Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 26 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two / Chapter Twenty-Three / Chapter Twenty-Four / Chapter Twenty-Five 

Chapter Twenty-Six – The Truth Inside You

Ewart Kona’s revelation stopped Toru only for a moment. “So, you’ve always hidden behind the appearance of a human?”

The domestikos moved soundlessly over the floor and sat on a long bench made of stone. His old face seemed so at peace in the light of the torches on the walls that it could have fooled anyone. “To explain my nature to you would be to explain the universe to the smallest maggot crawling on the face of the world. It would be completely fruitless.”

“Try me,” Toru said, setting his chin up in defiance. All the while, his eyes were adjusting and taking in his surroundings. Hekastfet could talk all he wanted, drunk on his power as he was, but that didn’t mean that Toru would just sit idly about. Before, generations and generations of tigers had destroyed this evil in front of him, or had at least chased it away. He had heard quite clearly from Blayves’ mouth that his powers were greater than the powers of those who came before him, and he didn’t see why the head of the merchants would lie about such a thing.

It was all the same to him. He had no ancestors to worry about or learn from. They were nothing but mist and didn’t even have the persistence of an old memory. For him, they were as good as no one, and everyone he had never met in his life.

“Well, if you insist,” Ewart Kona said and placed his hands in his lap in what could have been interpreted as a pious gesture if it hadn’t been for the look of evil glee in his eyes. “You see, Toru, Nelsikkar with its house of Olliandran, was a thorn in my side for a long time, but little by little, I got closer and closer and discovered where my enemy lay in wait. It was so easy to destroy them all, it wasn’t even very rewarding when I think about it now.” He threw his head back and a gurgle of strange laughter left his mouth. “Unlike the house of Olliandran, I’ve only grown smarter over the millennia. I used to believe I only needed to grow and grow, when what I truly needed was to transform.”

“To take the body of some old man,” Toru spat in disgust. “Is that all your so-called power can do?”

His insult seemed to have hit home, as Ewart Kona stopped laughing to take a better look at him. “Not just this old man,” he said cheerfully, “but many others before him.”

“But if you’re here, how come you were also in Whitekeep, and Fairside, and Shroudharbor?”

“Ah, you see, foolish tiger, that is why you cannot understand my nature, no matter how you may try. I can be everywhere.” He opened his arms wide in a gesture of grandeur.

Toru followed the lines of the walls, the shadows thrown by the torches on their dark surfaces. It was a place like a tomb, but he wasn’t scared. Ewart Kona, or Hekastfet, or whatever name he liked to go by, might believe that it was ideal for him to have his mortal enemy right here, but that was just the thing Toru wanted. They were facing each other, and they were caught in the same tight space, which meant that only one of them would walk out alive at the end of it all. Toru very much intended to be the one to do so; he had his friends and lovers to meet again, and as exquisite as the foods served at the domestikos’ table had been, he wanted very much to try all the incredible dishes Scercendusa had to offer. Such was his optimism regarding his chance of success once he went against this old, demented evil.

“You cannot be too strong if you’re everywhere at the same time,” Toru said.

“You’re very wrong about that.” Ewart Kona rose from the bench and began pacing the floor in the same soundless manner. It was as if his physical body didn’t touch the ground.

Toru frowned at that realization. Surreptitiously, he moved close to one of the walls and grabbed a torch from its place. Ewart Kona had his back to him and didn’t flinch when Toru threw the torch toward him. The image of the domestikos flickered and turned into smoke. A thin trail of it rose from the torch now lying on the floor.

The domestikos materialized again, this time close to Toru. “It took you long enough to realize it. I’m everywhere and nowhere, tiger. Do you still believe that you can defeat me?”

“You’re here for a reason,” Toru said slowly. “You need this city.”

Ewart Kona laughed and disappeared only to reappear moved to Toru’s left. “Not anymore. You know, I’m actually quite grateful that you came to me. It helps exceedingly that I didn’t have to hunt you down all over Eawirith. Yes, you are the one helping me become the most powerful I’ve ever been. How does that make you feel?”

Toru had learned a lot during his travels with his friends. Hekastfet must have thought him a foolish tiger, but that wasn’t what he was. Now that he knew he was only dealing with some projection and not the real incarnation of the evil the domestikos of Scercendusa represented, there was no point in entertaining this ghost.

He began walking along the walls, his eyes and fingers ever searching for signs of something that could help him find a way out.

“Don’t waste your time,” Ewart Kona said. “This will be your tomb.”

Toru paid him no mind. Walls were nothing but polished stone, put together by talented builders. And all those stones had to be held together like that by mortar. His fingers rested at the line between two stones. He slowly probed the small space in between, the softer material, even if there was so little of it.

“What are you doing?” the domestikos asked.

Toru continued to ignore him. Blayves couldn’t have spoken in vain when he named him the most powerful of the tigers. He moved backward, enough so that he could gain the momentum he needed and rushed into the wall, one shoulder first. The stones shifted slightly under the force of the blow.

“Are you willing to break your bones in a fruitless attempt to break free from your fate? And I was sure you would die slowly of starvation.”

Toru no longer cared what the shadow of the domestikos wanted to tell him. He had grown stronger during the time that had poured past between his entering into Whitekeep and now. Another blow, and the sound of falling sand could be heard, another sign that while he was not yet there, soon the wall would give way under his strength.

“I can conjure new walls to capture you,” Ewart Kona said. “And I don’t need to put much effort into it.”

This time, when Toru hit the wall, the stones seemed to rearrange themselves, becoming stronger and tougher. It wasn’t enough to discourage him, though. Of course, Hekastfet would try to make it so that he lost hope, but that only gave him more reason to think. If it was so easy for the domestikos to create walls, and he was nothing but a phantasm, didn’t that mean that everything he created was the same?

Toru stopped his assault on the wall and crossed his arms. The more he looked at the wall, the more impenetrable it seemed, which meant that whatever dark magic the domestikos was weaving, it could seep into his mind and infect it, as well. The choice was clear. Instead of staring helplessly at the wall in front of him, he searched for clues useful for achieving his escape everywhere around.

Suddenly, his eyes fell on the skin of his forearms. There were still traces of gold from the bath Midnight had given him, a bath that felt like it had been a long time ago. Toru rubbed his fingers over the marks and when he lifted his hand, a small trail of golden smoke rose from them.

Guided by nothing but instinct, he moved toward the wall and put his hand against its smooth surface. The trail of gold floated for a moment and then began moving along the wall as if it had a mind of its own. Toru watched in fascination as what looked like runic inscriptions from an ancient time appeared on the stones.

“No!” Ewart Kona said abruptly. “Touch those stones again, and you’ll be dead in moments.”

Toru smirked. Like he could believe anything his immortal enemy said. The gift the Sakka had given him was still there, and now was the right time to use it. He couldn’t explain why or how, but his heart was telling him to go on. So, he placed both his hands on a pair of runes, and the inscriptions floated from the wall, lifted into the air and then combined. Emboldened by his success, Toru began touching more and more pairs. Sometimes, he failed, and then he went on to touch two others. Again, and again.

Ewart Kona materialized in front of him, trying to obscure the wall from his view. Toru waved impatiently, making the phantasm disintegrate for a few moments, enough for him to continue his work. The symbols floated together in the air, forming a circle that began to swirl as soon as there were no more runic inscriptions left on the wall for him to touch. They moved faster and faster, and Toru watched, his heart filled with hope, while Ewart Kona continued to try to stop him to no avail.

“You cannot do this! Stop it! You shouldn’t have their protection anymore!”

Toru was certain the domestikos was talking about the Sakka.

“You’ll only find another wall beyond this one,” Ewart Kona said, “and another one, and another one.”

“Let there be walls. They won’t stop me,” Toru told him.

The symbols above their heads ceased their dance suddenly and joined together. The ray of light bursting from their joining was so bright that any ordinary human would have had to close his eyes so that he didn’t go blind. But Toru was no ordinary human, and he didn’t close his eyes. He just watched as the ray of light turned into a giant hammer made from liquid flame. Toru didn’t hesitate for a moment. He grabbed it instead. It felt light, yet powerful, in his hands. He walked toward the wall and raised the hammer, breaking the stones under the force of his swing. They didn’t turn into gravel and dust, as could be expected, but into mist the color of tar.

***

The large gates gave in at the first push. Varg traded a glance with Claw, who shrugged and gestured to him with his chin. Behind them, the clamor from the guards trying to keep the maddened crowds at bay seemed like a faraway noise.

“I’d say we should hurry before we have the entire city as company,” Claw suggested, and Varg couldn’t agree more.

The large hallway opening before them looked like the maw of a strange animal, dark and humid.

“Do you smell that?” Claw asked and sniffed the air.

“What?” Varg knew that his sense of smell was unparalleled in the world of humans, but Claw was one who beat him when it came to that.

“There’s a smell of death,” Claw replied.

Varg inhaled as deeply as he could. Indeed, a fetid scent drifted to them, and it had to come from the depths of that wide open maw. “What do you think this is?” he whispered his question.

“Call me names and slap me silly, puppy, but I think I know this smell.”

“How so?” Varg asked. He hadn’t even finished his question when all the hairs on his back stood on end, and a sense of danger coursed through him.

Claw must have sensed the same thing, because he let his muzzle drop and growled menacingly. “It’s those damned merchants,” the bearshifter threw at him and pounced into the deep dark before them.

Varg didn’t wait for any other sign and lunged after Claw.

Before them, the dark hallway began to move and wail.

“Damned shifters!” a cavernous voice bellowed.

Something flew through the air, like the black sails of a ship careening toward them at incredible speed.

“We meet again, Master Blayves,” Claw said cheerfully.

Banshee screaming bled their ears, and Varg shook his head in an effort to regain his hearing. The confusion lasted for but a moment, and the next he was jumping toward the moving darkness. His eyes couldn’t make out what it was, but Claw’s shout of recognition told him everything he needed to know. They were going against the same evil they had encountered in Shroudharbor, the same evil that had tortured souls and killed many. The taste of impending revenge was sweet on his tongue, and he growled with the power of his entire pack.

Now nearer than before, the darkness moved, circling them, and Varg understood quickly that it was a flurry of robes that reminded him of the merchants without faces from Shroudharbor. They were running around him and Claw, faster and faster, making it impossible for them to see shapes or get to them with their claws and fangs.

“I didn’t forget about you, traitorous beast,” Blayves shouted. “You’ll finally meet your end here.”

“I don’t think so,” Claw replied. “Now, tell us, where can we find your master, once we defeat you?”

Varg admired Claw’s boldness, but it didn’t stop him from trying to make sense of the confusion of dark garments moving in closer and closer circles around them, ready to form a noose.

“My master is everywhere,” Blayves cried out. “Soon, you’ll be nothing but crumbling bones.”

“I thought I asked you a question,” Claw said.

Varg only had enough time to look up and shout to his friend, “Claw, watch out!”

From above, Blayves, or whatever that apparition was, descended like a dropped rock. Claw moved swiftly, and the merchant’s attire crashed into the floor, only to swirl and rise back to its feet. Varg could only tell that the garment hid the head of the house of merchants because of the voice coming out of it. Otherwise, it was impossible to see anything within it. Just as well, it could be a ghost animating it.

“My master,” Blayves gnarled, “is dealing with your foolish friend right now, choking him to death!”

Varg whispered before thinking, “Toru.”

“I doubt our friend would let himself be choked to death so easily. I believe that it is probably the other way around,” Claw said without abandoning his tense stance.

Just like him, Varg was working hard at keeping his wits about himself. The noose finally formed, and from everywhere, the garments pulled tightly around them, squeezing them. Without wasting any time, Varg bared his fangs and began using them to pull at the dark fabric. From the sound of ripping he could hear, Claw was doing the same. The surprising thing wasn’t that they were tearing through the merchants’ clothes as if they were nothing. No, they didn’t find themaelves tearing fabric with their fangs and claws, but flesh, putrid flesh that began falling at their feet.

Varg felt dizzy as the stench reached his nose. He shook his head again, in an effort to get rid of the sensation, but it was so powerful and his nose was too sensitive, so the only thing that came to mind to save himself was to shift into his human.

Claw seemed prey to the same difficulty and he shifted at the same time.

“Attack them!” Blayves ordered.

Under their horrified eyes, the putrid flesh rose from the floor and covered them. Varg batted at it with his arms as the disgusting stuff went over his face, entering his mouth and nose. The sounds Claw was making tore his soul apart, but that only made his horror turn into anger.

He tensed his entire body and willed himself to be what he had always been meant to be. If Claw had a trick up his sleeve, who was to say he didn’t have one of his own?

His powerful howl resonated against the walls, and the putrefying flesh of dead merchants was torn from his body, splintering into bits that crashed against the stony surface in a rain of disgusting sounds. He couldn’t stop howling at this point as he turned toward Claw whose body had been overcome by that horrifying enemy. His wolf tore through each piece, spitting it out and uncovering his friend beneath.

On his back, he could feel the hand of darkness gripping him and trying to pull him back. He didn’t stop his efforts, bent on freeing Claw, but the wraiths were at them again. There were so many, and they crawled over the bearshifter’s face, leaving nothing but an eye that stared at Varg in pain.

“I’m not losing you!” Varg growled and tore through the horrid flesh, crushing it between his teeth and spitting the venom out with each bite.

He felt Claw’s grip on his front right leg but ignored it. He knew what it meant, but he could just as easily pretend that he didn’t understand it. The wraiths encircled him, and now dozens of teeth were sinking into his hide, trying to get a piece of him. He was biting their flesh, so they were biting back. But they knew nothing of who he was and who they were going against.

One of his hind legs was bitten to the bone, and the sharp pain stopped him for a moment. He ground his teeth and continued his battle, through growls and curses. Claw’s grip on his front leg was weakening, so he redoubled his efforts.

He felt the hot breath right next to his ear a moment too late. A searing sting on the side of his neck drew a dark veil over his eyes. No, his mind screamed, as the inside of his mouth was overwhelmed by the same horrid stench and dying flesh.

He fell on his back, pulled down by forces beyond him, but as he did so, his eyes rolled to the ceiling, suddenly bright in that deep darkness. Bright? How could it be bright? It was night outside.

Yet, still, the ceiling looked as if it had caught on fire, and something descended from that powerful light so fast that if he had blinked, he wouldn’t have had the time to see it. It looked like a hand born of fire and it sped toward him. He closed his eyes and felt something hot crawling all over him. It only lasted for the blink of an eye, and the next thing he knew, he no longer felt anything.

Varg brought one hand up in front of his eyes. He was somehow back in his human form, although he couldn’t recall having shifted. Above him, the bright light flickered as if it was trying to tell him something.

No, he should be the one to open his mouth. “Thank you,” he whispered. He only had to turn his head to see Claw close to him, his entire body free of those horrible attackers.

The bearshifter smiled at him. “Friend of yours?” He pointed at the ceiling, or better said, the light.

Around them, the darkness receded. Varg couldn’t tell if the dead merchants had disappeared completely or not, but, for the moment, he was just glad to be alive and also thankful that Claw was in one piece, as well.

The light imploded, taking them by surprise, shaping itself into a small ball. They stared at it, astonished, as much because they were still alive, as because of what was taking place in front of their eyes. The ball expanded, elongated, and suddenly, two appendages burst from it. Varg looked closely. Did those look like feet? Small feet, like a child’s, and they were soon wrapped in scuffed shoes.

The ball dropped onto its feet and struggled for balance for a moment. Varg extended one arm to catch it, and the shape made a small pirhouette, eventually getting its bearings. Before they knew it, it finally formed itself into something that looked like a young child.

“I’ll be damned,” Claw whispered, echoing the same thing that crossed Varg’s mind at that moment. “Saved by a cub, of all things.”

The shape of light wasn’t so bright anymore, and it was now dusting the back of its pants with eagerness. Varg and Claw both gawked at their savior. Not quite a child, Varg realized, but some sort of dwarf. “Who are you?” he asked.

Their savior cleared his throat. “Master wolf, master bear, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Midnight, one of the Sakka, and his lordship Toru’s humble servant.”

“Midnight? Quite the name,” Claw commented. “Wait, his lordship? Toru? What company have we been keeping, puppy?”

Varg was just as flabbergasted by the whole thing as Claw was.

Midnight seemed to have remembered something because he suddenly lifted his head. For a few moments, he appeared to listen to something only his ears could catch. That allowed Varg the time necessary to examine their unlikely hero. Midnight stood barely three or four feet tall, and he wore the clothes of a street urchin. His face seemed the kind one sees at fairs, grimacing and going from pain to excitement at the drop of a hat for the entertainment of children. Yet, whatever had just happened was no amusement or fair trick.

“You must hurry,” Midnight said suddenly. “His lordship needs you.”

“Where is he?” Varg asked. “A bit of guidance would help at this point.”

Midnight pressed his palms together in front of his chest. “He’s here. But this is all I can do to help you. Please forgive me.”

“You just saved us from a gruesome fate. I’d say there’s no need to apologize. But before we rush to Toru’s help, can you tell us who you are? Who are the Sakka?”

“Truth keepers,” Midnight said mysteriously.

“How did you know we were here and in danger?” Claw added a question of his own.

“The truth inside you guides us,” Midnight added. “Please, hurry. Toru is fighting Hekastfet.”

The time for questions was over, and Varg didn’t want to prolong it, although so many new ideas were starting to swirl inside his head. Claw exchanged a short glance with him. They were of the same mind, and they needed to be on the run if what Midnight said was true.

And Hekastfet was a name to inspire fear, Varg thought. Something of how his heart sank upon hearing it told him as much. Midnight waved his arm and a path glowed through the dark, composed of magical inscriptions.

“This way, master wolf,” Midnight said. “Toru is running out of time.”

***

Duril observed with fearful eyes how people rolled onto the streets from their homes, while the fires spread everywhere. He no longer had to worry about the guards noticing him, especially since he was now running with the tide. There were so many people out in the streets that the guards’ attention was on them, and a lot of them poured through the feeble barricade the guards had tried to make, as water would through a dam about to break.

“To the domestikos’ palace!” they yelled, and that gave Duril the right idea about the place everyone was trying to reach.

“Save us, save us,” the crowds chanted, and Duril’s heart squeezed while beating like a hammer against the inside of his chest. The smoke was rising dark and thick, making the falling night even darker and thicker.

Here and there, someone was trampled and screamed. Duril could only be thankful for his decision to walk on the walls instead of the streets. But the smoke was getting in his eyes, too, making them water. He stumbled and fell to one knee, but got up quickly and continued running. What he was doing right now made little sense, but he knew in his heart that it was right. While his mind was telling him that maybe his friends weren’t even inside Scercendusa, his heart told him that they must be near. The Sakka were sure Toru would find his way inside, guided by them. And even if he was the only one inside now, Duril still needed to hurry to his rescue.

Maybe it was a bit ludicrous to believe that he would be a savior for Toru when he was so strong and amazing, but Duril knew, deep inside his soul, that the young tiger needed him. For that, he needed to continue running, even with his chest burning, and his eyes watering from the smoke. He could barely see, and only the sensation of his feet touching the ground guided him down the path he had to walk.

To his left, in the streets, the people were yelling and fighting the guards. Small brawls erupted everywhere, and it appeared that some were lost by those in charge of protecting the city. Everyone wanted to reach the domestikos’ palace, and that was where Duril needed to go, too.

His chest had other plans, however. Duril doubled over and fell to his knees. Was he that weak, after all? This couldn’t be the end, not like this, and not when Toru needed him.

The crowd below bellowed, frightened by something, but Duril couldn’t push himself back to his feet to see what it was. He fell, face down, and his fingers scrabbled at the smooth stones of the wall helplessly.

Then, a breeze blew over his face, and the smoke parted for a moment, allowing him to breathe freely. Was he losing himself now? Had it all been in vain? The smoke came back, flooding his chest and making him cough, but the breeze returned, while the horrified yells in the street continued.

“Healer, wake up,” a voice called to him, as the smoke was waved out of his eyes.

It took him great effort to look at the speaker. Duril lost his voice when he saw a pair of smooth, enormous eyes located to the sides of what had to be the head of a gigantic insect. Then, he looked farther up, to the antennas with their myriad tiny spikes. His awe soared as his eyes met something even more astonishing. Far above him rose a pair of the most beautiful butterfly wings he had ever seen in his life. There was blue, and red, and yellow, and purple, and gold, and Duril could only wondered how those colors could be so vibrant and how he could see them so plainly when there was darkness everywhere.

“I know I’m beautiful,” the butterfly spoke, “but there’s no time for pleasantries. Hop on my back, now.”

Duril was frozen in place, not knowing what to say or do.

“I’m Moth, don’t you recognize me?” the butterfly asked. “Now, healer.”

Duril pushed himself up and struggled to climb on the huge soft body. The small hairs on the butterfly’s back felt as thick as blades of grass. Duril grabbed a handful tightly to keep himself in place. “Moth?” he succeeded in eventually asking.

“The one and only,” the butterfly replied. “Now hold on, we’re going to fly to the domestikos’ palace.”

Duril wasn’t interested in asking any more questions. Below him, the streets grew smaller, with the crying crowds and warmongering guards shrinking away. Even the tall wall grew thinner, and Duril closed his eyes, overcome by a slight dizziness.

“I believe this is not the first time flying for you,” Moth said in a half-amused, half-scolding voice.

“Is Toru here? At the domestikos’ palace?” Duril asked and forgot about looking down.

“Yes. We got word from our brethren. He’s going against Hekastfet, as we speak, and he needs all your help.”

Duril didn’t question how Moth knew such a thing. The Sakka truly were amazing. And in the distance, he saw the tall towers of a citadel. That meant that his ride on Moth’s back would be shorter than he had thought.

***

Toru felt his muscles stretching to the point they threatened to break his bones, but he still lifted the huge hammer above his head to break through the walls still rising in front of him.

“Don’t you see,” Hekastfet’s false voice boasted, “your strength is nothing compared to mine.”

“All I see is that you have spent a lot of time playing the builder,” Toru joked even as his entire body screamed at him to take a break. “I’m going to get out of here, and you’ll be destroyed forever.”

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Hekastfet whispered with unhidden glee, “but what about the people outside? They’re all dying out there.”

Toru ground his teeth and continued his work. If this evil cared so much about trying to discourage him, it meant that he had a chance.

“Ah, maybe you don’t care about the people,” Hekastfet said softly, in a paternal voice, “as none of your ancestors did. But your friends are out there now, trying to get to you. What do you say, tiger? Don’t you care about them, either?”

This time, Toru stopped as the hammer fell on the wall. “You destroyed the city before,” he hissed. “Not tigers.”

“Ah, finally, someone recognizes my thirst for destruction. Of course, the Olliandran tigers were always blamed for it, but they didn’t realize they hadn’t caused the disappearance of this place, either. Should they have thought it through more carefully? Stopped their useless fight against me? I don’t see why. It’s been quite entertaining if I take a moment to think about it. My revenge will be so sweet now. Your friends will die by fire, along with all the rotten souls of Scercendusa.”

Toru didn’t even recognize his voice as his own, as he growled and raised the hammer. The weapon of flames went through the shadow of Hekasfet, cutting it in half.

Simultaneously, a gash split the floor and revealed beneath it a stair circling down.

TBC

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