Out of the Black
The young girl looks down at the floor, carefully measuring each forward step. She sees the alter come into view, and the bowl sitting amidst the sacred runes. Trembling, she raises her small hands on her thin white arms, extending her wispy fingers. They touch the edges of the bowl and feel its remote coldness and icy oldness. She is one of hundreds who have walked this same path, and always the same. It must play out exactly as has been decreed, for a single imperfection would spoil the ritual.
She lifts the bowl and instantly notices how deceptively heavy it is. The candlelight shimmers off the surface of the water within, filled to the edge of the top. It threatens to spill, sloshing within her weak and nervous grasp, but she breathes slowly and regains control. Not a drop must fall.
As she draws it up and steps back, the candles wink out. She knows that she must now turn and make her way out of the chapel, in the absolute unknown of darkness, in order to continue the rite. If she falters even a little, if the tiniest bit is lost because her footing is unsure, then the anointing will not take place, and her soul will be sacrificed to oblivion.
Tessijah awoke rasping. Her eyes readjusted to the eerie blue glow. It emanated from the ectoplasmic rivulets cascading down the giant skull shelter, creating an electric illusion of a brain they all now slept within. She wiped the dried spittle from her mouth, now sore from gaping all night.
Only the ratkin was about. He rifled through their packs, looking for something to eat. Tessijah knew that the food had all turned to dust when they entered this unhallowed dimension, but the nin’ki still sniffed about in vain hope.
She rose slowly with one hand, grasping for her walking stick. Her bones popped and groaned as if they had not been moved in ages. Standing up was as marching up a mountain. When she finally righted her crooked back, it was a tiny victory. She sighed and moved her snowy hair from her face.
Lady Balthes laid only ten paces from where she stood, but each step was agonizing. The child-like body twitched in fitful sleep, muttering incoherent protests against the phantoms in her dreams. Lowering herself, grinding her bones against more pain, Tessijah knelt beside Balthes and rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder.”It’s alright,” she began.
A half scream flew from the child’s lips. She bolted upright.”What…” she was wheezing. Tessijah whispered soothing tones to calm her.
“Oh,” Lady Balthes sighed, looking about her, still shaken.”I had the strangest nightmare.”
“We will all have nightmares,” Tessijah said,”as long as we remain in this place.” She withdrew her hand, recognition crossing her brow. She was not an old crone and the child before her was a grown woman. She stood as fiercely as she could, ignoring the agony.”The very wind here is made from them.”
Nicodemus and Sarah lay enrapt in a blanket, sound asleep in naked embrace. Lady Balthes trotted to them and kicked dirt over the mage’s face.
“Wake up!”
He grunted and opened one eye.
Balthes looked down on him,”Ah pity this. You want us to leave you behind? If you’re busy we can head out and plunder Tremali without you two.”
The rains had subsided. The cracked land outside the skull cavern hissed a gentle turquoise, but even that light was fading. The stench, however, clung to the air.
Sarah muttered and drew the blanket around her, exposing Nicodemus’s pale flesh. He sat up and mumbled.
“Are we going out now? There’s no more acid from the sky.”
“Right. Yeah. We’re off.”
Absent mindedly, Nicodemus let his tendril gather up his clothes, out from under the blanket. He waved Lady Balthes and Tessijah away with his left hand.”I need a moment.”
They all stood at the teeth of the skeletal mammoth, fastening their packs and checking their weapons. The necromancer reviewed his tome, practicing a few gestures and committing incantations to memory. Tessijah silently traced her faded tattoos in deep reverie. Lady Balthes made it a point to avoid eye contact with the nin’ki, who seemed all too pleased to return the favor.
“Off then.” Nicodemus said, half commanding, half guessing.
They made their way through the brittle dead woodland. It was easy going, the necroplasmic dirt underfoot moist from the rains. However, they still moved with caution. The scene around them was unnerving. That, and the noise. Once in a while, every half hour or so, they heard the most terrifying scream, echoing through the trees, as if uttered from the mouth of a giant mother separated from her young. They ignored it. They all knew it was that mysterious thing that the wolfen had penned up in fear, but they could tell it was far away. When one shrill cry was particularly alarming, they all froze and searched the horizons. Nicodemus reassured them all by suggesting that it was on the other side of the realm, in the land of the living.
Mud caked up to their shins, but they were safe, for awhile. The wicked trees leered menacingly overhead but never moved. They marched for hours. Both Nicodemus and Tessijah had spells on their lips, skirting the line between readiness and paranoia.
Up hills, down hills, through burrows, down paths, they trudged. Finally, when respite was all they sought, obsidian pylons loomed in the distance.
“We’re here.”