Once the moon’s silvery light had bathed it entirely, the boulder’s metamorphosis was complete. Where before there had been stone now stood the figure of an old, gnarled man, his face carved with wrinkles, a fabulously long white beard hanging from his chin, and heavy chains weighing down his wrists and ankles. Nihal held her breath. She knew him, this man. He’d saved her from the thieves. He’d given her refuge. The old man from the cave was Megisto.
20
Descent into the Underworld
The old man smiled at Nihal. “My compliments on the traps. I wouldn’t have thought you capable of such fine work. I’m assuming you rescued your friend …”
Nihal stood open mouthed. It made her hair stand on end to think that for all those days she’d been in the keeping of one of the Tyrant’s servants. “Megisto …” she murmured.
The smile on the old man’s face only widened. “Megisto, indeed. The condemned, the damned, the age-old exterminator of nymphs …” Nihal kept staring at him, speechless. Megisto took a seat on the grass and made himself comfortable. “I’m not sure why, but I had a feeling we’d see each other again. Well then … have you come to repay your debt to me for saving your life?” he jested.
Nihal shook her head.
“Of course, I didn’t think so. So, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Nihal was still flustered, but she did her best to exude confidence. “I know you’re familiar with the Tyrant’s magic,” she said, looking the old man in the eye. “I need your help in counteracting one of his spells.”
At her words, Megisto’s expression sunk and the look in his eyes went from kind to stern. “And why is that?”
Nihal hesitated. “Because … because I’m a Dragon Knight and I’m fighting against his army.”
The old man glanced over at Oarf. “If that’s what you’ve come for, you might as well be on your way. I have no intention of disclosing anything that would lead to a fate such as the one I now suffer.”
Nihal removed her cloak, revealing her battle clothes beneath, a black bodice and leather pants. Her sword hung from her hip, glittering in the dark. “At least let me tell you my story.”
The old man studied her. She despised being looked at that way. After an endless moment, he shrugged. “Fine then, go ahead. Nothing to lose by sitting here and listening,” Megisto sighed. Crossing his legs, he directed his attention toward her and waited.
Nihal spoke at length of Dola, of his self-repairing armor, of his lance that had pierced her breastplate of black crystal. “He nearly killed me, Megisto,” she concluded. She was expecting the old man to respond in some way, but he merely continued to stare at her, blank faced. “In other words, I’d like to know how to beat him.”
The old man drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Why do you want to defeat him?” Megisto asked.
“What kind of question is that! Because he’s an enemy. Because he leads the army I’m fighting against.”
“Why do you want to defeat him?” Megisto repeated, ignoring her reply.
Nihal lost her patience. “Because I just told you why! Because I’m a Dragon Knight!”
“Whatever it is that’s motivating you has nothing to do with that,” Megisto answered calmly, shaking his head. “What you want is revenge, Nihal.”
“For me he’s just an enemy like any other! I—”
“You want to see him beg for mercy,” the old man interrupted her.
“That’s not true!”
“And then when he’s groveling at your feet—”
“No!”
“You’ll take great pleasure in slicing his throat and watching his blood stain the ground. And then when he’s dead you’ll laugh, thinking you’ve satisfied your need for vengeance.”
“That’s not the way it is!” Nihal shouted.
“Don’t lie to me!” the old man thundered.
Nihal looked at him wide eyed, lost.
When the old man spoke again, his tone was grave and solemn. “I know you mean well, Nihal, I do. But in your heart lies a monster waiting to rouse itself. At the slightest disturbance it will awake, trust me. When that man is lying on the ground before you, the beast will spring up within you and consume your heart.”
“I’m not the way I used to be—” Nihal muttered, as if speaking to herself.
“Don’t think I don’t know,” the old man continued. “I understand your torment. That very same monster that lives in you was the beast that dragged me into these woods and chained my wrists.” He raised his hands in the air and the heavy iron chain links clanked. “I was a sorcerer, years ago. An average sorcerer, a history scholar. Then one day a man made the mistake of doing me a great wrong. Revenge became my only reason to live. It wasn’t even for myself that I wanted it, but for those whom this man had taken from me. I was drawn to dark magic. I joined the Tyrant’s forces. With his help, I was endowed with great powers, and I studied, Nihal, I studied as passionately as I’d studied the history of this world, and all the secrets of dark magic opened up to me. Then I waited. I waited for my day of vindication, pining for that moment when I’d get to watch him die by my hand. Oh, how I waited! And finally the day came. When I killed him I could hear my heart sing, though the melody was brief. My rage was not satisfied, and it never would be. Because blood is the nectar of the gods, Nihal, and you know it well. Once you’ve tasted it, you’re forever its slave. I went on killing, and with every soul I destroyed by sorcery, the dark power seemed to grow inside me, for such is its nature. I killed; I killed for the Tyrant, I killed for myself. In the end, the nymphs brought about my downfall.” The old man screwed his eyes up toward the sky, and for a moment they glowed white in the moonlight. “It was one of the Council’s sorcerers who locked me in this curse. So I live out my days as a rock, and turn human only at night.”
Nihal didn’t understand. “But why not escape at night?”
“I tried, Nihal. For years, I tried. But every time I fled from the forest, at dawn’s first light I found myself back in this clearing, turned to stone once again.” The old man gave a bitter smile. “Time passed, my youth vanished. And now I thank the man who gave me this curse, for freeing me from the slavery of death, for allowing me to come to terms with myself.” Megisto fixed his eyes on Nihal. “But those I killed, they’ll never come back, Nihal, and no punishment I suffer could ever redeem their lives.”
Nihal held his gaze for a few moments, then bowed her head. “I can feel it. I’m the only one who can put a stop to Dola, no one else. I can feel it, do you hear me?”
“You have to keep trying to discover yourself, Knight. You’ve come only so far on your journey to finding the truth.”
“I am trying to find myself! It’s not out of revenge that I want to stop Dola!” Nihal retorted in anger. “In the past, I fought for the dead, Megisto. Now I fight only for myself. But Dola, Dola I have to defeat for all those forced to live under his rule.”
The old man eyed her. “Go on.”
“I swear to you I won’t kill him, Megisto,” Nihal said, lowering her voice. “I won’t spill his blood out of vengeance. I’ll bring him back alive to our encampment and leave his fate to someone else. But I’m begging you. Help me.”
Megisto retreated into his own thoughts for what seemed like an eternity.
“Come back tomorrow night,” he said at last as the light of dawn began to tinge the sky deep blue.
Nihal stood and threw her cloak back over her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said to the stone that had moments before been a man.
After her nocturnal visit, Nihal snoozed until lunchtime.
When she came out of the hut, Laio gave her a once-over. “Alright, what’s going on? On a new schedule, are we, Knight?
“I was tired,” she responded evasively. Laio had always supported her decisions, but Nihal had good reason to think that this one might not meet
with his approval.
She waited for the night impatiently, and as the first shadows fell she soared off into the forest on Oarf.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t come,” said Megisto as she landed in the clearing.
“I don’t give up so easily,” Nihal replied.
“I’ve noticed,” the old man muttered, breaking into a smile. “Now listen.”
Nihal sat across from Megisto, just as she had the night before.
“The magic I’m about to teach you was born from darkness.” The old man looked sternly at Nihal. “It was founded in hate, and from hate it derives its force. In order to employ it, you’ll have to call upon your own hate and despair. You’ll have to remember all that you’ve forgotten, empty the closet of all your skeletons, give way to that very part of your soul that you wish to disown.” Megisto took a breath. “Knowing this, Nihal, do you still want to proceed?”
“Yes,” came Nihal’s firm reply. “Let’s begin.”
“I haven’t finished yet,” the old man continued. “Yesterday you made a promise. I’d like to take you at your word, but I know your heart is vulnerable. I don’t want any more death weighing on my conscience. Once I’ve finished teaching you, I’m going to place you under a curse. If you attempt to use this spell more than once, it will be your death.”
“I accept,” Nihal responded, without hesitation.
“So be it,” Megisto sighed. “You must know, it will feel like sinking into an abyss. I hope you’ll have strength enough to bear it.”
A chill ran up Nihal’s spine. The idea of returning to the way she’d been a few months ago horrified her, but she refused to betray her doubt to Megisto.
The old man crossed his legs, causing his chains to rattle.
“The sorcery responsible for Dola’s great strength lies in a powerful, forbidden spell called Black Flame. With this spell, a sorcerer can infuse life into a lifeless object. An intense and potent life, informed and increased by the hate of its creator. Which is precisely why Dola seems immortal.”
“I don’t understand,” Nihal said, perplexed.
“Dola’s armor, Nihal. It’s like an impenetrable, living being. Not even the most powerful blow can damage it, and it’s capable of automatically repairing itself. The spell I’m going to teach you is called Inextinguishable Shadow. With this, you’ll be able to penetrate any type of defensive barrier and to inflict incurable wounds. Once applied to your sword, you’ll be able to pierce Dola’s armor. However, I must warn you, the spell alone will not be enough to defeat him. If you were to use it against a man, or a dwarf, or against the Fammin, they would die instantly. But Dola’s armor will not be destroyed by the spell, it will merely be rendered vulnerable. …”
“In other words, the Inextinguishable Shadow will make it an even battle,” Nihal interrupted.
“Against that being, it will never be an even battle. His force takes root in the Tyrant’s sorcery. Though he, too, is made of flesh, and with this spell you’ll be able to wound him.”
Nihal nodded. “Go on.”
“Hate is in all of us, Nihal, buried in our souls. You know this well. To evoke the Inextinguishable Shadow you’ll have to delve into that source. Once called back to life, all the pain of your past will rise up within you. If you can harness that power, you’ll have full control over the spell.”
Nihal wasn’t sure she understood. “But how does it work? How am I supposed to act?”
“There’s nothing else I can explain to you in words. It’s up to you to try now, if that’s what you’ve decided.”
“What will happen if I fail?” Nihal asked. Her voice cracked with fear.
“You’ll die,” said the old man, in earnest.
To start, Megisto taught her to conjure the Blade of Light, a simple spell that even Nihal could manage with minimal effort. A pale blue ball of fire appeared in her hand.
“Good,” the old man murmured. “Now we can begin.”
Nihal could feel her heartbeat accelerate. The crucial moment had arrived, and she was seized with fear, a cold and veritable fear.
“Repeat after me: Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro.”
“Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro,” Nihal muttered.
“Again. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro,” repeated Megisto. “Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Keep going, now, keep going.”
“Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro,” she echoed.
“Now focus on all the times in your life when you’ve been gripped by despair. But be careful. Don’t succumb to the emotions; try instead to dominate them.”
Nihal saw his grim stare fixed on her. Then she closed her eyes, repeating the cryptic words, filling her mind with the past. The memories of her suffering felt all too real. She called to mind Livon’s death, droning the litany in a hypnotic trance. First she saw her father’s workshop, vacant, silent. Then came the sounds of that day. The terrible clamor of battle: the cries, the whistle of axes as they hacked down all of Salazar, the thud of bodies collapsing on the ground. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. She felt herself bobbing back and forth. The world disappeared. All that remained was a burning sensation in her hand.
Megisto’s voice reached her as an echo. “Go in deeper, Nihal. Go in deeper.”
Suddenly there were people in Livon’s workshop. On one end, Livon, rummaging intently through an open trunk. Then a young girl, her ears outsized and pointed, her eyes big and lunar, a black sword at her side. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro …
Here they come. Two Fammin, armed with axe and sword. They burst in, catch sight of her, laugh. The sound of clashing blades. Livon shouting for her to run. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Livon fighting. Why doesn’t he flee? Get out of there! Run! Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro.
“Sink in deeper, Knight. Take control of what you feel and keep sinking. …”
Nihal knew it wouldn’t end well; she knew what was coming and she didn’t want it—she didn’t want it! Enough, enough! But she can’t move, she can’t do anything, so she screams, calls his name, pleas for him to escape. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro.
“Yes, Nihal, you’re almost there!”
At his shout, the darkness vanishes. In an instant of silence, she sees Livon turning toward her. He looks at her. Everything freezes. Don’t turn your head, Livon! Run! Don’t look at me! And now the sword, piercing through him. He continues to look at her, to look at her with his tender eyes. He collapses noiselessly and Nihal wants to scream, but she has no voice. …
Suddenly the scene is sucked into an abyss.
Thousands of howling faces, black, deformed, running toward her and contorting. The deafening sound of laughter. For a moment, Nihal regained consciousness. Overwhelmed with horror, she tried to block her mind, to make it stop. But her tongue was reciting the litany on its own now, the words fleeing from her mouth and calling forth new demons, surrounding her, dragging her away, pulling her by the arms, the legs, the hair.
“Control them, control them!” came the murmur of a faraway voice, a monstrous voice.
Control what? How could she control the kingdom of the dead? A thousand hands groping her, a thousand eyes staring into her eyes, hate amassing within her like a tidal wave. In her life, she’d never been so horrified. Her throat constricted. She couldn’t shout, she couldn’t plea, she could only go on droning that mind-numbing chant: Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro …
“Enough! Come back to your senses!” a distorted voice repeated.
How? Was it really possible to reemerge from that nightmare? Someone, help!
“Close your hands! Stop the spell!” said the voice.
Nihal could no longer feel her body. Where was her hand? Did she have a hand to close? She strained to release herself from the panic, but she couldn’t. Then she felt something and held on tight: cool air, two hands touching her fa
ce. …
The demons vanished; the dark dissolved.
The moon, with its blank stare, eyed her from above. Megisto was leaning over her.
Nihal could do nothing to slow her breath, couldn’t find enough air to fill her lungs.
“You’re back among the living,” the old man repeated.
For several minutes, Nihal lay there, her heart struggling to find its rhythm.
When she finally managed to sit up, she was still breathing heavily.
“This is what you have to face,” said Megisto, betraying no emotion. “I’ll be here tomorrow night, if you’d like to try again.”
Nihal nodded, rose to her feet, and walked away without a word, her legs trembling, her body gripped with cold.
When she reached Oarf in the thick of the forest, she fell forward and leaned her head on her dragon’s chest.
The following day, Nihal told herself she wouldn’t be going back to Megisto. Why should she have to go through that terrible experience again? She was trying to get her life back in order, and it was already hard enough as it was. The old man was right. She was still seeking her own path. That was what she needed to focus on, not on Dola. And yet …
She was the only one capable of defeating him. And she couldn’t run away forever. The moment to settle up with the nightmares of her past had arrived. Courage, that was what she needed. Courage.
And so, with her stomach in a knot, she decided to push onward. Destroying Dola was all that mattered. It was her chance to conquer the past.
The second evening, she thought she was going to die. This time her ghostly visions were joined by the spirits of her massacred people, her past horrors blending with the new. She was able to withstand the force, but could not produce the Inextinguishable Shadow, could not overcome the downward drag of her memories.