The Temple Read online

  “Gilshenn.”

  “Correct. Sidoor chose you to be his replacement.”

  “Replacement for what?”

  “Guardian of the Temple. Aeon’s Temple. Anything worth protecting is worth protecting properly, wouldn’t you say? And believe me, this Temple is most certainly worth protecting.”

  Halas’ mouth went dry. Guardian. What did that mean? Would he be forced to stay here, in the tundra, sleeping as Gilshenn Sidoor had slept?

  “Why are you doing this? I thought you kept things in order, good or evil. Why prevent the Infernals from being risen?”

  “The Ifrinn are…unpredictable. And strong!” Garek laughed and clapped his hands. “Even my superiors cannot foresee what they may choose to do if released from their prison. It’s best for everyone if they just stay put.”

  “Why not destroy them?”

  “Are you even listening to me?” Garek stood and gave an exasperated sigh. Halas would have laughed if he hadn’t been so utterly confused. “I cannot enter your plane of existence. I cannot interfere directly. Even if I was allowed to, the Ifrinn are strong. Their leader, Tharog the Warbrood, is stubborn. Let’s say you come across a spider of a particular potent venom. The only way to contain this spider is to seal it shut in a box of indestructible metals. You do this, but the spider is still there. How would you kill the spider?”

  “You would have to open the box.”

  “Well, maybe you’re not completely hopeless. The only way to kill the spider would be to open its prison, and then it would be free to do whatever it wants. You could risk it, of course, but there’s always the chance the spider may be expecting a trap. You may crush it with a thumbnail, or it may escape. It’s all up in the air.”

  “And we can’t have that.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic. It’s unbecoming of you. I want to get one thing clear: if I had been given the choice, I would not have chosen you. You’re too… fogged. Your future is clouded, but it is clear even to lowly peons such as myself that you have much to do. Gilshenn Sidoor was the perfect guardian. He was a nobody, an out-of-work potter in a dying city. Gilshenn was a loser.”

  Halas had never heard that term before, but he found he didn’t much care for it. “Gilshenn is my friend. Do not speak of him like that.”

  Garek rolled his eyes. “You knew Gilshenn for but a few hours. His memory will fade. In time, you will not even recall his face. I’m sure he was a fine character, but that is not for me to judge, nor do I care. He served his purpose, and you will serve yours.”

  Halas stood and walked forward until he faced his brother eye-to-eye. It took longer than he would have thought. The room seemed to expand with every step. “You listen here,” he said, “I am no man’s puppet.”

  “Correct. I am no man. Hell, I’m not even in charge. We are both puppets here, Halas Duer, marionettes held by powers greater than we can comprehend. It has been my lot in life since Creation, and now it is yours. I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to the cold, Halas Duer. It’s going to be a long time before you may leave. You are going to give me everything.”

  “No. I’m not going to give you anything. I won’t,” Halas stammered, suddenly nervous. He could think of no fate worse than that. He would never see his father again, his home, Cailin.

  “No, I’m afraid you will not. They will not know where to find you. Your lives are short, and your bodies difficult to preserve. Gilshenn Sidoor had his chamber, and you will have yours. It’s tough to face, I know, but the Orhill Caverns are your home now. Get used to it.”

  Halas shook his head. “I won’t do it. Find another man. You cannot ask me to do this.”

  “Lucky for both of us I am not asking, then, isn’t it?” Garek’s face twisted into a snarl. “I’m getting bored of this, Halas Duer. I’ve given you sight, I’ve given you knowledge, and I’ve given you your orders. Now do as I say, and go save the Temple!”

  Sight? What does he mean by that? It was all too much to take in. Halas felt a strong urge to turn and run the other way. He’d find a way out of this world, and flee all the way back to Cordalis. He would not, could not, accept this creature’s offer. That was just too much.

  He pivoted, but Garek was impossibly fast. Halas didn’t even register the thing masquerading as his brother move, but suddenly Halas was face-down on the ground, his breath violently driven away. The world changed again. His face no longer pressed on stark wood, but cold stone. Halas rolled up into a sit. They were on the pinnacle of a tall stone tower. Below them sprawled a castle keep. Peasants and soldiers milled about far below. Halas climbed to his feet.

  “Would you stop it?” Garek whined. “Keeping this world in place is taxing, you idiot. I just want to go home.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Listen, if you do not acquiesce, I’m going to have to resort to something drastic. Accept my offer, fulfill your role, or I will kill every form I’ve taken since we met. All of them.”

  That did it. All the fear left Halas then. His face twitched, became something of a scowl. He marched right up to his brother and poked him in the chest.

  “You said you cannot interfere. There’s not a thing you can do to force me to play your little game, is there? You may hold all the cards here, but where I come from, you’re nothing more than an insect. You’re not even allowed in. I’ll save your bloody Temple once, this once, but after I plan full well on going home. And there’s not a thing you can do to stop me! Find another guardian! And if I ever find a way to get back here, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you.

  “Do you understand me?”

  But Garek was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Temple Of Immortals

  Halas shook his head. Desmond stood over him, looking concerned. He sat up and nearly vomited as a result. A thick, salty taste filled his mouth. Halas leaned over and spat. What came out was milky and yellow. Desmond put a hand on his shoulder. “Halas, are you all right?”

  Halas looked blankly at his friend for a moment, trying to force down the nausea. He still felt worlds away. “I’m fine. What happened?”

  “Gilshenn touched you and you fainted. Are you all right?”

  “Gilshenn—where is Gilshenn? Is he alive?”

  “I think.”

  “I must speak with him.” Halas tried to stand, but his legs were water. Desmond grabbed him before he could fall. “Help me.”

  Leaning heavily on Desmond, Halas hobbled over to his friends. The gnome coughed. “Halas. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” he lied. “They gave it to me.”

  “It?” Elivain asked. “What do you mean, it?”

  “What’s he talking about?” That came from Aeon. Halas ignored them both. He and Gilshenn were in their own little world, almost literally.

  “Save it, please,” Gilshenn said. “Save it so everything I did wasn’t for nothing.”

  “I will. This once, I promise I will. But where is the Temple?”

  “You know. Just close your eyes. You’ll know.”

  Halas closed his eyes, and found he did know.

  He knew exactly where to find the Temple of Immortals.

  “Thank you. Good night, Gilshenn Sidoor.”

  “Good night.”

  Gilshenn slowly withered away. His bones turned to ash, and the ash was blown away in the wind. Halas stood up; Desmond patted his shoulder. Halas nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, and set off.

  “Go where?” Elivain demanded. “We haven’t the foggiest idea of where this thing may be.”

  “I do. The Temple of Immortals is beneath us. We have to back into Orhill. We have time; Raazoi will not know quite how to get through the wards. The Temple is a lot hardier than even she can give it credit for.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ll explain it all later. When you thought I fainted, I had some sort of vision. I’ve had a lot of visions. I promise I will tell you everything later, when we have time
, but for now we have to run.”

  He turned back toward the entrance to the Orhill Caverns, but Desmond grabbed his arm. “Halas, it’s bloody dark in there. Even if you somehow know where to go, how will we see?”

  Halas thought he knew the answer to that, too. “Just stay close to me.”

  And with that, he ran. His leg began hurting almost instantly. That thing—Garek, Cailin, whatever it had been—was right when it said all his pain would return. It seemed worse, somehow, like broken glass in his left thigh. The gods had deemed it necessary to melt that glass down by his knee, but below that the pain subsided into a low, warm ache. His chest heaved; it felt like he had been kicked by a horse, making every breath a dagger in his throat. He thanked the gods that there was little snow to encumber his boots. They slid into the dell, and Halas did not hesitate in plunging into darkness.

  But there was light. It felt as if a slick filter slipped over his eyes, and suddenly he could see, clear as day. He reached behind him and took Desmond’s hand. “Stay close, follow me, and do not let go of one another. These stairs are treacherous.”

  They descended down the stairs with surprising ease. “Halas, what happened?” Des asked.

  “Later, Des. After this is all over.”

  Desmond said nothing, and Halas led them through the caverns. They were marvelous to behold. The ceilings were high, incredibly so by gnome standards, and the halls wide. Curiosity picked at him as he passed closed doors, the wood rotted away to almost nothing. This place was so new, so unexplored. How much history lurked in these halls? How many stories? Conroy would love it, he knew.

  “Halas!” Aeon called. Halas turned. The prince stood a few paces behind Desmond. Elivain clung to his shoulder. Halas frowned. It was strange being able to see when he knew his friends could not, almost frustrating. He doubled back, took Aeon’s hand, and placed it in Desmond’s.

  He knew where to find the Temple. It was as if there was an audible map in his head. Turn here, it would say, or through that door. At times the voice sounded remarkably similar to that of Harden Graves, the mayor of Bakunin, and other times it sounded like his father. Halas pressed on. He had to stop several times to retrace his steps and keep his friends from getting lost, but he checked on them over his shoulder almost constantly, and they never fell too far behind.

  That door is locked, his voice said, but you must pass through it. “Hold here,” Halas told his friends. One kick and the door shattered into a million pieces. He led them onward, into a dining hall. Tables that had once been great littered the place. Now they were rotted. The ruins of ancient tapestries hung from the walls. Everywhere Halas saw the signs that Orhill had once been a bustling civilization, but there were no bodies. However this place had ended, Halas thought it had not been violent. But what had they stepped through earlier? Halas had been sure Orhill was a crypt.

  Deeper they went.

  “Where are we going?” Elivain asked.

  “The Temple. Just a little further.”

  Elivain grumbled something that Halas did not hear. Shortly after, Desmond lost his grip and Halas had to reorder everyone. These incidents were taking time, time Halas thought they didn’t have. He knew Raazoi would have trouble with the wards leading up to the Temple, but a witch of her caliber would not be delayed long. He had to hope she was not laying traps behind her, but he didn’t think she was. Does she even know we are coming? She can’t possibly.

  To his left, a section of wall fell away when Halas put his hand on it. He recoiled. Desmond yelled. The four had gotten tangled up again. “Stop!” Halas said. No one had their packs, meaning there was no rope to tether them together, as he and Des had traveled earlier. He sorted them out. “I need you to hang on,” he told them. “We haven’t much time.”

  “Hanging on wouldn’t be a problem if you would not walk so quickly,” Elivain said. “How do you even know where you’re going?”

  “For the last time, I just do. You must trust me.”

  “Fine.”

  You’re almost there, the voice said. Not long now. Take the passage on your left. Halas took the passage on his left. There was a terrible humming at the back of his mind, but he had ignored it up until now. It was growing louder. “Do you hear that?” Aeon asked, as if on cue.

  “I do. It’s the Temple. We are very near.”

  “What about the witch? Is she here, too?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t, but she had to be. Where else?

  “How are we to fight her if we can’t see?”

  “I can see.”

  “So you’ll fight her alone?” Elivain snapped.

  “If I must. Please, just trust me. We have to get there before she can do anything.”

  The corridor took a sharp right, and then dipped left. Halas felt they were descending deeper into the earth. There would be a few more twists and turns, and then a doorway, and then stairs.

  And then they would be at the Temple.

  He thought they had passed through some of the wards already destroyed by Raazoi. Where they had been, the stones gave off a twang that was almost musical. The half-Infernal woman was powerful indeed.

  Halas felt above himself. He’d said he would try and fight the witch alone if it came down to it, and he’d meant it. He was a warrior, trained by some of the best, weathered through battle and hardship, watched and chosen by powers beyond even his comprehension. Had the thing that had taken Garek’s form been what had sent the blue tigers to kill Torgeir? It had to be. How many blue tigers were there in Aelborough? Precious few, he thought, but that was beside the point. Halas knew he could stop Raazoi. He had to. She could not be allowed to let the spider out of the box, at any cost.

  They came to one final doorway. You’re here, his father’s voice said, and then fell silent. The door in question had been splintered, and not by conventional means. It looked like the entire hallway had exploded. Black scorch marks scoured the walls. The floor was gouged and littered with wood splinters. This door had been the final ward, and the strongest of them, but it had given Raazoi no pause. Halas didn’t know how he knew this. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye, could see her torn dress push back as a wind erupted in her hair. She lifted a hand, and the door blew apart as if made of paper, and then descended into darkness.

  But it wasn’t dark down there. As Halas crossed the threshold, the filtered scales fell from his eyes. They were a physical membrane, he was surprised to find. Without thinking, he reached up and caught them on his palm, where they quickly dissolved. Halas’ stomach rumbled at the sensation. It was unpleasant.

  The Temple of Immortals was blue.

  They were in some sort of tower. A winding stone staircase led down. Nearly half a mile below them was the Temple. Halas could see it well enough. It was made up of a single shrine in the center of the room, ringed by broad stone obelisks that curved into blunt scythes. The altar glowed blue, a hue Halas had never seen before. Enthralled, he stumbled toward it, and nearly fell off the stairs, but Des caught him.

  “Watch out,” he whispered.

  “I have to get down there.”

  Aeon stepped up beside him, gaping. It was the most remarkable thing any of them had ever seen. So simple, yet so beautiful. So important. How could the something so crucial consist of but a few stones?

  Elivain was already running. He took the stairs three at a time, silent as a cat. Halas turned to his friends. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” they said in unison, and they went.

  The stairs wrapped around the wall of the tower. As they descended, Raazoi came into view below, half-concealed behind one of the pillars. She chanted in a whisper, but her words echoed up to reach Halas’ ears. He could not understand a thing she was saying.

  They caught up to Elivain at the base of the stairs, on his haunches. Raazoi had her back to them, but Halas thought she knew they were there. “Can she see us?” Aeon asked.

  Halas stepped onto the main floor, and was met with an immed
iate sense of overwhelming power. His skin prickled in gooseflesh, his heart pumped furiously, his hair stood on end, his trousers tightened. He swallowed and nearly fell. Des took his arm. Elivain eyed him curiously. Halas blinked rapidly against tears. “Can you feel it?” he whispered.

  “What?” Desmond asked. His voice was high, strained with worry. “Halas, feel what?”

  The details of the Temple leaped forward into Halas’ vision. He saw the altar, clear pictograms were etched on its surface, an owl and a moon and a snake and an island; written on each of the outlying pillars was a name, each was different, and none were legible; pale ghosts of men and women stood by each, stoically watching the events unfold, their gazes stern but their stances slumped, almost defeated; the stone beneath their feet pulsed and trembled with light and music and power; the blue glow from the altar was alien, born from another world Halas could never see or even conceive, a world where colors and other visuals blended with the other senses, senses Halas would never know existed. The words Raazoi spoke came from this world, he thought. Her voice was not entirely her own, assisted by some unknown entity. Did it belong to her, the magics deep within her own body? Or did Raazoi have help? Halas reached at this idea, and began peeling away the layers of her words, digging, trying to discover the second voice, completely unaware of what he was doing or how he was doing it.

  And then the river of power began to recede. Already it seemed faint. His mind reached out, trying to grasp at what weak tendrils remained. It had felt so good, so strong. With the power of the Temple of Immortals and Aeon the Great, Halas knew he would have no trouble defeating Raazoi—if it didn’t kill him first. He sighed as the last of the power rushed out of him. The experience had lasted maybe two seconds, but they were the best two seconds of his life. For two seconds, Halas Duer had been more than just a man, more than just a twenty-year-old farmer from Cordalis. He’d been a higher being. He shuddered.

  “I’m all right,” he said. The power was gone. The wraiths were gone. The stone was silent. Before them, Raazoi continued to chant. The words she spoke were nebulous, almost complete gibberish. Had they been familiar before? Aeon lifted his blade.