding from cracks in the ceiling fell off in dry clumps.

Garax and Aeos rushed to his side, but it was too late. Vines erupted from the ground, wrapping themselves around the Druid, sealing him in a cocoon. His eyes remained wide open all the way, rolled into the back of his head. He screamed and screamed until his voice was raw, and continued to scream until at last the vegetation covered him completely. Then, he became silent.

“What the hell is happening?” Aeos cried.

Garax grabbed the mass of vines and shook it. There was no response. Something red lit the mist outside, a blaring siren. An alarm. Hovering Eyes zoomed from the darkness, wing-blades shining, searchlights sweeping.

“Blast,” said the storyteller. “Wyd help me. Zaxiem below, save our souls.” He drew his Darksteel sword and hacked at the cocoon with a strong grip. A chunk of green fell away, hard and brittle like a shell. The cocoon of vines had solidified into a tough casing, sealing the Druid from the rest of the world.

“Let’s grab him and go,” Aeos yelled. Shambling humanoids stumbled from the mist outside, armcannons raised. He ducked as they sprayed pellets over his head, destroying the counter behind him. They were everywhere, the golems of glass and steel, creeping from within the crumbled buildings, behind the metal carriages, out of the yawning alleyways.

“To Hellheim with this,” Garax spat, and chopped at the casing with all his might. The green shell cracked in two. Inside was a small sparrow lying on its side, its chest rising and falling with the faintest of movements.

Garax scooped it up, just as the barricaded door burst apart in a cloud of smoke and splinters. “Run, boy!” he cried, waving with the stump of his hand. “Don’t let them hit you!”

Aeos readied his spear and ducked through the hole in the wall to the shop next door. Garax followed, and the two scrambled through out the back exit and into the mist.

“Which way do we go?” he cried.

“Anywhere, damn it,” came the reply. “Just go straight and hope we find something.”

There were Eyes everywhere, dark shapes hurtling out of the grey, watching them with their floodlights. The Steel Guardians followed, arms flashing orange as they fired their cannons. Smoke filled Aeos’s nostrils, sharp and acrid. His ears rang non-stop with the rat-tat-tat of muzzle fire.

Damn this, the Prince thought. Damn this to Hell.

He’d imagined finding his death at the hands of an enemy soldier or an assassin, but never anything like this. Never being chased by automatons in a mist-veiled city beneath the earth. He sprinted across the straight roads, breathing through the moss handkerchief whenever he could, the storyteller never far behind. He didn’t have time to wonder how the old man kept up, or why he was seemingly unaffected by the mist. Tears were beginning to stream down his eyes.

Aeos had never really thought much of life, having been born with a different appearance and circumstances to everyone else. He was used to being spurned, being told he was worthless, always walking in the shadow of someone greater. If no one in the world needed him, then no one would miss him.

But as he ran, cursing the times he’d skipped his daily training in favour of reading, he thought: What a pity it would be to see all this and never live to tell the tale.

As that thought flitted through his head, he saw a light in the distance. It wasn’t one of the searchlights or the blinking of a Celesite core. It was a light in his mind, a hazy glow that didn’t belong to this plane, as if he’d opened a third eye and transposed it upon his field of view. It was a lighthouse beam piercing through the darkness, guiding him to port. There was indescribable tugging in his chest, a compulsion. Just as he knew which way was up and which way was down, he knew this was the way he needed to go.

Aeos ran towards it, and Garax followed.

#

Ein and Rhinne fled blindly through the mist in what they hoped was the opposite direction to which they’d come. They charged through the intersections, past the hordes of flying Eyes, enemy fire streaking across the road behind them, the click and whir of gears and machinations never far behind.

Rhinne swore and spat a huge ball of fire, engulfing one of the spheres in a blaze of red. It spiralled out of control like a puppet with its strings cut loose, crashing into the other machines, setting off a chain of explosions. The two raced up a slope to a section of raised ground, pumping their arms and legs as hard as they could. Tears streamed down Ein’s face. His body was growing sluggish, every movement weighing him down like he was running under a pool of water.

They stopped to catch their breath at the top of a hill, swatting away at the Eyes and their beams of white light. The hill rose above the entire city, even higher than the mist itself. It was an island sitting atop a sea of silver, surrounded by the tips of tall buildings poking out like tombstones, stretching as far as the eye could see. Ein placed his hands on his knees, coughing and wheezing, drinking in the untainted air.

“I can see them,” Rhinne said, peering out into the distance. “Aeos and Garax!”

“Behind you…” Ein croaked.

Rhinne spun around just as one of the Steel Guardians scaled the hill and opened fire. She threw herself in front of Ein, sheltering him with her small body as the pellets hit her, riddling her with sparks and scratches. Lumps of flattened lead flicked across the ground, but when she stood up she was unscathed.

Once the creature had run out of ammunition, Rhinne charged it and brought it to the ground, screeching flames into its face. She pried open the metal plates in its chest to expose the circuitry within and began tearing it apart, deaf to its mechanical screams. With one final outburst, she sank her teeth into the cords in its neck and wrenched them out with a violent twist of her head. The Steel Guardian stopped moving, the light in its chest winking out of existence.

By then Ein had recovered enough to stand, though his eyes still stung with tears. Rhinne rushed past him, smelling of smoke and scorched metal.

“Down the hill,” she called out. “Come on, quick!”

Ein steeled himself and raced after her, his feet threatening to give way with each step. It was nothing but the Vow keeping him alive now, giving him the strength and endurance he needed to keep moving. He could feel himself drawing upon something, a source of energy somewhere in the mist, an unseen tether connecting him to his master—to Aeos. The Prince was still alive. He concentrated on it and tugged, feeling it grow stronger, wider. A torrent of Spirit rushed through him and his head cleared, just a bit.

“This way,” Rhinne said, and they swerved around the corner to the edge of a canal. The water was black with dirt and waste from the mines, but it flowed. A Guardian stumbled in front of them and Ein slashed without thinking, cutting it in half. Ahead they heard the sound of fighting, the clash of steel against steel, the heavy thud of footfalls on stone and laboured breathing. Dark shapes took form in the gloom, and then the mist parted and the Prince and the storyteller were there, chased by a swarm of Eyes and two Steel Guardians. Garax shouldered one of them off the footpath and into the canal, where it landed in a sizzling splash. Its warbled cries continued to echo as the water swept it away.

“Gods above, you’re here,” he panted. “Guess that saves us the trouble of finding you.”

A thin rope made of coiling vines bound his waist to the Prince’s. He grabbed Aeos and ducked behind one of the metal carriages. A string of holes riddled it as the remaining Guardian opened fire.

Ein tackled it to the ground and, mimicking what Rhinne had done before him, thrust his blade deep through the creature’s throat. Screwing his face in exertion, he gave a hard wrench and opened the wound further, breaking cords and wires and other small things. Sparks spilled onto the ground like fiery blood. The air quietened as the Guardian went still. Ein yanked his sword free and stood, panting.

“Where’s Talberon?” he asked.

Aeos pointed to Garax, who held a frail bundle of fur and feathers in the crook of his bad arm. “He became like that when he tried to find you,” he said. “Through Astreal.”

“We should never have split up,” Rhinne murmured. The Eyes flitted above their heads, just out of reach. “At least we’re together again. But how the blazes do we get away from this place?”

Something howled in the distance, a mechanical screech that sent shivers down their spine. Lights flickered on and off in the windows and on the streets. Doors slammed open and shut. The metal carriages wailed like mothers over dead children.

“I’ve been following his Royal Highness here,” Garax said. “He seems to have an inkling of an idea where to go.”

“Its this canal,” Aeos said. “It holds the key to escaping this place. But I don’t know how.”

“It’s moving,” Ein said, remembering something Alend had taught him. “That means it has to go somewhere. Maybe outside. All rivers lead to civilisation.”

“I thought that too,” the Prince pointed out. “But we’re deep underground. All rivers flow downwards, not upwards.”

“Maybe things work differently here. After what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Garax smiled grimly.

Aeos bit his lip. “Fine. Zaxiem be damned, I don’t want to stay here a moment longer. Let’s do it.” And without waiting, he dove into the canal. The rope around his waist grew taut and then Garax jumped as well, hugging the injured sparrow to his chest.

It would be nice if Evaine were here, Ein thought. He wondered if things would be any different if he’d learned to wield his Soulsong like her. Then, Rhinne shoved him from behind and his world was enveloped by the loud gushing of wastewater and thick, inky blackness seeping across his vision. Cold seeped deep into his bone.

He thrust his head above the surface, gasping. The current was moving surprisingly fast, almost as it were being pumped by some unseen force beneath them. They entered a pitch black tunnel, their sight robbed away, replaced by nothing but moving darkness, numbing cold and the loudness of water. The Eyes didn’t chase them; nor did the mist.

Somewhere ahead of them, Garax called out.

“Ein! Rhinne! Grab onto the rope and don’t let go!”

What rope? Ein wanted to scream in frustration. He swept at the water with his arms, trying to feel for something—anything—but without light, it was pointless. Then someone barrelled into him, a small body, and he felt a rope being squeezed into his hand. It was Rhinne.

They twisted and turned as the tunnel narrowed into a giant pipeline, growing faster, angrier. Ein and Rhinne were sucked along, banged and bruised against the walls, tumbling and turning, ducking in and out of the water. Ein kept a deathgrip on the rope with one hand and Rhinne’s wrist with the other.

Then the water spat them into a pocket of calm. He flailed in the darkness, following the sounds of Aeos and Garax as they coughed and spluttered, regaining their breath. There was enough time for him to wind the rope a few times around his arm, to strain against the water and maybe reunite with the others—

The water rumbled.

It creaked and groaned. Bubbles burst around them, frothing and churning. There was a feeling of apprehension, like a bottle of sparkling wine shaken and then uncorked, like a fork of lightning had flickered and they were waiting for the crash to follow. Ein closed his eyes, and the thunder came.

It deafened him, a great roar that bounced around the walls of the well, black and frenzied. The waterline lowered an inch, like the drawing of a deep breath, and then it erupted.

It rammed into them from underneath, fast, hard, unyielding, expunging. Ein felt his insides lurch as he hurtled upwards, swept by the geyser of water. Up became down and then up again as he lost control of his body and his bearings, falling completely at the mercy of the unseen force. His eardrums tightened and burst as he continued to rise, higher and higher, his blood frothing in his veins, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He lost sensation of everything else around him. There was just the water, his flailing body, and the small spot of light above him that was growing larger and larger. A patch of grey daylight, a tongue of cool air that licked his cheek.

The mountain expelled him and he knew no more.