Compared to the struggle of fighting up the many floors of the Imperial Library, it felt surreal how quickly Oak led his companions back down to the sewer entrance in the dungeons.
On the return trip, even the horde of books on the fourth floor was easily thwarted. This time they came prepared, and Oak had made torches, two for both him and Ur-Namma. A simple but effective solution which did not require him to strain his soul to the breaking point.
With Geezer prowling in the murkiness of the tunnel behind them and holding the rear, Oak took the lead. He kept a careful pace, retracing his steps through the sewer tunnels to the manhole they had used to enter the bowels of Ma’aseh Merkavah.
The hissing of ghouls, and the sound of claws scraping against stone, reached his ears from some passages and tunnels on their right, but nothing assailed Oak or his companions as they made their way out of the center of the city.
That was just as well. Oak did not want to even think about the size a ghoul nest could reach hidden inside the sewer system of a great city. There was no telling what might lurk behind a corner, so he did not deviate from the route they had already traveled once before. At least he knew what those tunnels had been like a couple of days ago.
When their tired group climbed out of the sewer, the unchanging gloom of Ma’aseh Merkavah felt downright blinding. Oak repeatedly blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the difference between the endless dark of the sewers, and the merely murky street he was standing on.
A nearby sputtering lantern left after images to his vision.
“I could really use a nap,” Oak said, and tried to rub the spots from his eyes and yawn at the same time. “Scratch that. I could use two naps back to back.”
Ur-Namma snorted. “Let’s just get to the grove. I still have slime between my toes,” he said and trembled in disgust. “I have been dreaming about washing myself for ages.”
Geezer showed some initiative and started walking down the cobblestone street towards the grove. Oak and Ur-Namma followed. Now that Ur-Namma had mentioned it, Oak noticed that every step the elf took emitted a small but audible squelching noise. He had blocked out the sound a long time ago, since it was so repetitive. Now it brought a small smile to his face.
Maybe it's mean of me, but I’m really glad the only shoes I found for the elf happened to be sandals. Truly an endless treasure trove of entertainment.
***
Oak put his rucksack down, removed his sword belt, and collapsed on the warm, soft grass. Geezer slumped on top of his stomach and laid there bonelessly. The dog was out like a light. Water dripped on both of them from the foliage above, and Oak stared at the old maple trees in a sort of religious wonder. It boggled the mind that a speck of the Mother's flesh, maybe even just a drop of blood, had made this entire grove.
No wonder Yam-Nahar wants to eat it all.
Ur-Namma grunted something incomprehensible and walked past him, heading deeper into the grove to wash himself and his clothes. Oak knew he needed to do that as well before they moved on from here, but he just did not have the energy for it at the moment.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift away. It was time to see if he could get another audience with Ashmedai.
A brief time later, Oak opened his eyes in the already familiar grand hall turned mausoleum of crowned skulls Ashmedai called home. It looked much the same as last time he had been here, but there was one major difference. The melted throne in the center of the hall had been replaced with a small table and a pair of comfy looking brown armchairs.
A single, tall black candle burned in the center of the table. The air smelled faintly of sulfur and tobacco.
The demon was already sitting on one of them with his legs crossed and a lit pipe between his lips. The rooster leg was proudly on display.
“Welcome, welcome,” Ashmedai said, and beckoned Oak to join him.
The armchair turned out to be as devilishly comfortable as it had looked. Oak felt like he was melting into the upholstery. I might have to take this chair with me when I leave. Carrying it out of Ma’aseh Merkavah and across the Hundred Kingdoms might be worth all the pain and suffering involved.
Based on Ashmedai’s grin, the demon knew what he was thinking.
“You contacted me at an auspicious moment,” Ashmedai said. “The eyes of the Angelic Choirs should be occupied with events in the south.”
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“What’s happening over there?” Oak asked, out of simple curiosity. It was not often he got to hear news of far-away lands.
Ashmedai took a drag from his pipe and breathed out a ring of smoke. “A major offensive in the ongoing war between the Muttalib Caliphate and the Korarim Confederacy. It will not amount to much, but a lot of people are going to lose their lives. The usual stuff.”
“They are at war?” Oak asked. “I guess it’s not that surprising that I haven't heard about it. It takes a while for news to travel across the continent.”
“Have been for the past year. There has been heavy fighting, especially along the coast. Some refugees are heading north,” Ashmedai replied. “If you intend to head to Chadash Merkavah, you might find some company on the road.”
“The more the merrier. Traversing the Hundred Kingdoms might be safer if we can join a caravan,” Oak said. “It’s a fool's hope, but if there are enough people moving about, the three of us might attract less attention.”
“I would pray for your success, but luckily there is no God to pray to anymore,” Ashmedai said. “We must make our own luck.”
Oak nodded. He had nothing smart to say about the Mother’s death, so he changed subjects. “I was hoping you could give me another boon. Maybe even two. I have been a busy bee lately,” he said. “But if the angels are preoccupied at the moment, might it be possible for you to give me the cliff notes version of the bigger picture of my mission?”
“Feeling curious, are you?” Ashmedai asked. The demon had a twinkle in his eye.
“Of course. I get why it would make sense to stop a dragon from gaining too much power, but why is it so essential? And why do we need to hide our intention to kill Yam-Nahar from the angels?” Oak asked. “You would think that all the Choirs would be happy with the dragon's death.”
Ashmedai took another drag from his pipe. “Tell me, how do you think me and my fellow demons are doing?”
Oak pondered the question. “Okay, I guess? A lot more worshipers than there were a couple hundred years ago,” he eventually said.
The demon snapped his fingers and pointed towards Oak. “And that, my dear Warlock, is the key. We are doing better every year than the one before and this is a zero-sum game. A person cannot worship both angels and demons,” Ashmedai replied. “When one of us gains a worshiper, the angels lose one. The soul is singular, and it can only call one afterlife home.”
“All right, that makes sense to me,” Oak said. “But I still don’t get how Yam-Nahar fits into all of this.”
Ashmedai leaned forward. For the first time since Oak had laid eyes on the demon, there was a wrathful glow in his eyes. “I did not use the term ‘a dragon’s folly’ by accident,” the demon said. “Whatever his true purpose, Yam-Nahar will lay waste to the continent when he has finished consuming the flesh of God.”
The hairs on Oak’s neck stood on end.
“When has a dragon ever accepted nothing less than utter dominion of all he can conquer?” Ashmedai scoffed, face twisted with derision. “A dragon of old reborn will emerge from the cocoon of Ma’aseh Merkavah, and his genocide will finally give the angels what many of them so desperately want.”
“What is it? What do they desire?” he whispered. How on earth could anyone truly benefit from such destruction?
“A chance to start over with a clean slate. The Seraphim, the Ophanim, and maybe more than half of the Hashmallim will stand aside and watch as the dragon ascends, and conquers the continent.” Ashmedai frowned. “They will stop the Cherubim and the Erelim from interfering, and when all who would oppose the dragon are ash and dust, when the moment is finally ripe, they will descend and kill the foolish wyrm.”
Expectations were a strange thing. Oak had never worshiped any of the Choirs, and yet, he now found it within himself to feel disappointed by them.
I guess a small part of me wanted to believe they could be righteous in their own ways. That instead of hurdling alone and unguided through the darkness of the void, we might still find a single objective standard of good and justice to cling to.
There had to be some kind of cold logic behind it all, but Oak could not see it.
It felt like a scab had been torn from his mind and instead of blood, it was sorrow that flowed from the wound. Certainty. That has irrevocably been lost during these long years since God’s death, and this will shatter the last remnants of it. For better or worse, we make our own way now. A frightening, but liberating, prospect. No Gods, no kings. Just the better demons and the darker angels of our nature.
“Take note, Oak, and learn from my mistakes. I didn't see this coming. Not even in my wildest dreams. I thought they would slowly reform, change some of their ways to attract people back into the fold, but I was thinking like a demon,” Ashmedai said. “The worst part is that I should have seen it. At what point in time is an enemy the most likely to attack? When their power and influence have reached a zenith. If every day that goes by makes you weaker in relative terms, the best moment to strike will always be right away. After all, the chance of victory will only grow smaller with time.”
Ashmedai shook his head in disgust. Both toward himself, and the Choirs, if Oak’s guess was correct. He could understand that impulse of self-flagellation all too well. During the long months of winter, he had spent more than one evening wallowing in his own failures.
The demon took a drag from his pipe and continued. “We are bound by rules crafted by the Mother herself. These chains persist beyond her death. No demon or angel of any real power can enter Creation. We must work through proxies and blessings, whisper advice to the ears of our followers, and give signs to those we find worthy,” Ashmedai explained. “But the Mother allowed some exceptions. If a threat in Creation becomes so powerful that it threatens all of her Garden, we may take direct action.”
The demon breathed out a cloud of smoke, which transformed into the shape of Pairi-Daeza. “What do you think will happen to this landmass, when an Angelic Choir manifests upon it?”