Chapter 19: Faith

  A gentle chill settled over the land as the sun dipped lower, its fading light painting shadows over the desert. Thankfully, no rocs or other predators disturbed their progress in the twilight. Here and there, soft clouds gathered, their wispy undersides glazed in the fiery remnants of the day. But aside from the few silhouettes of vultures circling the darkening skies, their journey was uneventful. That is, until they reached their destination: a quiet shanty town sitting on the outskirts of a small woodland forest.

  Tex descended, her hippogriff touching down on the dirt road that wound towards the town. A quick glance revealed a modest township enclosed with a crude wood fence. Its interior was a clumsy mess of wooden dwellings roofed with thatch - a far cry from Woodhurst or Oakheart. Still, an inn and a few shops were visible at the town’s center. Tex halted a short distance from the gate and dismounted. “Just follow my lead. I’m not sure how used these people are to demihumans,” she cautioned. Her attention snapped to the Grizzel. “And you, shut up.”

  “I didn’t even do anything!” Grizzel grumbled, but Tex’s raised finger was enough to silence his protest. He folded his arms, muttering under his breath.

  Before long, they came to a pair of guards adorned in patchy leather armor. Their spears were just as crude as the city - shabby poles equipped with oxidized metal tips that were curved and forged from some sort of local black-stained metal. As they approached, the guards aimed these weapons at Tex, who held her hands up. Though, their attention quickly shifted to the draconian looming over the female knight. Their palms sweated against their leather gloves, and they tightened their grips. Taenith clenched his fists before following the others in raising his arms.

  The female guard, her helmet bearing painted red symbols bleached and cracked from the sun, stepped forward with the end of her spear jutting nearly into Tex’s chest, “Who are you? What is your business here?” she asked.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Tex groaned internally before speaking “We’re traveling south. Needed a place to stay for the night.”

  The female looked to her male partner, who shrugged.

  “Who do you serve?” she asked, jabbing her shoulder. Tex resisted the urge to punch her head off.

  “For fuck sake,” Tex clenched her jaw. She looked over the guards’ shoulders and into the plaza where few citizens were meandering around. Each of them bore a blue ribbon tied to their shriveled arms.

  “Sela, of course,” she said.

  The guard squinted through her helmet and looked over the draconian a few moments, “What is the creature?” she spat.

  “Him? He’s visiting from… Kline.”

  After gauging them for a few moments, the guard lowered her spear.

  “You can stay the night. But don’t drink our water. If you do, we’ll have your heads.” Tex gladly agreed, and they entered the shambled, thirsty town.

  “Who’s Sela?” Taenith whispered to Tex.

  “You don’t know her?” Tex snickered. “You should. She’s one of Lunas’. The Demigod of Plenty.”

  Taenith peered over the town and noticed a near-dry fountain in its center. Its mudbrick structure was cracked in several areas. Not a spot on its spout was wet. Even the people themselves were cracked and dried. Some smacked their lips as they watched the strange group through milky eyes. The sight of miserable people in yet another miserable town put a heavy weight on his shoulders.

  It wasn’t long before they came to the town’s inn. Though it looked fine enough from the air, closer inspection allowed them to see several holes in both its sides and its sinking roof. The sign, a small square board that at one point probably read, “The Plenty Inn,” was faded and hung by one splitting rope.

  Taenith closed his eyes and scraped his nails into his palms.

  Tex and Grizzel tied their hippogriffs’ leads to the small picket line at the entrance. The alien creatures continued to garner nervous and interested glances from locals passing by. Once she was sure they were tight enough, Tex opened the door leading into the inn, and stepped inside. Her nose curled at the pungent smell of body odor that did no favors for the arid atmosphere that collected there. There were a few tables occupied by hapless sleepers and gamblers who lazily raised their sunken faces towards the group like zombies. Moments later, an older man dressed in cheap, undyed wool clothing, with a head of wiry, receding gray hair approached them. “Can I help you?” he asked with a slight lisp.

  Tex nodded, “Any rooms left for one night?”

  The man smiled, revealing a row of missing teeth. “Only the two I’m afraid.”

  Tex handed the man a bag of coins, “We’ll take them.”

  His eyes glistened as he opened the sack, “Oh, ma’am I can’t take this from you. This is too much,” he mumbled and offered the bag back with his bony fingers.

  “It’s yours if you keep watch of our hippogriffs outside,” she said. The man finally agreed, and placed the bag in his pocket. “Sela be praised,” he pursed his lips together to form a wide smile, and an array of bloody parched cracks in his flesh.

  Tex looked the man in his eye for a moment, and nodded. Then, they headed upstairs.

  “Well this is depressing,” Han muttered behind the draconian. Once they reached the top of the stairs, they reached one of the rooms. Within it was a simple wooden bed frame laced with loose pieces of hay and a simple chest for belongings.

  “You can say that again,” Grizzel groaned. “I thought we’d at least get cushions.”

  Taenith frowned and looked at Tex, whose face had also hardened since entering the town.

  He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Han asked.

  “Need some air,” Taenith replied, ducking under the doorway. His footsteps practically shook the dry wood with each step. Before he reached the stairs, however, he felt Tex’s hand rest against his arm.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Tex looked into Taenith’s yellow eyes. It was a constant puzzle, trying to read a draconian. Their features were hard and stoic, unlike a human’s. But the droop in his tail and wings, and the blankness of his eyes, told her everything. This town, like Oakheart, was just another reminder to him of how Lunas had ruined the lives of others. She knew this because, deep down, she felt the same way.

  “Going out there isn’t going to help,” she eventually said. Her voice was soft.

  Taenith looked down on the shorter human. The numbness in his skull stole his mind away from any reason or logic, so much so that he had barely even noticed that her hand had drifted to a more comfortable level at his forearm. It was also then when he noticed her hands were naked. He’d never felt the touch of a human before. Han always wore gloves, and so did Grizzel. It was a cold, and yet somehow warm sensation, like the feeling of stepping into the ocean or a cold spring on a hot summer day.

  Taenith took her hand in his own. He didn’t want to let it go, but he did. “Goodnight, Tex,,” he said, and stepped away. A hint of disappointment flickered in her eyes before the draconian disappeared down the stairway and into the streets.

  “Fucking draconians,” she thought.

  Once Taenith was away from the near-collapsing Inn, he felt a wave of brisk evening air overcome his hot scales. This only dampened the guilt and relief that fought over each other inside him. Deep down, he knew she was only trying to help him, but at the same time he needed to clear his mind.

  He garnered a few glances from locals while he walked down the dirt street of the small town. In a way, it reminded him of Woodhurst, except drier and dirtier. In the center of the town there was the same dry fountain they’d seen when they arrived. Other than that, there was a central plaza with various tents just like Groa’s. Judging from the knots tying most of their entrances together, they were closed. Then he noticed one with lit candles laying in the dirt at its entrance. Curious, he looked closer, and saw a table in the tent laced with boxes filled with painted blue stones. Behind the small counter was an older man in his late sixties. He must have noticed the giant dragon walking by, as he quickly called out.

  “Hello young sir,” he said.

  Taenith blinked, surprised the human would even acknowledge him.

  “Come now, I don’t bite,” he said, gesturing for the draconian to enter.

  Taenith hesitated for a moment, but decided to enter anyway. Once under the protection of the tent, he got a better look of the displayed tokens. Each one was a unique piece of painted stone with the names and phrases of their gods etched into them.

  “Could I interest you in buying an honorary sash to Sela?” he asked, gesturing to the table of cloth tokens next to the stones, the same ones worn by the villagers. His whiskered wrinkles pursed together as he spoke.

  “Not if this town is a testament to your faith,” he replied.

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  The old man smiled. His teeth were strangely white. “Sela will provide, dear child. The gods always do. You just might not realize it yet. You must have faith.”

  A vein popped in Taenith’s neck as he reconciled those poisonous words. “Hold your tongue,” he snapped.

  He half expected guards to come up behind him and take him away for raising his voice at a local, but the streets were dead quiet. Only the occasional bystander glanced at the two as the large draconian towered over the small elderly man. Taenith stared into his brown, candlelit eyes and sighed to relieve the pent up frustration in his lungs and throat.

  “Why did I come here?” he asked himself before turning to leave.

  The man laughed. When Taenith looked over his shoulder, he saw his lips had pursed together to form an unsightly smirk. The ghastly sight alone made him want to take back what he had thought about the flesh of humans.

  “What is so funny?” Taenith asked, facing the man once more.

  “I used to be like you. Ignorant and improper. But you will see. The gods are good.” His smile grew to the point his eyes puckered, becoming covered by the sunken flaps of his skin. Taenith hadn’t hardly noticed, but he had begun rising from his seat as well.

  Taenith felt eyes on his back. Glancing out of the tent, he saw the disheveled bodies of famished men and women gawking at him as if he were the mad one. He was drawing quite the spectacle for them it seemed. It was only a matter of time before the guards came to take him away, or worse, make an example out of him.

  “You people are sick,” Taenith snarled to the man. His voice raised, lifted by his anger and the swelling hate he’d manifested for far too long. To see people so dependent on faith to the point they were inept was disgusting. Drawing attention he knew would have repercussions, but he didn’t care. His eyes blurred and swelled as he grit his teeth and clenched his clawed hands. When he spoke, several of the lingering citizens stepped backwards out of fear. Their vacant eyes widened and contorted expressions filled with mixtures of confusion, hate, and interest.

  “Have faith?” he snapped, gripping the waterskin at his side. Hastily opening it, he raised the leather sack into the air. Then, he squeezed, and water spilled onto the ground. When the final drop splashed into the small ocean he’d made, he gaged the silent man for a response. But he gave none. Some from behind him who could see into the open tent whispered to each other, but most watched, unblinking at the heretical act, as if expecting their god to smite him where he stood.

  “Fuck your faith,” Taenith said, borrowing some of Tex’s more colorful human language. He threw the waterskin onto the ground before once more turning to leave the senile old fool.

  “Then help us,” another voice, this one much lower, asked from the same direction as the elder.

  “... What?” Taenith asked, confused as he glanced back at the old man, who stood still with his ever widening smile. It was then when he noticed the man’s skin had begun to flake, like a snake beginning to shed its skin. At first, he wanted to believe it was an older human thing, but then again, Sham never did that. Taenith almost felt concern for the man. At least, before his eyelids raised, revealing a bulbous pair of black, lifeless eyes.

  “Who are-” Taenith began before he felt a sudden gust of wind against his wings and back. The entrance of the tent swung shut, tied by what he could only assume was some kind of magical force.

  “I agree with everything you said, kid,” the man chuckled. His feeble human form began to bubble and ooze away, revealing a dark formless blob of shadow.

  “What do you want?” Taenith snarled, drawing his scimitar towards the mass.

  “That won’t be necessary,” the mass laughed before releasing the darkness around it. The being had a vague humanoid shape with prominent pig-like features. Its face was like a hog’s, with long, curved horns protruding outwards from its skull. Its legs were digitigrade, and its body was obtuse and covered in thick black fur from the waist down. In many ways, he looked like an obese minotaur.

  “I’m here to make a deal.”

  Taenith growled, “I doubt that.”

  Ignoring the slight, the sheoldrite bowed slightly. “My name is Uzdo Lor. I am a humble emissary of Icarus. I believe you ran into one of us the other day, yes?” the creature asked.

  “We did.”

  Putting a hand over his heart, the creature bowed his head, “Then you were the one who spared my idiot brother’s life. For that, I am grateful.”

  “Brother?” Taenith thought. For some reason, he’d never considered familyhood when it came to abominations from an eternal hellscape.

  “Bold of you to show yourself here after he threatened us,” Taenith said.

  “I admit, my brother’s actions were…problematic.” Uzdo sighed, before meeting Taenith’s gaze. “But you must know. We only came here because Icarus seeks what you do. To end the gods. Olm was tasked with bringing him the mace. With it and the ring in his possession, the gods can finally be destroyed.”

  Taenith pondered Uzdo’s words for a moment. Killing the gods enticed him. But to employ a god to do so? That didn’t seem right. If anything, it should be a mortal. Like him. Taenith also couldn’t ignore Uzdo’s worrying familiarity with Sham’s ring.

  “How do you know about the ring?” Taenith replied, refusing to release the grip on his scimitar.

  Uzdo frowned, frustrated his offer didn’t amuse the draconian as much as he had hoped. “Lord Icarus knows more than most give him credit for. He has been watching the one called Tex for a long time. And you as well, since you used his mace without meeting oblivion. Many want to kill you because of it. I, however,” the sheoldrite paused, “Believe we can both gain from this situation you’ve found yourself in.”

  “Is that so?”

  Uzdo smiled, “If you return the mace, you and your friends can live.”

  “You call that a fair deal?” Taenith scoffed. “Even if I agreed, I doubt you’d honor it.”

  The grin from Uzdo’s face faded. “I believe you of all people should know that one is not defined by their features or birth. A follower of Chaos has nothing but his actions to live by. I do not lie. And I do not wish to cause needless violence. If I did, I would have already killed you and destroyed this puny town.”

  Taenith’s jaw relaxed. He was a bit surprised. He’d never believed sheoldrites to be at least decently reasonable, more so than any apostle he’d ever met. At least, he was never taught it was a possibility. Old children’s tales simply depicted them as bloodthirsty monsters who ate and slaughtered innocents. Then again, it made perfect sense. Demonizing the unknown was a religious endowment.

  Taenith lowered his weapon.

  “And Icarus. Will he honor your deal?” he asked.

  Uzdo took a deep, raspy, breath. “You called these people sick. You hate the gods? So does Icarus. With the mace in his hands, we will be one step closer to destroying the Divine Ones. Your friends would be spared. You have my word.”

  “If I can trust you, then you wouldn’t mind telling me who stole the ring, would you?” Taenith asked, watching as the sheoldrite’s eyes darted past him for a split second.

  “His name is Jakob Valovitch. I believe you’ve already met.”

  Taenith blinked, taken aback. He was reserving some hope that the man wasn’t Jakob. “How is he alive?”

  Uzdo bit his lip. A thick smear of spit rolled over the tips of his fangs and onto the floor beneath him. “Do you want the deal?”

  Uzdo seemed to be telling the truth, but the sweat beginning to fall from his cheeks, and the rapid eye movement caused anxiety to rise in the draconian’s chest. “Better safe than sorry,” Taenith repeated the human phrase internally as he clutched the hilt of his scimitar and pushed it forward into the sheoldrite’s obese chest. Beads of black blood oozed from the small wound and rolled down his blade.

  Uzdo snorted nervously. “No one needs to die today. Take the deal, boy.”

  Taenith barely noticed it before, but this time he was prepared. Every few moments Uzdo’s eyes flickered to Taenith’s side, as if watching something, or someone. Looking to the wall of the tent where it was still lit by candlelight, he noticed another shadow. This one, however, was behind him. How this was, he did not know. But he hardly had the time to investigate the properties of a tent enveloped in a magical cocoon of darkness. For all he knew, the entrance had been replaced by a field of shadow and legions of the damned.

  “And if I kill you, I don’t need to choose,” Taenith’s nostrils flared embers.

  Uzdo’s frown curled into an angry, feral snarl. But it was not aimed at Taenith. “Dammit! Do not interfere!” he shouted, spit flying from his tusks.

  Suddenly, Taenith felt a subtle gust of wind come from behind him. It was followed by a low, guttural cry that instantly reminded him of Olm.

  “Die, vermin!” Olm shrieked as he swiped his black sword down on the draconian.

  “Drsk,” Taenith swore in draconic, barely dodging out of the way. This surprised Olm, who tumbled forward into the table. Thousands of religious stones poured from the shattered wooden boxes and over the two as they fell to the ground.

  “Fool! I was speaking to him!” Uzdo spat and slammed his fist into the side of his brother, who let out a pained groan.

  “I grow tired of your politics and talk, swine,” Olm sneered, rubbing his head.

  Taenith stepped backwards where the entrance of the tent was, but felt only a hard wall behind him. As he suspected, some sort of spell had locked him inside with the brothers.

  “Icarus will have our hides for this!” Uzdo yelled to no avail. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop his brother from killing the draconian. Interfering would do nothing.

  “Don’t worry, brother. He’ll get his mace.” Olm lifted himself up and faced the draconian. He licked his cracked lips and grinned. “But I want my trophy first.”

  “I spared you once. It won’t happen again,” Taenith said. He held his scimitar tight, but the sheoldrites must have noticed the slight shake in his hand. Without Icarus’ mace, and only a rusty scimitar to fend with, he was no match for the two brothers.

  Olm snickered, revealing an array of razor sharp teeth. Black ooze clogged his cracked gums as he spoke. “You got lucky,” he sneered, mocking the draconian as he twirled his sword. “But I don’t sense that power of yours anymore.”

  Taenith took in a deep breath and blew a wave of fire over the two. Flames clung to the tent’s fabrics and burned what remained of the wood tables and cabinets, releasing a thick cloud of black smoke that quickly consumed all of them.

  “Fire won’t help you here, vermin,” Olm taunted.

  “But it will stall you,” Taenith thought as he dodged another one of Olm’s reckless attacks. Even if the flames wouldn’t harm them, the smoke had clearly worked to blind them. Even if he couldn’t see either, he could at least savor time for the others to arrive.

  “Tex!” Taenith shouted, followed by another swipe from Olm’s blade. This time, it just barely caught him in his right thigh, leaving a tear in his otherwise pristine armor.

  “No one’s coming this time,” Olm laughed flagrantly as he charged through the smoke.

  Taenith felt the wind knock out of his lungs as the sheoldrite’s head slammed against his gut, throwing the both of them into the ground. Taenith yelped as his own flames burned the back of his neck. And in moments, he had begun sucking in smoke. To his disappointment, the fire had not opened up the tent. Instead, it had revealed what he suspected: they were trapped in a sphere of darkness. And even though he was a draconian, he could only huff so much flame and smoke into his body before he, like any other creature, suffocated.

  “There’s no escaping this time,” Olm bared his fangs as he gripped his clawed hands against the draconian’s neck. Taenith desperately slammed his fists against the sheoldrites’ head and sides, but to no avail. His strength was quickly waning, and nothing less than the power of Icarus would save him from the iron grip crushing him.

  He was done.

  “Sorry, Tex.” he thought as his vision began to blur. Soon, he suspected, he would be met with the afterlife befitting a heretic. Maybe he would even be banished to Sheol like the two brothers.

  Either way, Lunas would rejoice.