Mostafa rolled up the map and slotted his charcoal pencil into a pouch on the map canister. The sun creeped higher into the sky, burning bright enough to burn away the morning fog but not enough to warm up his ebony skin. When he’d gotten up that morning, he donned his thicker woolen clothes and long-sleeved shirt. Even without the presence of gusts of wind or a gentle breeze, the air felt cold and crispy. He had awoken with a strong shiver. The old map was still somewhat accurate and gave him something to start with. He dedicated the early hours to mapping the old town’s borders.
He took a seat on a ruined stump of an old and long dead birch tree. It supported his weight as he barely broke two-hundred pounds. He took in a deep breath, then exhaled. Last night’s sleep ended poorly, and he still felt exhausted. He hoped that by being proactive would wake up his body like it had in the past, but cartography wasn’t equal to doing the morning run. Stop and go movements rarely did much for his cardio goal for the day.
“Lingering for long?”
Mostafa jumped to his feet and drew a gladius from his belt. “Who’s there?” he said loudly.
“Fret not, I’m not something out there,” the voice cackled in the back of Mostafa’s mind.
He spun on his heels, checking the surrounding area. Nothing moved. “Get out of my head!”
“I’m not in your head. I’m simply talking to it.” The voice fell silent, expecting a witty quip, but when none came, it spoke again. “Now that I have your attention. I must warn you about the dangers that you and your traveling companions are approaching.”
Mostafa put his fingers in his ears and started walking back to the camp, yelling, “La, la, la, la, not listening!”
His voice woke up an also very sleep-wasted confessor who, through saggy eyes and a morning fogged mind, called out to him, “Who are you talking to?”
“There’s a voice in my head!”
Claudia flopped back down and groaned audibly. “Fuck’s sake.” She flipped open the bed roll and climbed out. She reached for her staff and duffel bag. Once the incense released smoke, she closed the reliquary and walked over to him and waved it around him. She muttered a prayer in the old emporian tongue, the language of the churches that followed Torcall.
“Fine, I was just trying to be helpful,” the voice said dismissively, and disappeared from Mostafa’s mind.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s gone.”
Claudia too let out a relieved sigh, leaning on the staff. “Good. However, this means we must keep our minds clear. Don’t think of doubts or concerns, of wants or of desires. A Mephistopheles demon might not take interest, but Vamtimai or Calsohor’s servants live for mind games.”
Boris sat up upon hearing the names. “How much do you know about these demons?”
“My time as a priestess was spent studying the doctrinal texts of the church,” she explained. “I rarely did much reading about anything else. However, for the past few months, I’ve been digging into some more questionable literature regarding the princes of the hells. If they’re our enemy, then I felt it necessary to study them.”
“I believe there’s an old Mey Li phrase that says ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles’ or something like that.”
“Exactly my goal. Vamtimai is the demon prince of deceit, and Calsohor is lust. They manipulate the mind to make you believe lies, hence deceit, or to distract you from your goals or the holy life through lust. If the mind is empty, they have nothing to latch onto.” She leaned her staff against the trunk of a tree and began rolling up her bedroll. “Old emporian is a language that, when spoken, makes them run in fear. Torcall’s true power lives in the old language.”
“And what of Amulius, Etos, and Ronarus?” Morgan inquired.
Claudia scoffed. “Those three are false gods. That the wider human population even follows them is disgusting. Torcall is the one and only veritable god.”
Morgan and Mostafa exchanged shifty glances, opting to not mention the other’s beliefs.
Boris however challenged her. “How?”
Claudia paused, then set down her bag. “Amulius, the god of mercy and charity. When humanity was young, we followed Amulius, hoping that being friendly to those who were not our kind would reciprocate the generosity. Then Menbyhenet enslaved us, or rather, tried to. Humanity got walked on by the Y’nerius, the ancient elven imperium that predates the modern Aldails. We were nearly made extinct because we were soft.” Her voice demanded utter silence from them.
“That’s not genuine history, Claudia,” Boris folded his arms. “The old Confederation of Human Principalities was never successfully vassalized by outside powers.”
“Which is why I said nearly,” she snapped. “Alongside Amulius were Ronarus and Etos, who effectively taught us to accept our lot in life and play the role as we fell into it. After all, why question the wisdom of a god?” She pulled the drawstrings on her pack and slung it over her shoulder. “When Emperor Torcall ascended and became a god among mortals, he upended that mindset, gave humanity the fighting chance it needed. Leave it to one rough age to reinvent the old gods.”
Before Boris could speak another word, Mostafa’s hand curled around mouth and he shushed him. He then whispered, “Not worth it.”
Boris rolled his eyes and shook off the hand. He begrudgingly let the conversation end there.
The next few hours of walking stayed in awkward silence. Claudia led the way by a dozen yards whilst the three men lazily walked together. Although they easily dismissed the voice, her religious zealotry bothered them. Boris still had the urge to set her straight, but resisted the need to vent then and there.
Mostafa unrolled part of the map, reading and walking. He originally thought it would be a week before they got close to the outskirts of Carrhae. He suspected they were actually closer than the map led him to believe, meaning its scaling was completely off. However, without consistent landmarks to measure with, he could only guesstimate their position. Then, from up ahead, he heard some chiming.
Claudia stopped immediately and pulled the Geiger Relic off her belt, holding it out in front of her. It released a chime every couple of seconds. The radiorum was strong enough to trigger it but barely registered on the needle and scale. “Something toxic is ahead of us. Mostafa!” She yelled. “Does the map show anything ahead of us?”
A second glance at it showed an old dumping ground. He originally thought the markings painted a marshland. “I think there’s a big waste dumpsite just up ahead. If we go east by northeast, we’ll still be on course,” he replied.
“Very well, lead the way.”
Mostafa took point with Claudia by his side. Every time the Geiger relic chimed, he marked the spot on the map. Then they collectively took forty steps eastward before continuing. After three annoyingly long hours, they’d mapped out the eastern edge of the disposal site. It was a jagged half circle, but it provided a solid idea of where it was. He only hoped the crown had some means to cleanse the radiorum.
However, something still felt off, and Claudia pinned the Geiger relic to her belt. “Do you feel that?” She asked, walking closer to the disposal site.
“I thought we were trying to avoid that area?” Mostafa turned around and asked her in response.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Boris licked his finger and held it up in the air; no wind.
The Geiger relic chimed again. “Follow me,” she said.
The relic’s chimes grew more frequent, going from once a minute to one every ten seconds. Very few trees grew within this area, leaving it thinner and more barren than the rest of the territory. Leaf litter still covered most of the ground. Claudia ducked behind a fallen log. Further down the field, just out of earshot, she saw movement. A group of imps were rummaging through a crater. Some were a similar red and purple skin tone to the Mephistopheles one they’d killed the day before. Others looked different. One of them looked almost goblin-like. A third and fourth had a more dominant purple coloration, and the fifth was vibrantly orange.
“Three Mephistopheles, two Vamtimai, a Hessire, and…” her voice trailed off as she thought about it. “Is that a Kherzrol?”
Boris inched his way closer, taking a knee next to her. “What are we dealing with?”
“Seven imps. They’re digging through something. I want to know what, but we can’t take on seven imps, definitely not with three of them being Mephistopheles types.” She cautioned. “I think they’re attracted to the radiorum, or at least whatever is producing it.”
“You mean it’s not naturally occurring?”
“It is rare for it to be. I’ve eavesdropped on conversations about it. Some clergy believe the hells produced the radiorum and brought it here. Others think third-era humanity accidentally made it, which is what brought the rifts to us.”
“What do you want to do, then?”
“Back away slowly and continue to Carrhae. I need to know if there’s a rift still open.”
Easily enough, they crept away from the group of imps. Once they were certain that they were out of both earshot and line of sight, they turned about and continued toward Carrhae. The scenery changed as they approached the second town marked on the map. Where trees once seemed to grow without issue, now wilted and bowed over. Branches drooped like willows but belonged to oaks and birches. The leaves looked runny and stringy, malformed in every way.
Mostafa rolled up the map with a frustrated sigh and callously shoved it back into the cylindrical case.
While the others left the matter quiet, Claudia looked over to him. “Is our map inaccurate?”
He rolled his eyes and his head. “Inaccurate is an understatement. We should be seeing the skyline of the old city from here. It’s only another day away, and to top it off, my compass has started spinning,” he said, popping the lid on it and showing it to her.
Claudia took the compass and eyed it. The needle wouldn’t sit still. It spun around and around with no consistent speed. At first she thought it to be the metal armor, but the needle would point to her if that were the case. She closed the lid on it and handed it back to him. “Are we still facing roughly the right direction?”
Mostafa nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, then we keep going. Either we’ll find the city or the city’s new denizens will find us.” She said with fierce determination.
“You make it sound like we’re guaranteed to find more imps,” Morgan said. “Are you so sure of it?”
“I am.” She continued walking forward with Mostafa in tow.
Morgan turned to exchange glances with Boris, who appeared to be unsettled by the notion. The bucket helm he wore masked his own concerned expression. The death grip he asserted on his maul reassured him a little.
Boris motioned for Morgan to follow and chased after Claudia.
After some time had passed, the Geiger relic began chirping again. Instinctively, they all ducked behind the cover of nearby trees. The chiming was frequent enough to levy a concerned sequence of glances from the Confessor. If she was concerned, they were also concerned.
Claudia leaned out from behind the tree. Holding the Geiger relic out in front, she slowly waved it around, trying to track the source of the radiorum. However, it beeped constantly. Whatever was causing it was not just in front of them, but close enough that the only way around it was to go wide. Despite the chirps, the needle registered on the low-end of the scale that she barely understood. She understood red versus green, which was clearly marked on it.
She turned to Boris, saying, “You got a pair of binocs?”
He blinked unresponsively before the word registered. “Oh, spyglasses? Yeah, I got one.” He dropped his pack to the ground and pulled out a monocular telescoping looking glass and passed it over to Claudia.
With the spyglass in hand, she stretched it to its full length and peered through it. Only more trees stood ahead of them. Yet something seemed off. Amongst the radiorum affected trees, there were stumps with cleanly cut tops. She lowered the spyglass in disbelief. “Stay here.” She said just loud enough for Boris to hear.
Boris raised his sword, ready to move. Morgan saw him and mirrored the action.
She stepped out from behind cover and walked up to the tree stump. She placed her hand atop it and dragged her gloved hand across its face. The stump was rough and scratchy, but consistently flat. Something or someone had cut it down and with a well-made tool. She removed her helmet and knelt to sniff the wood. She could still smell the scent of the tree. “Fresh,” she said lowly. She glanced to her periphery but saw nothing abnormal.
Then she heard a twig snap. In an instant, she turned to look at the source of the noise. A small bipedal creature with pinkish-red skin, two stubby horns on its head, and eerie purple eyes was watching her from a hundred yards away, seemingly timid if not outright frightened by her presence.
She donned her helmet and clenched the staff. “Torcall,” she chanted, “grant me the power of your divine being.” She then, with one hand, thrusted the staff forward, reliquary first, and ejected a large sphere of holy yellowish-white light.
The creature ducked behind the tree, which took the full impact of the spell, carving a hole into its trunk and breaking it. The tree toppled over with no small amount of noise, drawing the other three out of their hiding spots.
The creature sat there on the ground, paralyzed with terror.
Claudia, along with the others, ran up to circle it.
Boris lowered his sword. “Claudia,” he said. “That’s a child.”
She ignored him and perched her hand on top of the staff’s reliquary. “Divine Smite!”
However, Boris abruptly cut short the spell with a very rough shoulder check. Claudia fell to the ground with a series of loud metallic thunks. “What the fuck!” She blurted out.
“We don’t kill children,” Boris protested.
“That’s no child,” the confessor countered. She stood up and locked eyes with the tiny humanoid demon before her. “That is a spawn of the hells. The daughter of a demon. A hellion, if you will. Torcall will not stand this heresy!”
Boris took three steps forward and put himself between Claudia and the demon child. “I said, we don’t kill children. I don’t care what your supremacist god says. We won’t kill a child and I won’t let you.”
“Fine, then,” she tightened the grip on her staff. “Stand aside.”
Boris felt himself move, unwillingly. His body walked several feet away from her. His panicked expression alerted Mostafa and Morgan, but neither intervened.
“Divine Smite!” She bellowed out. A similar ball of holy wrath formed and launched itself toward the kid. In a matter of seconds, a circle of black dust was all that remained.
The spell on Boris broke immediately, and he spun about. “You monster!”
“Did you hear voices, Boris?” She asked aggressively.
“No,” Boris said through his gritted teeth.
Claudia turned around and stabbed her staff into the dirt. “These are demons, child or otherwise. They are the spawns of the very same hells that nearly erased all life upon Saliorah. Lying to me will only bring the inquisition to your doorstep, Boris. And I do not want that paperwork on my plate.”
His grip on the claymore loosened. She was wrong, and he wanted to prove it. Instead, he tempered his frustration, knowing that acting now would prove nothing. Still, his neck hairs stood with electrifying anger. He had heard the girl whisper a plea for help.
Boris waited for the confessor to get out of earshot before turning to Morgan. “Morgan, did you hear the girl ask for help?”
Morgan removed the bucket helm and looked at him with a puzzled expression. “She didn’t say anything.”
“Maybe I heard the wind or something,” he said. He then hurried away, refusing to give the man a chance to question it.
Morgan clutched the bucket helm. The scene disturbed him as well. He picked up the pace to catch up with the others. However, he heard a noise from behind him. He slowed to a stop and threw a very cautious look over his shoulder. Hiding behind one of the thinner trees was another humanoid with large horns. She, too, had pinkish-red skin and purple eyes. She looked like a fully grown adult, not a child. Morgan pulled off his helmet and held it in his off-hand. “You’re safe with me.” He said with a calm and friendly voice.
The hellion ducked behind the tree, seemingly afraid of him. Morgan set the helmet on the ground and his maul with it. Holding up his hands, he said, “I’m no killer.”
The hellion’s head peaked again. With a better second look, he saw her exquisite feminine facial features. Her mouth moved, but he didn’t recognize the language. She spoke like some sort of snake with hisses in various tones. Then she made a clicking noise with her teeth, her very pointed, almost fang-like teeth and forked tongue.
He then, for a single blink of the eye, saw a smooth, scale-less tail with an arrowhead-like tip. Every second he spent keeping his eye on her, he saw something new, like her eyes flickered like a candle’s flame.
Morgan felt a tap on the shoulder and he spun about, finding himself face-to-face with Boris. “Oh, Boris, what’s up?”
“You good, bud?” He asked.
“Yeah, I just saw…” Morgan’s voice trailed off as he turned around to gesture to the hellion woman he was watching just a moment prior. She was gone. Completely gone and without a noise or a trace of disturbance amongst the leaf litter. “I thought I saw someone.”
Boris shuddered. “I don’t like this place, Morgan, but,” he said, placing a very firm hand on his shoulder. “Please, for the love of all that is good, stay with the group. I still owe you a bottle of wine when this is all done.”
Morgan nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”
As they turned around and continued on, the hellion woman peaked out from behind a different tree with a wicked toothy smile. Her gaze firmly locked on Morgan whilst her tail flicked and swooshed with delight and excitement.
