Chapter 7: Leading to Darkness
‘To each is his fate, regardless of desire or need.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume II: Conversations).
1
Scyldur overflowed with life. Giant grey stone blocks formed a magnificent defensive wall around the city of fanatics. Smaller versions of the grey stones were used to make the inner structures supported by thick dark wooden beams. It was a bleakly artistic city.
Colorful banners decorated every entrance of every structure and identified their purpose; an anvil for the blacksmith; a scale for the market; and a hut for the houses. Cobbled roads connected the buildings together, and occasional patches of greenery met travelers whenever there was enough space between the roads and structures.
Unlike Scandur, Scyldur was a true city. It looked much like the large cities of Nosgard, but lacked the same magnitude and aesthetics. The Scylds, after all, were not a people of the arts, just of religion. Order, in Scyldur, prevailed.
Three hooded figures, standing out, entered the city and mingled among the inhabitants engaging in their daily lives; a woman buying vegetables for a stew she would cook later; a merchant setting up shop; and a guard patrolling the city to ensure all was well.
Hephaestion guided his three loyal companions, to no particular aim other than to see the city and study it. He thought that a city told more about its people than the people themselves. At the time, Ganis thought, he was right.
“A city like this in Utyirth!” Hephaestion said, quietly so only his close companions could hear. His hood covered his face, leaving only the briefest opening for him to see and breathe.
“An unimpressive feat by Nosgardian standards,” Ganis said. At this moment she finally realized how much she missed the cities of Nosgard. Even during the Second Civil War, she would find consonance in knowing that she could, at least, enjoy a walk in a city whenever she wanted. The busyness of it, how it made her disappear in the crowd, often gave her relief that she was just another citizen of Nosgard.
“It is a relative thing, Ganis. The city of the Highborn, the most feared men of all these lands, dull in comparison to that of the Scylds.”
Suddenly the sound of a bell echoed across the walls of Scyldur. The citizens then halted for a moment, listening in silence to all five rings of the bell, and uniformly headed towards a large building located in what the Parthans assumed was the center of the town, with huge wooden gates extending twice as high as the tallest Highborn greeting its visitors. Above the gateway there was artistic stained glass forming the image of a black dragon extending its wings and covering a city looking much like Scyldur.
“What do we do now?” Ganis glanced at the Parthans.
“We investigate,” replied Ninazu almost instantly. He was not the man to make such remarks, but in Percival, Dindrane and even Thalia’s absence, there was no one else for the role. He eyed the buildings around him and picked one of the larger ones which he thought stood out. Pointing his finger at it, Ninazu started pacing towards it.
As the three were about to turn away from the temple, a distant unfamiliar cry stopped them. “Halt!”
The Parthans obeyed the command blindly. Standing back to back, they allowed themselves to be circled by a group or ironclad pikemen. Ganis noticed that they wore a uniform iron-crafted breastplate and padded grey wool pants with half-round pointed helmets protecting their heads, but not their faces. The three Parthans faced a dozen well-armed Scylds.
“What is our offence?” Hephaestion asked, sword arm falling on his blade while the shield arm reached for Stopper, his newly-named kite shield.
“Heresy!” The leader of the guards, a man no older than two decades, incapable of growing a beard, drew a mace and gestured the others to prepare themselves. The pikes fell and aimed at the intruders. “Your true colors have been unveiled as promised by the divines. You abandon your sacred duty, guiltless rodents.” A sudden halt came to the man’s speech before he raised his arm and cried, “Kill the heretics!”
The guards fell upon them, stabbing at the air as their attempts to hit their targets kept missing. They were a poorly trained lot, but their numbers made them fierce.
Hephaestion drew his blade and readied his shield. “To the gates!” He dodged, blocked and parried his way through the pikemen, clearing a path for Ninazu and Ganis to follow.
Ninazu, with poisoned scimitar drawn and handbow armed - the mounted device on his left arm he himself named - slashed and shot at his foes. His poisoned bolts leaving their victims with agonizing screams as they tried to claw at their burning skin – the poison of a thousand ants, he called it.
Ganis was left with few to fight, but Eos screamed for blood. The Progenitor Blade had an unquenchable thirst for Scyld blood, something had happened in his past, Ganis was certain, but she was never told anything about it.
Hephaestion and Ninazu fought with matching grace as they ran through the town and towards the gate, escaping from the routes they came across blocked by loud clashing guards rushing towards them - they had iron tools which made iron sounds as they moved – by using other unblocked routes.
With a single point to rush towards, Ganis knew that they would continue to run into dead ends. At some point, there will be nowhere left to go, but into hordes of armored guards, odds she deemed too risky. Eos slashed, felling foes like a hot knife cutting butter.
A sacrifice had to be made. While Hephaestion and Ninazu continued to cut the guards down, causing more injury than fatalities, Ganis took the opportunity to defy Hephaestion’s orders. Amidst the heat of battle, she thought, he would fall back on his instinct – to finish his command regardless.
Ganis disappeared into the crowd, cutting her own way to the other end of Scyldur, an end she did not know when she would reach. She cleaved at the guards, Eos as sharp as the first light of dawn itself, making the task effortless.
“Ganis!” a distant voice cried. Hephaestion was looking for her.
She remained silent. Killing as many as she could, dozens fell at the tip of her blade, but dozens would not be enough for her to survive. She ran deeper into the city, towards buildings she could no longer recognize. She had gone past the temple with stained glass, slashing and hacking, taking a few blows herself.
Her arm ached and she changed her sword hand. All Peacekeeper officers were required to learn how to be ambidextrous when it came to all things fighting. A blow to her head was barely missed. Her movements became sluggish as exhaustion took its toll. Eos struck true regardless.
“Ganis!” the voice echoed from a distance, it grew fainter.
Perhaps I can kill them all, she thought.
It is a suicidal path, Eos finally whispered. He had been so engaged in the battle that his words went silent. Against these numbers you stand no chance.
What do you suggest I do?
Save your strength.
She ran deeper, avoiding the Scylds as they pierced and slashed at the air around her. She was still fast enough to dodge their slow blows. Then all hope died when she stood facing a cliff, darkness ahead. Night had fallen while she attempted her sacrifice. Hephaestion’s voice was nothing but a faint whisper in the wind.
There was only one remaining thought in her head, and Eos knew it well. He tried projecting to her mind but she blocked him. Ganis had three to save that day, not two, for Eos had also become part of her Ona. She took a deep breath and summoned all the might she could. Then Eos flew from her hand towards the direction where she last heard Hephaestion’s call. Her life would not be meaningless.
The cliffs or the mob of Scylds? She had to make a choice. She chose the latter, if she was to die this day, it would be with blood on her hands and a twisted smile on her face. The Dark Gift was finally released, fully.
She summoned her speed, and strength too, and then as she charged cried, “For Nosgard!”
The puzzled crowd of young and inexperienced soldiers cowered at the wild beast lunching her might towards them, bit
ing, slashing, kicking and pushing her way into them.
Suddenly, Ganis found herself in a clearing. She could hear no more guard blocking her path and no footsteps following her. Perhaps they finally realized that I will not go so easily, she thought. Her optimism was quickly brought to an end when she found herself facing a single man wearing a full set of black armor.
A long black cape dropped from Naa’tas’ bare head, caressing his shoulders with their softness. The man’s eyes and hair were as dark as night and his skin slightly tanned - the mark of a pale man with many days spent in the sun.
A feeling of despair prevailed, even though she faced a single man after her onslaught. “Step aside,” She said, blood covering her face and armor. The warning would not come again.
The man cracked a smile and replied, “Make me.”
Summoning whatever was left of her powers, the rune-glowing Protector violently dashed towards her opponent. She swung with impossible fury and speed - a force nature itself would seldom wield, yet nothing made contact. The more she missed, the more desperate she became. No introductions were necessary for her to know whom she faced.
Suddenly, the man grabbed her from the neck as she swung her fist, lifted her well above the ground, and smashed her into the cobbled road. In but a few moments, Ganis found herself laying head-first on the ground.
“Your kind should know its place,” said Naa’tas. He squeezed tightly, lifting her while doing so, and smashed her once more into the stone, breaking it.
Darkness overcame the moroi…once more.
2
Ganis spent most of her days aboard the Siren’s Tear in solitude, intentionally avoiding the company of others. She would often come across the other crew members and share idle talk. Sigurd was the only person who managed to avoid her entirely, a result from his generally uninviting air.
This made Ganis even more curious about the lone warrior. If she wanted to meet the man, she knew that it would not be by chance.
One day, when Ganis had amassed the will to talk to him, she went to the aft of the lower deck, where the man would spend his leisure time, and ambushed him on one of the hammocks designated for the crewmen; the one he claimed.
Upon entering the faintly-lit room, Ganis found a hairless face with blue eyes staring at her. Sigurd, she knew, was not a man to be snuck up on. His senses were simply too keen. Knowing this about him did not make her any less shocked when the rugged hulk stood after sensing her approach. His frame was larger than any Ganis had ever seen before. His bald face bore no scars, but his eyes claimed a different story. Looking into the pale blue eyes of Sigurd Ganis saw that they were the eyes of a ruthless predator.
“Sigurd, I assume,” with a shaken voice, Ganis said. She spent a few moments waiting for a reply, but received none. “I am sorry to alarm you while resting. I was hoping to talk to you before we land.” Ganis hoped to draw out Sigurd’s past from him.
The hulking man stood with complete stillness and continued to stare into Ganis’ eyes. It was a different stare than that of Ninazu, for it did not cause her to feel exposed - instead, she felt helpless. Yet she persevered.
Unwelcome by Sigurd, Ganis took leave and left to the main deck. On her way to the stairs leading upwards she heard a whisper emanating from one of the rooms. Further investigation led her to a room next to Ninazu’s lab where one of her comrades prayed – whispering to the forces above.
Noticing her presence, Eirene asked, “Can I help you with anything, child of Pax?”
“I am no child of Pax.” While Ganis intended her unholy nature, the priestess interpreted it as a reference to her non-belief.
“We are all children of Pax.” The priestess stood up and looked at Ganis. Her motions were slow and fluid. Eirene was fair and had a serene face which calmed Ganis’ worried heart. Her dark black hair, coupled with dark eyes, matched the color of her skin perfectly. Eirene was a true specimen of beauty. Taking a brief pause to stand up, the Parthan continued, “Some of us are clouded in darkness, a darkness that prevents the truth from emerging, but we are all children of Pax regardless.”
“And what father would abandon his children and condemn them to such a bloody fate? What father would watch his children slaughter each other and bring never-ending pain upon one another?”
“Pax is no father to any of us.”
“If we are the children of Pax and he is no father, then Pax must be our mother. He acts not like a parent, but as a cruel experimenter.”
“Pax is no mother either.”
“You speak of riddles.”
“Pax,” Eirene said, with emphasis, “is beyond our comprehension, regardless of the level of enlightenment we reach. The methods by which Pax attends to us, his creation, would take us many hundreds of lifetimes spent worshipping to even start to understand.
“Some of us hope to reach a small portion of enlightenment during our given lifespan to help us pass through to the next life with a hint on how to continue worshipping Pax. All the strife we experience is but a test to our conviction, for it causes the true to follow the path of Pax and the false to fall deeper into the abyss.”
“Your beliefs are naive. Why would an omnipotent being such as Pax care for how we fare?” A lifetime of cruelty left Ganis skeptical of all things religious. If she ever had any faith, it was long forgotten.
“Because he loves us like parents love their children. We are creatures of peace that have been misguided by other forces opposing Pax, but our faults increase the love that Pax has for us.”
Frustrated by the flawed reasoning of the priestess, Ganis snorted. “One would think a life dedicated to fighting would make you shun Pax.”
Smiling, Eirene said, “Oh, but you do not know what my life is dedicated to, or how it came to be that I find myself here, among some of the world’s most efficient killers.”
“Then enlighten me.”
Eirene took a deep breath, a small strand of hair flickered as she did so, and said, “I was orphaned at a young age and taken in by Fark from the School of Knowledge. He exposed me to many things the School had to offer, including religion. There I was allowed to study any topic I wished as long as I contributed to its development.
“Along with studying the scrolls stored within, I trained in the arts of combat, a Parthan tradition. The combination of my studies drove me to think about the reasons behind all the violence we are surrounded by.
“After years of wondering, I realized that the answer was never hidden from us. It was peace. It is true, many people fight for selfish reasons, but most fight to protect. They fight to protect themselves, their loved ones, and their beliefs. They fight for peace.
“Peace, it appears, is the ultimate goal of war, and it can only be attained by unifying the peoples. Pax shows us how to unify ourselves and end all the suffering we brought, and continue to bring, upon ourselves and others.
“If you fight for Pax and convince others that his path is the only one that leads to salvation, you will bring an end to all wars. This understanding is the gift I have been given by Pax.”
“I once thought as you did, but I was wrong.” Ganis looked away. “As long as there are strong people and weak people, there will always be conflict. We are just beasts, and in the world of beasts the strong force the weak into servitude. The true answer to war is not peace, but oppression.”
Smiling at her comrade, Eirene concluded, “I am glad that you joined our humble Ona. Perhaps our travels together will give me another opportunity to convince you of my beliefs.”
“Please, priestess, do not take my words in offense. I was simply expressing my sincere opinion.” Ganis politely nodded and proceeded to leave. While heading outside the door Eirene held her arm and gently hugged Ganis. She then let go, smiled, and continued her prayers silently.
Ganis was speechless by the gesture. Eirene’s conviction made her, at the very least, think about Pax. How can people like her exist with all the pain and destruction they have s
een?
3
In a dark prison somewhere near Scyldur, Ganis awoke. She did not know where she was or how she got there, and her aching body reminded her of the events that led to her defeat. She reached for Eos in panic, feeling only an empty sheath falling limp from her belt.
When the daze wore off, it was still dark, yet the gentlest reflection of light gave her enhanced eyes the ability to make out shapes. If it was not for her Dark Gift, she would have had to feel her way around this desolate fate with nothing but her hands.
Irregular rocks, some sharp and others not, surfaced from the walls. A cave. As Ganis walked around, trying to draw a mental map of her surrounding as her Peacekeeper training had taught her, she zigzagged through endless corridors of which many lead to the same clearings.
A long search led her to find an entrance, an iron reinforced wooden plank placed atop a steep slope. She tried to reach the exit, or what she thought was one at least, but her sapped strength made it an impossible feat. Her frustrations made her huddle in a corner and suppress the tears her eyes ached to produce.
Then hope.
The sound of a faintly beating heart rung in Ganis’ ears. She followed the steady beat as best as she could, crawling into tight crevices barely wide enough to allow her passage. A hidden area she would have never found if not lead through. Twists of right and left led her to the source of the beating, a dying man.
Once he noticed the intruder, the man, more bone than flesh, panicked and attempted to force his back to the wall behind him. It was a miserable effort. “I haven’t done anything. I believe in the Mighty One. Please, find it in your heart to spare me. Please!”
As the man cried for mercy Ganis found her unbeating heart touched. It was a terrible fate. She squatted in the corner, hoping that her distance would console him. “Is that what you call your god?” Ganis asked.
The man, terrified of her reaction to his response, took a moment to think. He shook as he pressed himself to the wall behind him, with body half bent. “I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”
She sat quietly in her corner, watching the man in pity. “Where are we?”
“We’re where the faithless are sent.”
“And where is that?”
“The Pits of Carcer.” He winced once he spoke the words, as if it pained him.
“The gateway in the clearing, where does it lead?”
“Nowhere. They once used it to feed me, but it’s been some time since anything was dropped from there. I’m too weak to go there now.” He burst in a sudden weep, drool dripping from his mouth as he mumbled words Ganis could not understand. “I’m so hungry.”
She eyed the man. It would be a mercy taking his life here and now. Her hunger had grown ferocious, making the filthy prisoner water her mouth. “So am I.” She then stood up, as much as the cave allowed her, and approached the man.
He tried to distance himself but there was nowhere to go. His back was as close as he could manage to the rocky wall, a sharp edge cutting at his shoulder and drawing blood. When Ganis had come close enough to reach out, he squealed and covered his face with his right hand.
Ganis pushed his arm away gently and reached for his head. She held him from the cheeks, looking straight into his eyes, and said, “You were right to blaspheme. Your god, the Mighty One, is a fake.”
“No…no.” The man’s eyes widened and he shook his head violently sideways. “No!”
It was cruel to toy with her food, Asclepius taught her, and Ganis intended to stay true to this lesson, at least. She moved the prisoner’s head around and exposed his neck, preparing to gorge on what little blood he had, and fed.
A limp corpse lay in the cave within a cave.
Even with the little strength she had regained, Ganis knew that she would not be able to manage an escape from the hatch. There was little else for her to do other than prolong her existence as much as she could. She went into a heavy stupor, hibernation, and entered a state between reality and imagination, a state for the condemned.
4
It was damp and cold, but it did not bother Ganis - a slight disgust, perhaps, a remnant reaction from the days before her death. She had become used to the dark and lifeless state of her prison, yet the loneliness, a feeling her days with the Ona led her to forget, pecked at her like a furious crow.
Ganis slumbered through time to preserve the little blood she had drained from her predecessor. Her body was paralyzed, stored by her meditation, yet she could not manage to do so with her mind, which wandered freely in time as she dwelled on both past and future.
In the corner her meal had begun to rot, releasing a putrid smell that engulfed her senses, but she had grown accustomed to the slow process of decay, saving her the shock of accompanying death.
Then a cold breeze caressed her body and brought her back to the land of the living, a land she was once in.
Yellow fields of wheat flowed around Ganis, sun tickling her skin and air brushing her long yellow hair - styled in a fashion she had long forgotten, loose with two thin strands from the front braided at the back of her head to expose her face fully.
The wind blew a gentle voice which called, “Ganis.” It was a familiar voice, but she could not identify from where.
She looked behind her and saw a pale woman wearing a white dress, free from any signs of dirt or wear. The dress flapped with the soft blowing winds, a noise which fit the beautiful woman well. Her hair was black and still, and her eyes presenting a faint smile matching her pink lips well.
“Where am I?” Ganis asked. She was not concerned by the sudden change in her surroundings, but relieved. It seemed a suitable question to ask.
“Your body remains in the prison, Ganis, and your mind has entered my realm,” the woman said. She then approached Ganis and offered a slow and serene curtsy. “I am Kismet.”
“Are you a friend?”
“That is entirely up to you, and I would hope you would judge me as such.”
“Am I alive?” Ganis asked. Part of her hoped that her journey was ended and that she had gone to the afterlife. It would be, she judged, a good place to spend eternity.
“You have not been alive for a long time, Ganis. You are still in the land of the living. There is much for you to accomplish there, if you wish it.” Her wholly black eyes fell on Ganis. On another person, perhaps, the sight of these eyes would be terrifying, yet Kismet conveyed nothing but peace. “And now, Ganis, it is time for you to return.”
Ganis turned away from Kismet and looked at the clear blue skies. She took a deep breath to cherish the sensation she so missed, and said, “Can I stay a little longer?”
Kismet held Ganis’ shoulder, soothing her entirely. “For now you are needed elsewhere. If you wish to come back, Ganis, I will summon you once more.”
“Thank you.” Her senses dulled again.
“Let me out of here! I’m not faithless!” a voice screamed.
Ganis awoke from her slumber, her body reacting immediately to her will, rejuvenated more than it should be. She rushed towards the noise to investigate, crawling through the tight tunnels as fast as her unnatural physique would let her.
Once she reached the dark clearing Ganis spotted a young woman in a dirty strapless dress which seemed to her to have once been white. If not for the corset holding her dress, the woman’s body would have been entirely bare.
Noticing the movement coming from within the darkness, the woman retreated to the wall and shouted with panic, “Whose there?”
“Fear not, young child. I’m here to deliver you from sin and the punishment of solitude.” Ganis slowly approached the woman.
“No! You’re a faithless, a condemner of the Almighty. My faith has been misjudged.”
“Your faith?” She moved around to size the woman, as a lion did with its prey. “In who, may I ask?”
“The one and only true god, the Almighty.”
“Never heard of him.” Ganis’ words shocked the woman sp
eechless. She started crying in desperation to the fate she has been condemned to.
The sweet iron smell of blood provoked Ganis’ hunger. She snapped at the woman, a failed attempt to control the beast within, the Dark Gift which tempted her to consume all. “You people, a zealot lot of fools, know nothing of faith. Tell me, child, what is faith?”
Struggling to produce her words amidst a bout of crying and sniffing, the young woman said, “It’s what I’m not lacking.”
Ganis laughed sadistically, a crazed laugh often accompanying insanity. “You haven’t the faintest clue what it is, child.” She approached the woman, slowly tormenting her. “No need to worry.”
“Stay away.”
She came closer and extended her hand. “Do you want to repent for your sins?” She held her frail hands, soft hands unaccustomed to work.
The woman nodded. She wanted forgiveness and salvation.
“Then I declare all your sins forgiven.” Ganis then dug her fangs into the woman’s neck, sapping the life out of her soft body as her widened eyes grew dull and lost their shine. Another limp body fell.
As the months went by Ganis hibernated, preserving the little blood she was given from the occasional prisoner. The killing and feeding had grown easier the more lives she took. It was never difficult for Ganis to kill, but it was never as easy either.
For a time Kismet did not appear to Ganis, not in form at least. The mysterious spirit would occasionally alert her when her sleep had grown too deep with new prison arrivals, but that was all the contact she made. Yet it was a pleasant relief from solitude.
5
Once more the fields greeted Ganis.
A voice echoed, the familiar soothing voice of Kismet, and whispered in the winds, “Ganis.”
She waited patiently, enjoying the pleasant feeling of fresh air and relaxing sun. A few clouds decorated the skies, changing shapes that consumed Ganis’ attention. Then a hand touched her shoulder, taking all her pains away, the little that remained in this world of peace.
“You still have not told me where we are,” Ganis said, smiling.
“It is a difficult thing to explain in your tongue. You are safe,” Kismet said. She still wore the same white dress friendly to the kind winds.
“I thought we would never meet again.”
“Fate works in mysterious ways, Ganis, but it always leads to the destiny meant for you. My intentions were not to mislead you, or make you wait. It is as it was meant to be.”
“All is well now, Kismet. All is well.” Ganis closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She held her breath for a few moments before releasing it. “It is a pleasant realm.”
“And it is entirely yours.”
Ganis then opened her eyes to scan the area. The wheat field spanned as far as her eyes would allow her to see, to the horizon and beyond.
“A memory from your childhood, one of the very first.” Kismet’s words guided her to remember these fields.
Could such a place exist? Ganis strained her memory. She remembered the days when she was a child, when her father would go out for days at a time, leaving Ganis, her two younger sisters and mother alone. When she would ask her mother where her father went, she would always say, “To make certain you grow tall and strong.”
Then one day her father returned and announced that they would finally have lands of their own. She was too young to understand at the time, but she knew that it would lead her family to a life away from the big city, Gallecia.
When she grew a little older, on the farm her father had bought, she understood that he had taken a large loan from a willing lender to purchase the property. At first, it was a good decision, the crops, mostly wheat, would grow quickly and healthy, fetching them enough coin to make the payments and feed the family.
Yet one day disaster struck and a plague of locust fell upon the farmlands of Gallecia, no crops grew that year and Ganis’ father was forced to choose between paying the lender and feeding his family, he chose the latter. It was not long before the lender came to investigate.
By that age Ganis was old enough to understand her father’s predicament, yet too young to be of any usefulness. The lender gave her father one season to make the payment, with a general addition to pay for the delay. It was an impossible task, for the crops took two seasons to grow.
The next season came and her father was still not ready. The lender offered no warning this time and barged into the farmer’s house with some thugs, beating him to death and taking Ganis’ mother and two sisters. Ganis, with a strange twist of fate, managed a timely escape.
“I remember,” Ganis said. “This was the first time I saw my father’s fields. I have tried to forget this cruel memory for many years now.”
“It was an unfortunate incident, Ganis.” Kismet soothed Ganis by gently rubbing her back.
“Unfortunate yet necessary.” She looked at Kismet, her eyes free from grief and pain. “Terrible events happened during the reign of the Council, many of which I had a role in. I cannot escape my past, neither the cruelty I have inflicted on others or that which was inflicted upon me.”
“Our experiences are lessons, Ganis.”
“Only if we chose them to be.” She turned around and brushed her hand against the ripe blades of wheat. “Without the burning of my father’s farm I would have never joined the Peacekeeper Core.” She held a blade of wheat in her hand, gently without plucking it. “The Peacekeeper Core led me to meet the Demigod Emperor Servak and gave me a reason to seek penance.”
“And your actions helped save Nosgard eventually,” Kismet added. “You will be given another chance to protect Nosgard once more, if you wish it.” She stepped back gracefully. “Now, Ganis, is time for you to return. Your time here is about to end.”
6
Ganis grew accustomed to darkness, and the smell of death, yet she accepted neither. Bones covered the floor of the Pits of Carcer, some older than others. She saw an old set of bones covered in dust and reached out to grab them to remove them from the clearing below the hatch.
Lonely.
At her touch the bones turned to dust. They were the bones of the first man she saw in the Pits of Carcer, a once frail man on the brink of death. Has it been this long?
Death surrounded her, many stages of it, and Ganis was still alone, frustrated and angry. She had thought many times about escaping, knowing no way to do so, and tried even more times to climb up the hatch, the source of her food. None of her attempts were ever successful. Something had to change.
Forgotten.
Shapes had begun to appear to her, disappearing as soon as she reached out, and echoing voices with no source. Have I grown mad?
At times Ganis would start speaking to herself, reenacting prolonged conversation she once had, each time slightly different that the previous conjuration. Whenever she cried out or called for someone, a distorted image she remembered from her past, she would be met with no reply.
Abandoned.
Her sanity could not hold for much longer, and Kismet did not show herself for a time feeling longer to Ganis than it was. The boredom had consumed her, and the little hope she had faded into the darkness, a far echo of the past.
The piles of bones, no matter how she arranged them, always seemed to be in her way. She moved them from one corner to the other, and returned them once more. Once her frustration grew too much for her to bear, she lashed out in a bout of screams and violence, kicking at the wall. Then a crack, a flicker of hope.
Ganis grabbed one of the bones, a sturdy one which had not yet fallen to time, and scratched at the crack adamantly, fueled by a new vigor. When the bone has been blunted by the effort, she picked another bone and continued her task. When it became difficult to find a suitable tool, Ganis decided to use the ones given to her by fate.
She clenched her fist as hard as she could and punched at the rock, first cracking her skin and then breaking her bones, but not without result. The wall crumbled and a new passage
was revealed, leading to a magnificent hall.
It was still dark, but Ganis’ eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness of her sentence. She saw shapes, but not colors, and had enough sense to feel those she could not identify. Her unbelieving fingers were met with a welcoming sense, a candle.
She knew matchsticks would certainly be around, or perhaps flint and steel, anything to light the candle. Her fingers searched with success - matches. Reflexively, she struck the matches and lit the candle.
And darkness faded.
An endless supply of scrolls and wall carvings extended as far as Ganis’ eyes could see. The forgotten library dwarfed that of the Parthan School of Knowledge’s. Knowledge, Asclepius taught her, was the greatest feat one could achieve. The Elder had hid most of their knowledge in mysterious obelisks scattered wherever life went, and finding a treasure such as this was unprecedented.
”My destiny,” she said to herself, “is finally revealed.” Ganis no longer without purpose, regained her sanity. It was no longer the time for loneliness, but that for diligence. She plucked a scroll from the shelf, found a comfortable seat, and started reading.
7
An increasing supply of prisoners allowed Ganis to maintain her wakefulness and study the contents of the library to her satisfaction. She read about the history of Nosgard, Tur, Utyirth, the Trakian Isles, Deadice and many other lands, both charted and uncharted by her kind.
Her studies made her discover many hidden crafts - the art of elemental rune carving reserved to the Men of Alv alone, and the spoken runes of power which summoned the very meaning of the word - to the sentient people, and taught her much about the predecessors of her living kind, even thought she had been mistaken about the identity of the library’s creators when she first saw it. The Elders, it seemed to her, were still a mystery to the scholars who wrote these scrolls.
And in her studies she came upon a way to escape the caverns imprisoning her, Koa, the invocation of force. The library, Ganis judged, would await her for an eternity, yet the world she struggled to protect would not last as long. It was time for her to master Koa and wield it to escape.
8
Once more Ganis awoke in her father’s wheat fields. It was raining, a discomfort for travelers yet a blessing for farmers. She was hopeful - anything different from the caverns was a relief, regardless of how different people interpret the omen.
“The time for your escape is near,” Kismet said. She stood behind Ganis, patiently waiting for her as she basked in the beauty of her surroundings.
“I know.” She looked at Kismet, smiling, and paused for a moment. “I can see clearly now. All the events that were forced on me and the actions I have taken led to me being here now. It was all some elaborate plan by someone.”
“And yet you continue to deny the gods.”
“What I speak of is beyond the gods, dear Kismet. I have seen what gods do and what people do for them. It is merely an illusion, the linking of one outcome to another unrelated action. If nothing else, my time here taught me how little the gods mean, and how far they can be used to serve the purposes of lesser beings. The gods are simply a tool for those keen enough to will others for their own desires.”
Ganis closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing the rain to fall on her face before they reached the fertile soil. She raised her hands, the water coursing through the black leather she wore, cleansing it from all the dust and filth it collected. The rain seeped into her outfit and cleansed her skin too.
She then lowered her head and stared directly into Kismet’s eyes, a new person reborn. “I speak not of gods, Kismet, but of Fate.”
“Now you understand.” Kismet faded, the rain washing her presence away.
And Ganis returned.
9
Within the darkness Ganis waited.
The hatch opened and a man fell, a new prisoner deemed unfaithful and condemned to the Pits of Carcer. She let the man be, caring little for his fate, and invoked the power of force, Koa.
A great power crashed through the slope and broke the hatch, producing painful screams from above. The once-fine slope was jagged with chipped stone, suitable footing for Ganis to escape, and the new prisoner should he will it.
Under the night sky the hatch erupted, it was shattered into a fine dust, nothing else remained from the once-impenetrable entry to the Pits of Carcer, where only the most vile of traitors and faithless were sent. A small figure, polished entirely, appeared once the dust settled.
Ganis, clad in her cleansed black armor, stood proud under the night sky, seeing stars she had long forgotten. She breathed deeply, it was sweet air compared to the air below, and rejuvenating. Her eyes fell on the guards, twisting in agony as they held to their shattered limbs. Bone was broken and blood was spilled, but the limbs were still attached.
What terrible force, Ganis thought. I will wield it well.
She collected the guards and pushed them into the Pits of Carcer, hoping that they would at least suffer on their way out. One of the guards, as he fell, struck the prisoner attempting to escape, delaying his effort, but causing no harm. The man cursed in anger.
Ganis knew that more guards were bound to come, and she struggled to resist her desire to unleash her vengeance upon them. Only her memory of Eirene’s oath to avenge Pertinax prevented her. Ganis remembered the moment of insanity that consumed the priestess and how troubling it was.
Now was not the time to risk all, it was the time to escape and plan. She had to blend into whatever complex she had emerged in.
She looked around and found a crude pickaxe resting on the ground. Taking the tool, she followed the sound of footsteps leading her to a mass of catatonic-like men working. A large crowd of men and women dug at the mountain and moved large piles of rock they had quarried.
Where am I? Ganis though.