Chains of a Dark Goddess #2
Shackled by a dark oath to a wicked goddess, a fallen knight rises from death. Driven by love and revenge, he is drawn into a perilous conflict against zealous crusaders and ancient foes.
In a realm where sorcery and faith collide, the fallen knight Cairos Varenni rises from death, shackled by a dark oath to the goddess Harmulkot. Driven by love and revenge, he is drawn into a perilous conflict, wielding forbidden powers against zealous crusaders and unknown enemies. As shadows close in and ancient powers stir, the line between salvation and damnation blurs. Will he rise as a savior—or fall as a harbinger of ruin?
As the steep walls of the ravine fell away, their path opened onto a plain where nothing grew and nothing moved save for the endless fall of ash. Through what seemed like the better part of a day, Nalsyrra led the way, her bare feet padding across the ground, her bone anklets clicking and clacking with each step. With the noise she made, a demon or two should have found them by now, yet not a single beast nor lost soul had appeared. The racket those anklets caused made him grit his teeth, until finally he couldn’t take it any longer.
“Make it stop,” Cairos said.
“Make what stop?”
“The clicking,” he growled. “Make it stop.”
“The anklets, Cairos? Their magic wards away demons and wanderers.”
“Demons can be dealt with by swords. Wanderers the same.”
“We cannot waste time fighting demons.”
“The noise—”
“I am not going to remove my anklets, Cairos. Besides, I do not take orders from you.”
Cairos grumbled and cursed, and Nalsyrra laughed. “If this bit of sound bothers you, then the chattering and clamoring of the living will drive you to madness.”
Cairos paused. His gaze swept across this cold, silent world as he recalled the clamor of his home city of Issalia—street vendors calling their wares, temple bells marking the hours, children screaming in play, dogs barking in the alleys. The thought of such noise after seven years of silence—broken only by the death howls of the demons he slew—sent a tremor through his bones.
If he stayed here, he could enjoy the simplicity and silence of this bleak existence. Walk, slay demons, and walk on. And he would soon forget why he wanted to return. For a moment, this appealed to him. But only a moment. He could not abandon Orisala. He would learn to deal with the sounds and complications of humanity again.
“Besides, have you heard yourself?” Nalsyrra asked. “Your boots are loud, and your armor creaks.”
Cairos’s gauntleted hands tightened into fists, steel grating against steel as the leather within them creaked. A broad smile spread across her dark face, and Cairos decided he hated this woman, despite the aid she was giving him.
“Come,” she said, “we are wasting too much time.”
As they continued on, he said no more, though the continuing sound of her anklets made him want to drive his blade through the base of her skull.
After some time, they ascended a ridge onto a plateau where they entered an eerie dense fog that muted every sound—her breaths... the striking of his boots... the grinding of his armor... even, mercifully, the clicking and clacking of her bone chimes…
Their world became a gray void. Cairos kept walking. One foot in front of the other until Nalsyrra took his hand to guide him. Even through his armor, he could feel the heat of her skin. “I am dead,” he thought, “and even though she is in the Shadowland, she is alive.” After a long while, Nalsyrra placed a hand on his chest and stopped him. The fog was so thick now that he could not see her face.
She began to sing, and her voice, now clear instead of sibilant, pierced the silence of the fog.
Shadows shift and sunder stone
where night paths wind through ways unknown,
below the black-veiled burning stars
where chains rust, deep in the dark.
The fog peeled apart to reveal a path, which they followed for perhaps two dozen steps before it led into a clearing. Muttering the words of a spell, Nalsyrra walked forward without hesitation, and Cairos followed. In the clearing, a circle of towering stones stood before them, their surfaces carved with runes that pulsed with faint blue light. The light moved in uneven patterns, casting strange shadows onto the wall of fog that ringed the circle. An archway rose in the center. Upon its keystone glowed a sigil, pulsing and writhing like a living thing.
After examining each stone in turn, he walked through the archway. Nothing happened.
“The Way of Return is not yet open to you,” Nalsyrra said.
Cairos moved to stand beside Nalsyrra and readied the Sword of Shadowed Light that she had given him.
“You will face the Keeper’s test within,” she told him. “Defeating his test is said to be nearly impossible.”
“I will find a way.”
“I hope that you do.”
Dark smoke erupted from the ground before the archway, forcing him back to the edge of the clearing. Acrid fumes clawed at his nostrils and burned his throat.
When the smoke cleared, a being stood there, one unlike anything Cairos had ever seen, one few mortals had witnessed and fewer still had lived to describe.
The being stretched its arms out, muscles rippling beneath the bronze skin of its eight-foot frame. Atop its neck was the head of a falcon with bright, golden eyes. From its back, giant wings snapped wide, their span twice its height, the feathers shimmering with colors that had no names in mortal tongues.
The creature wore only a silver torque and a white silk loincloth that fluttered as its wings unfurled, exposing its massive, swinging cock. A black-bound book materialized in the being’s left hand, a gleaming dagger in its right.
Nalsyrra fell to her knees and bowed. “Greetings and honor to you, Keeper.”
Cairos stood firm.
Those golden eyes fixed upon Cairos, and the being’s voice rumbled from deep within its chest, each word rolling across the stones. “I am the Keeper of Death. You are not welcome here.”
Cairos’s face showed nothing. “I am Cairos Varenni. I must go back to the world of the living. Let me pass.”
“It is not good for the dead to return to life.” The falcon head tilted to one side, and the Keeper’s eyes fell upon the blade. “I urge you to turn back. Embrace Oblivion and leave this bleak place.”
Cairos’s hands tightened into fists. “I must go back.”
“You would be a wraith with no physical form.”
“I am not concerned with that, Keeper. An ally has repaired my body through sorcery.”
“You died seven years ago. Much has changed in the world. It is not the place you left behind. You may not like what you find there.”
“Let me pass, demon!” Cairos stepped forward despite the Keeper’s size and fearsome presence. “I go there to save one I love.”
“Returning to life cannot bring you happiness. The part of you that enjoyed the pattering of spring rain, the scent of rich earth, or a lover’s kiss is gone. Your humanity has withered. Your virility is forever gone. Are you certain you wish to go?”
Cairos tried to remember breathing, laughter, blue skies, warm sunlight on his skin, his body dripping with sweat after a forced march. But those things were lost to him.
And they were not important. Only one thing mattered.
“I am certain.”
“If you die again, your soul will assuredly fall into Torment. There, you would long for your years here in the Shadowland. Is this love you profess worth eternal damnation?”
“I do not care. I must return for Orisala. She is all that matters.”
“I think you will find, even if you succeed, that the price you must pay is higher than you bargained for.”
“Enough,” Cairos snapped. “If there is a test, set it and let me prove myself.”
“My test is simple, Cairos Varenni. You must relive the day you died, beginning in the moments before death. Only this time, you must survive.”
“I was overwhelmed by a host of enemies!”
“Did you think it would be easy?”
“You are sending me back in time?” Cairos asked.
The Keeper lifted the book in his left hand. “It is an illusion, but you will find it real enough.”
His grip on the sword’s onyx hilt tightened as he considered his last moments of life. “And what happens if I fail?”
“You will be thrown into Torment.”
“If returning is so wrong, why does this path back to life exist?”
Muscles tensing, the Keeper eyed Nalsyrra. “Because my people made a mistake, and once the Way of Return was created, it could not be unmade.”
Cairos lifted the Sword of Shadowed Light. “Perhaps it would be better for me to fight you instead.”
With a sudden burst, he charged forward and swung the sword. The blade passed through the Keeper of Death as if he were made of nothing more than mist. Cairos stumbled, the lack of resistance throwing him off balance. He recovered and swung again, to no avail. Even the magical sword Nalsyrra had given him had no effect against the Keeper.
The Keeper expanded his wings and cried out in a loud, inhuman screech. Cairos covered his ears and fell back until the cry stopped. The Keeper then began to fade away, as did the Shadowland itself. New forms began to rise around Cairos. The air filled with the pleading cries of dying men and the clashing of steel.
“The test and I are the same, Cairos Varenni. The only way to defeat me is to defeat the test.”
Cairos spun, watching his past materialize around him, each detail sharpening into focus.
“I have recreated the day of your death. It is an illusion, yes, but the results are real.”
“Has anyone ever succeeded?”
“Two have. They came to regret it, just as you will. After the first returned, she—”
“Do not bother telling me what became of them. Nothing will sway me from this path.”
“As you wish, Cairos Varenni.” The Keeper gestured toward the archway and stepped aside. “But know this, only grief and suffering lie at the end of the Way of Return.”
With the Keeper’s golden eyes fixed on him, Cairos approached the gate, his sword arm ready. At the threshold, he paused, looking back to Nalsyrra. She nodded, and he stepped through.
To Be Continued…