Chapter 54. In Torment

endaran stirred from an uneasy nap, opening one eye to peer upon the hideous landscape. Stiff and cold, he somehow cajoled his body into sitting up and he rummaged now through his hastily prepared pack until he found his water flask and took a small sip of his dwindling supply. Nothing lived here that was not demonic. When he saw water it was reminiscent of the tar that had gathered after the Searing, putrid and deadly. As for food, there was nothing he would eat, dead or alive, that dwelt there.

He clasped the crystal that hung over his ragged clothing. He could no longer wear it against his skin for it burned at times and cut him at others. Currently it was cool to the touch but when he removed it and held it up, it glowed brilliantly in the direction of a distant structure. The only problem was the massive waves of demonic spawn that lay between him and the low spike-crowned building. There might be a way if he moved toward the cliffs and skirted around, but it would add hours to his journey and he was exhausted. Every movement was an effort, the air was bitter in his lungs. The short nap had not revived him.

After scanning the black rocks and scorched spikes of what he assumed were plants, Pendaran rose with a groan to his feet. His favorite pair of boots were ruined, shredded when he had crossed a plain of obsidian. They were beyond repair and offered little protection now. He limped stiffly toward an imposing wall of jagged stone, leaning on his staff like an old man. Poor Zhou condemned to dwell here for eternity. Even the meanest prison cell had more comforts.

The swollen angry ball of the hellish sun had not shifted from its lofty perch. It was a mockery of the one he remembered, a bleeding sore on a ghastly green sky. Its heat baked the back of his head until he sought shade only to freeze for want of it.

“I’m going to die here and no one will know,” he thought bitterly, cursing Threnody under his breath. He had been mad, he remembered that, but the privation and purpose of his journey had restored some of his focus. Truthfully, he had no business coming here alone. But it was too late for regret. The only thing that kept him moving was the knowledge that he would find Zhou and perhaps the two of them could escape together. And if not that, he could lie down at his master’s feet and die beside him. No one could accuse him of not trying to help.

Pausing at the edge of a stagnant black river, he cursed as his eyes traced the length of the shoreline. He would once more have to follow it for miles out of his way to get around it and reach the cliffs. He could wade or swim across if he wanted to risk what might be living in the rancid water. Pendaran knelt at the water’s edge, gazing down into the inky depths and seeing nothing more than his haggard reflection. There was no way to gauge how deep it was by sight. Gingerly he lowered is staff into the water, disappointed to find it was chest height at his current location. There would be no gentle acclimation. He would either have to jump in and pray he could make it to the other side, or walk around.

He laid his pack on the shore and gingerly backed up onto the ledge. Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself into the bilious water and shuddered as it crawled around his flesh and soaked his clothing. The cold lifeless substance drew a curse to his lips and he gasped, clinging to the land for a moment as he tried to overcome its sting. Nothing for it, he would have to move to the other bank before it stole all of his heat and energy. Grasping his pack and staff, he held them over his head and waded up to his armpits the short distance to the opposite side.

Roughly half way, something brushed his thigh and he panicked. The water was so black he could not see his body beneath the surface. He had no clue what might have found him but he was determined to be gone before he found out. He rushed forward, his goal only twenty paces away. His feet found empty space, the ground falling away unseen beneath them and he plunged headlong under the surface with a muffled cry.

Now he could see what lay below the surface. Skeletal fish and worms, hideous leeches drifting toward him, fist sized and hungry. He had not seen them until he was fully submerged and now they were clear as day, latching onto his flesh and seeking his blood. Thrashing in the open water, he surfaced with a gasp and kicked away, abandoning his pack in order to swim to safety.

“Wait for me, Pen,” said a child’s voice behind him. He dared not stop. Not while he was in the water. A moment later his legs and arms grated against jagged rock and he hauled himself onto the shore, exhausted and horrified. Drawing the knife he kept at his belt, he grimly forced himself to cut away the leeches, crying out as each released their teeth and burst with a vile odor in his trembling hands.

“Pen, help me!” the little girl’s voice cried.

Trembling with cold and horror, he dared to look back at the water. She was ghostly pale, translucent in the gruesome light of the unmoving sun. A child, perhaps seven summers old, she paddled toward him. Swallowing, he crawled further up the steep bank and sat on his hams as the brutal heat of the sun drove away the icy chill of the fetid water.

“Who are you?” he asked, having no energy to scream or shout at her. Nothing good dwelt in this place, he knew this now.

“Aramathxes,” she piped, “You’re here to save me.”

“I doubt that,” he replied, too tired to back away as she crawled lightly out of the water and stood beside him. She was half his height, petite and possibly adorable were it not for the fact that she was a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when she sat possessively beside him and said nothing.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I’m lost and I can’t find my mommy. Do you know where she is?”

“No. I don’t even know where I am. What is her name?”

The little girl sighed and began to weep. Pendaran stripped off his sodden shirt, clasping the crystal as he let the brutal sun dry his hair and breast and warm his innards. When she realized he was not responding to her outburst, the girl grew silent, her moonlit eyes watching him lay out his clothes until he was stripped to his breeches.

“So, Ara, how long have you been here?”

“Since I was corrupted,” she murmured.

“How long is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“A long time? Days? Weeks?”

She glanced at the motionless sun and shrugged, indicating time had no meaning there.

“A long time.”

Pendaran sighed and gathered up his legs, pressing his chin against his knees. A child’s concept of a long time could be anything from an hour to a year. Who was she, and how had she known his name?

“Is Aramathxes your true name?”

She nodded sagely.

“Do you know anything about this place?”

“It’s bad,” she offered, “I want to go home. Will you take me home with you?”

“Your name is demonic and I’m through helping your kind. And I don’t care if you look like a cute little girl. I know what you are.”

She simpered and began to weep. Pendaran sighed and gathered up his almost dry clothes and put them back on. His boots were still squelchy, so he resolved to wait around until the sun dried them out. He glanced back at the inky water imaging the leeches crawling over his lost pack and water bottle.

“If you make yourself useful, I might consider helping you,” he told the girl, “but if you try to betray me or trick me, so help me, I will abandon you.”

“I will help,” the child said, “Here.”

She lifted a chunk of black stone the size of her head as if it were no more than a pebble. With a faint incantation, she turned it in her hands until it blurred and a cloud of dust rose from it. A porcelain thin bowl emerged from the dust and she held it out to him. With another strange syllable, it filled with clear water.

Pendaran hesitated, then took the offering, sniffing the water suspiciously. It smelled of rain and moldering leaves and fresh loam. He was parched and he thirsted for the water, imagining its soft coolness. Trembling, he took a small sip and swooned at its sweetness. It was snow melt ripened amid the roots of a great forest, pure and full of life. He drank of it gratefully, restored by its goodness.

And then he leaned over and wept, remembering the forests of Ascalon and the beauty that was lost to the world. He wanted to go home where none existed and walk upon moss and leaf litter and linger in dappled sunlight streaming through ancient trees.

“It’s alright, Pen,” the little girl said softly, “I’ll take care of you.”

“I have to find Zhou. I have to get him out of here.”

“I know. Let me help.”