Sepherrin

The men behind him were afraid. He could smell their fear, taste it like the salt in the air all about him. He could hear the beating of their hearts, feeble as fireflies in the storm. Mashal, the fat one, he wore his pride about him like a suit of armor, as if it might hide his fear from the world beyond. So it was with them all: some too stubborn, others too vain to share their dread. The tall one, the bold one, Sulpher, he was unafraid. His shield was arrogance, not pride, and it blinded him to all his men could plainly see. He would die a fool, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not now, not here.

Sepherrin did not run from the memories as they reached out to him from the yawning mouth of the spire, like lovers from long ago, come to greet him with arms extended. Or like the phantoms of days gone by, grasping for him with wicked, curling fingers and bared teeth. Instead, he stood at the prow of the boat, like a stoic martyr out of some bard’s fable, braving the rigors of remembrance.

A long flight of stairs rose up from the lapping water to the familiar archway, with the rose graven upon its face. Against these white stones, the oarsmen braced the boat, and a rope was cast around the head of a nearby statue.

“I like this not at all,” Sulpher was whispering to Mashal, as the party disembarked. “This is madness, and your friend is a sorcerer, or worse.”

Madness, Sepherrin agreed in the vast silence of his mind. Madness and grief.

He stepped off the boat and, hesitant, the men followed. There were no whispers now, as his footsteps began the long ascent to the great arch that waited, opening into the dark within. Of the six behind him, four bore torches. Others clutched nervously at the hilts of their swords.

“What…” began Mashal, his round features glistening with sweat, despite the cool breeze that buffeted his cloak. “What shall we be finding within? Is there danger?”

“Hold fast to your light and hold fast to me. Keep your weapons at the ready. You will not be harmed.”

The men followed on as he led them higher, step after step. Somewhere along the way, Sulpher spat in disgust. Eventually, the portal was upon him.

From the ship, the archway might have been a small window in the face of seemingly endless stone and marble. From up close, it was a towering gateway, fit for a giant, tall enough to dwarf even the greatest of men. Beyond its graceful edges, the darkness was complete: Not a flicker, not a glimmer, not even the faintest of memory of light lingered within the expanse beyond, a vastness of space felt and not seen.

At the portal’s edge, even the wind seemed hesitant, unwilling to venture further. Where the torches strove at the overbearing darkness, the marble floor continued seamlessly. Yet there was a seam of sorts there, Sepherrin knew, a line drawn across the very fabric of reality. The stone beneath their feet was wet from the kiss of the sea. But beyond the cusp of the portal, in a straight line, end to end, the water dried, leaving the stones beyond untouched, dry with the dust of centuries.

* * *

The Ballentine was silent as she lay upon the glass like waters, save for the odd creak of contracting wood that would rise out of the hull to disturb the stillness. The woman lingered in Sulpher’s cabin as she’d been bid. On the deck above her, men spoke in hushed whispers, or not at all, some crowding the starboard rail, others finding the bridge, and one or two taking vantage from upon the crow’s nest. The waiting had begun.

She wrapped a cloak about her nakedness and took up her own vigil by the porthole. Out there, the monstrosity rose out from the sea like a mythic kraken out of legend, but it had a different terror. It was unknown, dark and beautiful. Its mystery held a seduction.

Yet she was not contented by it. She could spy the little boat with its precious cargo, rocking gently by the stair column, four bright sparks of light marking it out through the gloom of the night. As she watched the distant figures ascend, watched the four brands wink out as they passed into the shadow within, she felt a stab in the base of her spine.

It was fear.

* * *

He walked in two worlds. The one was dark and foreboding, with only dust and silence to fill the cavernous spaces. There was no laughter here, no sparkle in the fountains they passed along the way, no songs ringing softly from the benches where lovers would sit, their words and shy glances making music of a different sort.

The other world was as it had once been, as he saw it in his mind’s eye. It was bright, filled with light and hope and laughter. He could see the young women as they passed along the broad roads, like wisps in the forest, in their summer dresses, with their spring time smiles. He saw the children as they ran and played, spinning circles around their mothers, whose soft hands even now seemed familiar.

But in this world he was the phantom, and not they. This was the world before grief had taken it, and he could not bear to look upon all that was lost. He imagined he saw the accusation in the eyes of those he passed. The lovers on the benches, the women in the streets, the sages in the balconies. He imagined he saw them, looking to him, blaming him for the death of all that was beautiful in the world.

”Forgive me,” he whispered to the phantoms, in a tongue that only they could understand.

But they did not hear, and they did not care, and they did not see him. There was only one world, after all. One world, from which the beauty had gone, and only memories lingered in Sepherrin’s mind.

For his companions, those darkened halls brought different struggles. Even as he contended with his quiet demons, they contended with the guardians of the Spire. Like moths drawn to the flames of their torches, the guardians came to them, singly or in groups. But they were behind them now, save for one, save for the last. He had crossed all doors and broken all seals. There remained now only one: The place where he had lied to a generation.

And look now, he had lied again. He had promised these men safety, as they followed him into this great crypt, all that was left of the best of the world. But already, Grady was dead. Of the six that had followed him, only four remained. They always died, Sepherrin reflected, almost bitter. But it was a bitter road he walked and one man’s death would not stop him

Before him, the great vault extended: a passage without end, lit by torches that never died. By his side, Angranosti paced wild-eyed, his gaze furiously scanning the countless arches that opened into the vault, searching for any sign of the ever-present threat.

“Turn back, by my mother’s eyes, I beg you! This is not the place we agreed upon.” Mashal said.

“We agreed upon a journey. I spoke of waysides,” he replied, sure of his man. “Do you wish to renege upon your word?”

“Never! But one is dead… at least… let us return for more men. Or woe upon the children of Mashal Angranosti, for his grave shall be unmarked!”

“Leave it lie, Master,” a voice spoke. It was Sulpher. Of them all, this man had seemed to harden the most through the trek, accepting, and ready, with his sword in his hand. “He could give a piss about whether we live or die. And the men won’t come, not when they see Grady’s not with us. There’ll be mutiny if you tell me to force them.”

But Sepherrin barely heard him. His step had faltered. They had come upon the place he had been dreading the most.

It stood before him like a monument to his guilt. Like the first, this door was tall, taller than any door ought to be, and arched. The wood was unstained, unmarked; it might have been laid yesterday.  The final door, the final seal.

His companions could sense, in a crude, primitive way, the majesty and the significance of this last of portals. But they did not understand it, and how could they? How could anyone? Save for Sepherrin, whose hand had wrought it.

“Wait for me here,” he said. “You have passed the last of your trials in this place. Beyond is for me alone.”

“Good fucking riddance,” muttered Sulpher, as he let his sword clatter to the floor, soon joining it himself, cross-legged.

Mashal was less eager, less certain, “I know nothing in this terrible place. Who will say if the shadows will come again?”

“Soon,” said Sepherrin, as he parted the final seal, opened the final door, “There will be an end to all shadows.”

Soon, he thought to himself,  there will be an end.

* * *

The chamber was circular, and not so vast as the others. Tier upon tier, balconies of grey marble ringed its perimeter, rising one upon the other, higher and higher, till they became lost in the darkness that was the roof. In the center, a simple coffin of stone lay upon the floor, a rose graven upon it, in full bloom, etched with the most exquisite of care.

Before this edifice, Sepherrin stood, in silence, and in mourning. At length, he spoke, his voice ringing hollow as it echoed through the chamber, “I have come for the key.”

Behind him, from a balcony, a silver circlet came clattering to the floor. He turned.

“Tesepherrinthias Arandaemos Curinae,” a voice called from the shadows, the figure behind it shifting forward into the light. This voice, at last, was real, “I know why you have come. You shall not have it.”

“You would defy your king?” Sepherrin asked the other, willing the iron to return to his words, but he could not feel it.

“King?” the other asked. His features were slender, and fine, his eyes grey, his hair dark. They could have brothers, this strange man and he. They might have been, but that day had passed. “I see no King. Only a betrayer.”

“And your friend?” Sepherrin asked.

The man upon the balcony leapt from it to find the floor. “My friend was the greatest man who ever lived. He defied a God and won life for a world that did not deserve it. He bore his burdens well. You? You are just a shell, a phantom come to this city of ghosts, to undo all that he did.”

“You don’t understand!” Sepherrin said, fingers clenching into fists, “You were not there!”

The memory rose up unbidden, and as the rising tide, it would not be denied. He saw her in his mind’s eye, as beautiful as any creature that ever was, and more precious. He saw the look on her face, the fear, the hurt of betrayal. He watched as the tears grew great in the green of her eyes. And after all these years, he heard her pleas again.

Please, I beg you… not this. Please?

He felt a stab at his chest like a fist crushing around his heart, pain lancing through all that was decent in him, all that had the capacity to care. More quietly, he said, “She was your daughter.”

“Yes,” said the other, his own eyes more subdued. “This is as true today as it was then. Your choice was the right one, when you made it. Why do you falter now, after all this time?”

Sepherrin shook his head, “The price was too high, even then. But we were resolute… I’ve had enough, Teresin. I am… tired. I want peace. For her, for you, for all of us.”

“And for all the rest? Those that live under the sun and know nothing of what guards them, those that have lives and dreams and hopes enough to fill a world?” Teresin asked.

“For them, I have given all I could. I can endure this no longer.”

For a long moment, Teresin was silent, but then he shook his head, “Forgive me old friend. I cannot give you your release. You may have forgotten, but I still remember. I remember the Sun. Not for you, not for her, will I lay down my shield.”

* * *

“It’s been hours. He’s dead or gone. Either way, we should quit this place before we join the corpses.” Sulpher said. He felt his contempt for his employer rise like bile in his throat. The man was sweating like a pig, and he kept licking his lips and searching the shadows. But the stubborn bastard would not leave.

The men too had almost had enough. There was something about this place that was unhealthy, unwholesome, like a weight hanging over all their shoulders, pressing them down. He was about to open his mouth again when behind them, the great door parted once again, and the skeletal man emerged from within.

Sulpher didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. Certainly, he felt a bit of both as he found his feet. There was an odd look on Sepherrin’s normally unreadable face. Haunted, someone might have said. In one hand, he held a small wooden case, and in the other, a silver circlet, glittering with precious stones set in a straight line.

The others too rose at the man’s approach, and Mashal seemed almost ready to kiss the man’s boots. But he said not a word when he arrived, stopping to stare at each of their faces.

“For your troubles,” he said, in a dull voice, as he tossed the circlet to the floor by Mashal’s feet. It glittered there, the bright fire of diamonds.

Sulpher tore his eyes from the thing on the floor and looked to his companions. Mashal’s eyes had gone as wide as saucers, and the greed writ plain on his fat lipped face. The others simply stared with open mouths. “What is it?” Sulpher found himself asking.

Sepherrin’s voice was definitely bitter, strangely strangled, even as he began to walk away, down the passage from which they had come. “It is the crown of the greatest man who ever lived.”

…

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