Chapter Thirty-two – Shadows and suffering
Andin carefully placed the Divisa sample into the probe’s guidance system. He gave it a jolt of energy and the gyro swiveled towards Torment. “I wish I knew how this thing works,” he said in wonder. The Seed shard replaced the prism and the prince set the small device on the ground.
“Do you think it will be one-way like the windows we made?” asked Fake.
“Yeah I think so,” said Andin who motioned to Fake that he should have the honors.
“Oh gee great, I get to open a doorway to a plane dedicated to suffering,” he replied sarcastically.
“And then go through it,” added Andin.
“And then kill a god who cannot be killed,” answered Fake.
“Get on with it.”
Fake unleashed the shard’s energy. The smoke within spiraled out furiously into a disc. The guidance system whirred and vibrated but stayed attached to the forming doorway. Andin stepped forward with Fake. “You know I just realized something,” said Fake.
“What’s that?” asked Andin moving even closer to the portal.
“This is really, really stupid.” Andin would have agreed or made some sort of witty remark if he were still with Fake. But he was no longer next to his friend; his fingertip had lightly touched the surface of their portal. A portal which behaved differently, a portal which behaved like the one that tore Andin from his father. Fake stood in shock when his friend was sucked into the black doorway.
Fake jumped in after him. Their manufactured portal tunneled through space guided by the salvaged navigation system. Fake dove at tremendous speed and then rose again. The next instant Fake was frozen, hovering over a mountain.
Unexpectedly, the illusionist began to float away from the mountain. He saw Andin. “Did it work?” he asked gaining speed.
Andin hurriedly sent a stone slab towards his friend. Fake now realized he was not floating, but falling into the void. The illusionist shifted his sand to pull him upwards. The thin air had them both panting. Andin had cut a small ledge into one of the rocky protrusions.
“Why are we on the bottom of the plane?” wheezed Fake.
“It followed the path I gave it,” said Andin ashamed he hadn’t thought of it.
“Well I don’t see any portal; one way indeed.”
“You can feel its energy though – can you look to see which way we should start climbing?” asked the fire prince.
Fake nodded and shifted his sand into a long periscope. It was difficult for him to keep his creation steady at such a distance. He pointed in a direction, “Looks like the nearest edge is this way.”
Andin led the way; cutting hand and foot holds into the bottom of the plane. Every hour he would carve a ledge for them to rest on. “I already hate this place,” groaned Fake.
Andin nervously smiled as he massaged his tired wrists, “I hate to salt the wound but we might be here for a while.” Fake braced himself for bad news. Andin explained, “When I saw the tunnel was following the same down and up path of the probe I guessed we were going to be arriving beneath Torment.”
He paused before delivering the update, “I wasn’t fast enough to catch the shard; it’s gone.”
Fake shrugged, “We were going to have to wait for a portal to open up there anyway.”
Hour by hour they ascended. The grueling climb was injected with shots of terror when a hold crumbled or a sweaty hand gave way. Where they could safely fly they did one at a time. After days of climbing they stopped just a few yards from the surface. Tucked into their makeshift alcove Andin whispered, “Check it out for us yeah?”
Fake nodded, “Help me up; I won’t be able to conceal myself without you.”
Andin levitated the platform towards the surface. Fake scanned the horizon and signaled to be lowered again. “It’s clear,” said the illusionist. Walking was a joyous task after the endless hours of climbing. They moved slowly under Fake’s shroud. There were no second chances in hostile territory.
They stopped frequently to keep Fake well rested and his spells potent. Andin sketched what he could about the terrain, “We should have brought the cartographer.”
Fake laughed, “You threw that thing away ten minutes into the climb.”
“It was trying to murder me,” groaned Andin. The short break ended and the long walk resumed.
A structure formed in the distance. “Get down,” whispered Fake. Andin said nothing and crouched low. “Listen,” said Fake. The distant murmur was growing into distinct voices. A pack of Sadists marched slaves in the scrubby plain.
“For slaves they look like they’re actually kind of happy,” noted a bewildered Andin. The Sadists stopped the march and the well fed slaves paired up on their own accord. The lead Sadist held up a thick woolen mat and a mechanical dice roller. The slaves looked at him eagerly. He eyed the device and tossed the mat towards a smiling couple. The Sadist pointed away from the road and the slaves scattered in pairs.
Andin and Fake looked at each other baffled. The two invaders tensed as a slave pair looked for a suitable spot near them. “Not too many thorns here,” said the boy.
“Do you think it will be us this time?” asked a nervous girl.
“No, it was us a few days ago; we’ll be fine,” he comforted. The two bedded between the itchy scrubs and began kissing.
Fake enjoyed the voyeurism, Andin did not. Andin tapped Fake on the shoulder, redirecting his vision towards the Sadists. The same tall and gaunt Sadist held up the dice roller again. This time he was smiling, showing his bleeding gums. He rolled the dice and pointed towards the boy’s hiding spot. “Wait,” he said to the other Sadists holding the Divisa cage shut.
His timing was perfect. Two slender Divisas flew through the air clicking and snapping towards their prey. The girl screamed when she realized they had been chosen again. The monsters wrapped up the entwined couple and thrashed them. The needles punctured skin and inject pain magic into their unprotected bodies. They flailed uncontrollably in agony. The attack lasted just moments before the Divisas flew off. The Sadists came to collect their tortured slaves.
“We have to help them,” urged Fake.
“No, we’re here for a different reason,” answered Andin.
“Andin they’re slaves, slaves,” pleaded Fake. Andin stood his ground; he could see no happy ending to an impromptu rescue effort.
The other couples finished their business and returned to their masters. The march turned back towards the distant building. Hidden behind a large boulder Fake dropped his spell to rest. Andin kept a lookout.
“Did it kill them?” asked a worried Fake.
“No, they were both still breathing after the attack,” reassured Andin.
“I’ve never heard screams like that,” added the illusionist.
“Me either.”
They reached the structure by nightfall. The facility was a large tiered pit with the topmost structure housing the Sadists managing the slaves. Andin began digging into a slope covered with prickly shrubs. “We’ll start our recon here,” he said.
“I’m going down there,” said Fake flatly. Fake disappeared before Andin could stop him.
Andin dug angrily at first before relaxing into the work. The fire prince couldn’t deny that he trusted Fake. He couldn’t risk leaving the underground hollow without Fake while the sun was still up; by the time the illusionist returned he had already started a small tunnel towards the nearby slave pit.
“You okay?” asked Fake.
“Yeah – did you find anything?” asked Andin.
“I didn’t want to steal them outright, too suspicious,” said Fake as he recreated copies of an open ledger and a map. “This map doesn’t make much sense to me, but it was just hanging on the wall,” explained Fake. “But this,” he said pointing to the ledger, “Was locked up; I only had time to memorize these few pages.”
Andin read what Fake had memorized. “This map is wrong, look at how far it says we are from the edg
e. If it was hanging visibly in the office it could be some sort of misinformation for the slaves. These ledgers are incredible. Look here, this annotation says a slave required a tooth pulled last year, and this one a splint for a fracture.”
“The camp must produce healthy adults for the Sadists to torture,” reasoned Andin.
“That’s messed up,” said Fake disgusted.
“Killing Garruk will help these people more than freeing a few slave breeding pits,” said Andin hoping to keep dangerous thoughts from Fake’s mind.
“I know,” sighed the illusionist.
“We’ll stay here for a few days, keep an eye on the slavers, and see if we can learn anything about what lies further inland.” Fake was more practiced in such things than Andin knew, and was eager to keep tabs on the enemy. They worked relentlessly gathering information.
Fake spent his time shadowing the slavers, learning their schedules and habits. Andin spent the days digging and his nights mapping the land. The work kept their minds off of the luxuries Pelagos had offered them so freely. Fake missed the women. Andin missed the coffee.
“Any luck finding a real map?” asked Andin.
“No, the only maps I’ve found are the misinformation ones.”
“These guys are disciplined and cautious,” conceded Andin.
“The pit’s slave quota is a minimum of twenty per year. They export slaves every quarter. I think following the next shipment will be our best opportunity to move further inland safely,” explained Fake.
Andin agreed with his logic, without reliable maps following the Sadists was the only sure option, “When is the next shipment?”
“Three days,” replied Fake. They made their preparations.
Eight healthy young adults chained together outside of the camp. There was a Sadist escorting each one. A thick skinned beast-of-burden carried the caravan’s supplies. Andin and Fake kept a half mile between them and the small convoy. They stopped at night, giving Fake a chance to get closer and Andin a chance to update his hand drawn maps.
The shimmer of Fake’s shroud caught the one of the keen eyes of a Sadist. Fake could tell they were looking in his direction. He slowly backed away and hurried towards Andin. “One of them saw the ripples,” warned Fake.
“Damn,” cursed Andin.
“They don’t talk around the slaves; there isn’t much point trying to listen in on them anyway,” said Fake. Andin saw what Fake was getting at. Secrecy was more important than trying to glean slivers of information. Fake wouldn’t risk them being discovered. They agreed to kill any runners the caravan sent out.
The endless flat plain seemed to stretch on forever. Two weeks passed before the boys spotted another slave caravan. The two groups headed in the same direction. “Where the hell are we going?” asked Fake scanning the horizon with a telescope.
“Long ways off it seems,” answered Andin.
Fake joked pointing at the road with the new caravan, “Hey on the bright side you now get to draw a new line on your map.”
Andin laughed, “Amateur mapmakers live for such thrills.” The march continued in the morning. The caravans resolutely following the arrow straight roads of Torment.
Finally, in the distance there was a floating point hovering in a shadowy sea. The roads led straight to it. The boys guessed it would be another two days before they reached the strange body of water in the distance.
Looking through his telescope Fake nudged Andin, “Andin, it’s not water.”
Andin looked for himself. “It’s a pit, a massive pit,” he said.
Before them was the jewel of Torment, the great city of Anguish. “It’s a city,” said Fake in awe. Her size was incomprehensible, it dominated the horizon.