As they
stepped through the massive double doors leading into the imposing step pyramid
at the heart of Enoch Ellis found himself feeling very, very small indeed. If he had thought that the city itself was
impressive beyond his most elaborate imaginings, then the Temple was whole
orders of magnitude greater.
The size of
everything was the first thing to hit him: how the corridors dwarfed all those
who walked them, save for the Fallen themselves who seemed to grow in stature
with each stride; how the statues which lined their procession stood like
ageless Titans, watching and judging each second, each step; how the sound of
their progress echoed into untold distance, as if it might go on forever, and
who knew what might be listening to it.
But the scale was not all that was so awe-inspiring; there was also the
detail. Every inch seemed alive with
carvings in platinum, gold and silver, precious and semi-precious stones of
many colours and the polished granite itself, here a warm red colour where
outside it had been black.
As he paused
beside the base of one statue, Ellis tried to examine some of this carving, but
each scene, each glyph, each piece of scrollwork, seemed to flow organically
into the next, so that nothing could be followed without viewing the whole work
and since that work was the Temple itself any part of it you viewed, no matter
how vast, was incomprehensible and belittling.
It was as if the whole purpose of the structure was to make its visitors
feel weak and insignificant and in this regard, Ellis thought, it had achieved
perfection. It was as if he was
shrinking in on himself and, as he glanced at his companions, he saw that they
too seemed to have lost some of their usual confidence. Siren in particular seemed to be struggling
with the scale of it all. Her
expression was weary, confused, uncertain.
Ellis’ heart went out to her, but in the vastness of that corridor he
didn't have the confidence to approach.
The corridor
seemed to stretch on for a lot longer than it seemed it should have, given the
size of the exterior of the temple and Ellis was reminded of the Silverspire
and the way its corridors and chambers did not obey the usual laws of
space. In the Temple of the Fallen,
however, he did not get the impression of space being distorted in the same way
and so he wondered if the structure he had seen 'outside' had in fact been a
facade for a much larger complex excavated further into the Shoals. Again, the enormity of the effort involved
in constructing such a thing sent his mind reeling.
Eventually the
corridor reached another set of double doors and, unlike those at the entrance
to the temple, these were already standing wide open to reveal a gigantic
chamber beyond. Ellis paused on the
threshold, trying to take it all in, but succeeding once more in only picking
up fragmentary details rather than the true whole.
Like the rest
of the temple it was walled with warm red granite, carved in intricate detail
and polished to a soft gleam. Also like
the rest of the temple, and like the city before it there were statues and
gargoyles and other figures on almost every surface. Some of the statues were so enormous it was difficult to see
their faces properly, but Ellis was confident that they represented members of
the Fallen from some age before this one.
One of them even seemed to resemble Broken-Hope a little, although he
couldn't be certain. To one side of the
chamber there was an ornate dais upon which sat a golden throne and around
which were circled twelve silver white chairs of lesser stature. Anywhere else such a set up would have
reeked of power and opulence. It would
have been the centre of attention and the obvious point of the room towards
which to progress. In this mighty
chamber, however, it seemed deliberately diminished. The throne was tiny in comparison to the statuary around it, the
dais was insignificant and its position in the room, towards the side and quite
deliberately off centre, made it seem as if it had been pushed aside and
forgotten. Ellis wondered what it could
mean.
In the centre
of the chamber, in an open space devoid of decoration, save for a golden mosaic
on the floor, stood a group of about twenty robed Fallen, gazing towards the
door with expressions which ranged from patient expectation to angry
annoyance. There was even one with the
appearance of a reddish-haired youth who wore a smile which was somehow
impossibly sad, but also strangely accepting.
If Ellis stared at him too long, he realised, he began to feel the same
way, but it was difficult to focus on any one of the beings for too long as their
sheer scale kept making him want to avert his eyes.
The chamber
was far too large to say that the Fallen filled it, and indeed they were none
of them taller than the tallest statues, but they were still many, many times
the size of an average human and something about the way they held themselves,
about the way the world almost seemed to resonate around them, made their
appearance all the more imposing. These
were beings who commanded great power and were not to be trifled with. Ellis could only wonder at what they were
getting themselves in for by being involved with such creatures.
Broken-Hope
and Once-Scorned led the way into the chamber now, their pace quickened by the
sight of their brethren before them, and, as they did so, their gradual process
of growing in height and build as they had progressed along the corridor seemed
to complete itself and they rose up to be the equals of those who awaited
them. Ellis tried not to cower as he
approached.
“You summoned
us here, Broken-Hope.” The Fallen who
spoke had a voice which was both a human voice of authority and an unearthly
voice like a thundering waterfall and a chorus of stars. He stood very slightly taller than the
others, with a dark complexion and dark hair, but a robe of burnished
gold. “For what reason?”
“As you can
see, I have brought with me some of the prisoners we apprehended on the deck of
the Ya’Ma’Khul. Once-Scorned and
I have interrogated them and we feel that they may be of use to us in removing
the Lich which stalks the Shoals above.”
The assembled
Fallen looked around at each other slowly and in silence and Ellis wondered if
some hidden communication was going on between them. If so, then they were interrupted, however, by Once-Scorned
suddenly adding, “Broken-Hope embellishes the truth. I did not agree.”
The
expressions of the other Fallen flickered for a moment and then they continued
their silent moot. After a few moments
the dark-skinned Fallen spoke again.
“You made this
decision as an individual, then, as is our way, so why have you called us
here?”
“Because I
will need your help as much as you need mine,” came the suddenly very
thin-sounding voice of the Former Baron.
Ellis glanced at him in amazement, wondering how he could speak at all
before these giants, but more astonishing, the old Philosopher continued, “and
because it is impolite not to greet one’s guests.”
There was
another flicker of changing expressions across the host of the Fallen, making
it seem almost as if there were thunder clouds roiling over their heads. Then a white-haired figure in grey robes
spoke in a voice like an erupting volcano, fired with anger, “You dare to
accuse us, imposing your will on our free desires?”
“It was not an
accusation,” Von Spektr continued, sounding bolder the more he spoke, “it was
merely an observation of fact. Common
courtesy is recognised the world over and its disregard ill fits beings whose
claim to greatness matches your own.”
The Fallen’s
faces continued to flicker angrily above him, but the Former Baron seemed to
have completely regained his composure now and so he dusted off his jacket for
a moment, then continued, “I noticed as I was walking here that you have a lot
of glyphs concerning a member of your number going by the name of
Reason-Unbound and it seemed to me that he had some interesting insights on the
nature of hypostatick energy and its role in the ongoing processes of the
universe,” he paused then, looking down at his feet once more, almost, it
seemed to Ellis, for dramatic effect.
When he looked up again it was with a smile on his face as he asked “So,
do you happen to have a Type IV Hypostatick and Aetherick Accelerator in this
city of yours, or not?”
Gulliver tried
to swallow, but his mouth was completely dry.
It felt like the mere sight of the hideous, skeletal creature before him
ought to be enough to kill him, but, as he stared into those hollow eyes, that
laughing, fleshless smile, he found that he was still alive and unable to do
anything about it.
“Your brother
advised that I would probably find you with this rabble,” the Lich said, its
horrible voice making Gulliver’s skin crawl, even as it lured him forwards
another few steps, “you’re lucky, really.
It seems you are one of the ones he would quite like alive.”
“Y-Yeah,”
Gulliver managed, finding his tongue and enough moisture from somewhere to work
it, “m-my brother’s always been nice like that.”
The Lich
laughed, and Gulliver found himself wanting to cry. He didn’t think he had ever been as scared before in his life and
he knew that it had been a life filled with diverse and wondrous terrors.
“You’re going
to be entertaining,” the Lich continued, clicking its bony fingers together so
that the purple energy that crackled all around it arced between each digit, “I
can tell.”
“D-do Liches
n-need much entertainin'?” Guliver asked, trying to think how he was ever going
to escape.
The Lich
laughed again as he answered, “I’ve spent the last five hundred years trapped
within Coldsolace Keep with naught but my own kind to keep me company. Do have any idea how dull the rattling bones
of kings and the dusty remains of Philosophers get after that length of time?
This is the most fun I’ve had in half a millennium!”
"Well,"
Gulliver replied, "I'm g-glad you're enjoyin' yourself. Can you let me go now?"
"Oh
no," the Lich replied, his deathshead grin becoming somehow more wicked,
"you're coming with me and then you're going to help me find that little
wench who calls herself a captain."
"What do
you want with Siren?"
"Personally,"
the Lich's bony shoulders approximated a shrug, "but Harker wants her
pretty badly, and he's the one 'paying' for my release, so to speak. It helps to appease these types, for a while
at least."
"B-but, I
don't know w-where she is!"
"I don't
suppose that matters much, does it? Not
when you're going to be used as bait, eh?"
It was all
worse than Gulliver could imagine.
Whilst he had to admit that not getting his entrails torn out was a
bonus, he couldn't let himself be used by this monster to hurt Siren. He could accept almost anything, he thought,
but not that.
"I won't
do it!" he cried, "You'll 'ave to kill me!"
"No,"
the Lich replied calmly, "no I won't.
You see, I know you'll do exactly as I say."
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please let me know what you think of this episode!