The Path to Loss (Approaching Infinity Book 4) (7 page)

“Come and sit, Gim Peshil,” Fontessa said, in her deep, syrupy voice. “Enjoy the show with me. Who knows what may happen?”

Peshil glanced briefly at Rolst before stepping to join Fontessa upon the lounge, where she shifted to make room for him.

“Strange that I did not have earlier word of your coming,” she said, not taking her eyes off of the coupling immediately before her. “Though, I suppose cloud sea and the hour may be reason enough.”

He was having difficulty maintaining the correct amount of faux composure over faux panic. He realized then that something inside him had indeed changed. Besides the real anxiety of invasion—with which he was coping rather well, he thought—the petty adolescent awe he expected to experience when face to face with Fontessa melted away as soon as he sat down beside her. He bent down close to her and spoke in a low voice, in a tone that was proof against mockery.

“Sera Fontessa, Thrax Palonis is under threat. Earlier this evening, invaders from the sky, some of them giants, some riding giant beasts, arrived in my territory. One smashed in Jus Ordan’s face with the back of his hand. Another, a machine perhaps, penetrated Baro Suunts’s hide and killed him from within. Two alone then proceeded to attack me in my own castle, and in spite of the full power of the Light, drove me from my home. I have come here to warn you. I have come here to request your aid. You may believe or disbelieve as you will, but they have promised to take Thrax Palonis for their own.”

“Are you mad, Gim Pehsil? Did you come to me at this hour simply to inform me of your madness?”

Peshil stood, realizing that, though he’d hoped and intended to stay at least a day or two, he was done here. “As I said, you may do what you will with my warning. I came to you first because we have been…
friends
. What approaches requires the attention of every Shield on Thrax Palonis, but above all, it requires the attention of Chan Fa, the Everliving.” Peshil started back across the chamber the way he had come. “Good night to you, Sera Fontessa,” he said over his shoulder. “I hope that you and your territory fair better than me and mine.”

“Wait!” she cried, clearly moved by his demeanor. “Gim Peshil, I have never seen you so sober with news so dire. You have convinced me that you do not lie, that this is no elaborate ploy.”

Peshil paused and turned to face her again.

She swallowed hard and Peshil marveled at how much
she
looked like a child to him now. “I have ever been friendly with Kels Ansrath, the Iron Weapon. And I may be able to win over Toth Talpas, the Gold Fount, as well. Surely the four of us would be sufficient…”

Peshil narrowed his eyes. “Let me show you, my dear, the scope and scale of what we are up against. Peshil pointed towards a whitish silk hanging on one wall and projected light against it, showing the image of an olive-green cable hanging from the sky.

“You know the size of those rock plates,” Peshil said. “You can see how massive this alien thing is. Even if we were to eradicate its agents, Thrax Palonis has been infected. Can we—any of us—afford not to meet this threat with anything less than the full might of our world?”

She nodded. She had never seen him like this and was humbled by his command and his passion, both of which seemed new, brought about by this epic challenge perhaps. “You are fastest among us, Gim Peshil. Fly to Chan Fa, but be safe. His temperament is volatile, and he is dangerous. This is the commonly-held belief, but trust me when I tell you that it is also the truth.”

Peshil thought he could see a memory, dark and painful, swimming just below the surface of Fontessa’s bright green eyes.

“If he threatens you, even slightly,” she continued, “you must promise to use your speed and return here immediately.”

Peshil grinned. What an interesting change in her. “Of course, Sera Fontessa. Then shall we congregate here to plan our defense of Thrax Palonis?”

“Yes. I will gather as many Shields as possible. Let us meet back here in three days.”

“Three days? You
are
confident in your persuasive skills.”

“I am,” she said smiling. “I have the means to contact Kels Ansrath quickly. Toth Talpas, may take a bit more time.” She shrugged. “Even if you convince Chan Fan, though, it is far to the other side of Thrax Palonis. It will take him at least twice as many days to reach here.”

“Depending on his disposition, that may work to our favor.”

She stared at him for a long moment then. “You are different, Gim Peshil. This event has changed you, and for the better, I say. Come back safely.”

“I will.” With no more discussion, Peshil strode from the reception hall without escort. Rolst glanced between Peshil and his mistress, but Fontessa only shook her head, smiling vacantly.

Unlike any of his fellows, Gim Peshil could reach Chan Fa’s territory on the other side of Thrax Palonis in seconds. He was beholden to no one and felt very good right now in spite of the looming alien threat. He felt that he could have his pick of territories if he wanted them, but challenging high-ranking Shields right now would likely result in an endeavor too lengthy and too public. He was hungry, though, and thought that he—and their cause—might benefit from at least one more feeding. This time, perhaps a true Shield would be in order. No one of note, just some low-ranking retainer.

Peshil slowed as he approached Bek Ialo’s diminutive castle. If he recalled correctly, Ialo had one lieutenant which might do nicely. Bek Ialo, the Shadow Thief, could steal anything except another Shield’s source, so Peshil was in no danger, discovered or not. In fact, Ialo himself might make for a quick and easy target. His territory was small, he had few followers, and a comparison of abilities definitely favored Peshil. Peshil could be through Ialo’s entire castle, find him, kill him, and consume him in less than half an hour.

He flashed into Ialo’s castle, did an exhaustive search, since this was his first time inside, and finally came across a very strange site. Ialo, still in his dragon form, lay dead in a dried sea of his own blood at the base of his piles and piles of treasure. His eyes had been ruined, not exactly like Baro Suunts’s had, and he had bled copiously from one ear. Peshil smelled no rot or decay, which was even more surprising than finding Ialo dead. Peshil reached out a tentative claw of solid light and rolled Ialo’s corpse over onto its back. He started slightly at the cored breast and the jellied organ at the center of the expanse of dried blood on the floor.

Could the invaders have gotten to Ialo? Was that possible? He supposed it was, but what really concerned him was whether or not Ialo would still make for a good meal.

With several furtive glances, Peshil lowered his head down close to Ialo and took his first bite.

There’d been no sign of Ialo’s lieutenant which worked out for the best.  Peshil had finished with Ialo quickly, his corpse having taken on an unusual consistency, something akin to spun sugar with none of the sweetness. The meal had left him thoroughly intoxicated, though, and interaction with a Shield of any grade would have been a spectacle and an embarrassment. His head cleared after an hour, and he resumed his journey to Chan Fa’s, noting that the town below Ialo’s castle was still populated, which spoke against Ialo being killed by the invaders. Peshil shrugged this off and focused on getting to his destination with a clear head.

He felt none of the intense heat rising up from the seemingly endless lava ocean which separated most of Thrax Palonis from Chan Fa’s territory. The ocean was a natural barrier to all, with only the strongest Shields possessing enough endurance to cover the distance under such adverse conditions. There was a rumor that Kels Ansrath had made the trip, but this was unsubstantiated.

Chan Fa’s territory lay ahead now, a small island continent with the majority of its surface occupied by his walled castle city, and that half submerged within a cloud lake, which spun like a tethered pinwheel, perhaps hemmed in by the heat of the ocean or by other, unknown means. This territory was different from all the others, unique in that it was the birthplace of all the Shields of Thrax Palonis. The society responsible for creating the Shields was long-dead, their arts forgotten, but their legacy lived on. Lustrous black iron walls, immune to rust, stood forty meters high and twenty meters thick to form a square perimeter from which great cube towers rose to greater heights. Everything was of the same smooth, black iron. Peshil couldn’t help but think that the world was unbalanced on its axis with so much metal, surely more than half of all there was to be had on Thrax Palonis, right here in one place.

Peshil stopped above the castle city in his dragon form. He had no way of knowing how to make himself known to Chan Fa, what might incense him, what would be acceptable to him. After only a moment’s hesitation, he cried out to the unmanned gates, “Chan Fa, the Everliving! I am Gim Peshil, the Light Smith! I come seeking audience!”

As there was no response for several minutes, Peshil guessed that his call had gone unheard. For the first time since dining on Shields, a hint of fear crept into him. He wanted to respect Chan Fa’s sovereignty here, but there was nothing to do except drop down inside the walls and make his way into the catacomb network of giant iron cubes that characterized the city’s infrastructure. This would certainly increase his chances of being considered an intruder with designs on Chan Fa’s territory, but he saw no other alternative.

Down upon the ground—which, like the rest of the city, was of dark, burnished iron, perfectly smooth—Peshil resumed his human shape and made the disturbing realization that there were no people anywhere. He hadn’t known what to expect on arrival, but now two thoughts competed in his mind: either Chan Fa had eaten every last one of his subjects, or he was in fact dead, with his legend outliving him and perhaps having an existence more vital than the Shield himself.

The conglomerations of cubes rose up to form an irregular skyline. Peshil took a deep breath and advanced towards the first of the huge structures which looked as though it allowed entry into the rest. Indeed, there was an open aperture three meters tall and wide directly before him. There may have been doors or shutters of some sort at one time, but now there was nothing but a square hole lit from within.

Orange lava light whorled in slow motion giving the interior a surreal, dreamlike quality. Peshil crossed the threshold into a great hall one hundred meters high, wide, and long. At the far end was an elevated desk that was clearly the focal point and which had the bearing of an alter. Behind this were ten open doorways, evenly spaced along the back wall, presumably leading off into various routes through the cube city. Between Peshil and this desk, however, the ruined floor gaped and revealed a lava flow not fifteen meters below.

Given the pristine state of the rest of the city, Peshil guessed that someone—Chan Fa—had done this deliberately. The iron floor looked as though it had been about a meter thick, but this was impossible to ascertain, since all the edges had been curled under. The strength required to rend something of such scale humbled him. He stood at the edge closest to him and peered down. The flow was actually a wide stream that twisted and turned with porous black stone banks on either side.

Peshil suddenly felt dizzy and blinked several times to try to focus his vision.

Laughter echoed through the chamber, startling him. He made to straighten, to look around for the source, but found that he could not move from his bent position, looking down towards the lava stream.

“Chan Fa!” he cried. “It can only be Chan Fa! Please, I come not as a threat, I swear it. Why can’t I move?”

The laughter returned. When it died out, a harsh voice replied, echoing from far off, “You cannot move because I fill the entrance to my territory with venom at the start of each day.”

Peshil’s breath came with greater and greater effort. “I-I must. . . speak with you.”

More laughter.

Peshil couldn’t keep his eyes open or maintain a clear thought. Perhaps it was the heat accelerating the effects of the venom or perhaps it was the venom itself. He knew the risks in coming here. He’d been lucky with Sera Fontessa. Any other Shield would have turned him away or challenged him outright. He’d done what he could for Thrax Palonis. He grinned inwardly at the recollection of his last meal and then toppled down from the floor’s edge into the viscous orange light.

When Peshil awoke, he was shocked to be alive. He had a gash on his forehead that was already caked with dried blood and he had trouble moving his left arm, but otherwise he lived, somehow managing to land upon a craggy bank, somewhat protected from the heat of the lava stream by a rising lip of rock. He stood on shaky legs and saw that the banks on both sides continued onwards, winding out of sight. He was pretty sure that the stream and this cavern or series of caverns extended to the limits of the island continent and that it formed a kind of basement to the castle city.

Something caught his eye at the bend up ahead where the stream turned out of view. He steadied himself and moved to investigate. On his bank and the opposite were statues of dragons in miniature, only slightly taller than himself. Each was carved of a different stone, one bluish, the other white. They were similar, but as with Shields, maintained their individuality. Carved wings were folded on their backs, and their postures were mirror images of each other. Both stood erect and held in their claws the bottom halves of broken-open eggshells. Peshil drew close to the blue one on his bank and peered into the broken eggshell. There was nothing remarkable about it, but Peshil thought there must be some significance. He stared at the white statue across the wide stream for a while, then followed the curve of the flow, intrigued by these idols and somehow certain that there would be more of them.

He encountered several and stopped counting after the first ten. All were housed in natural nooks in the rock and though he at first considered them to have been carved or sculpted, close examination showed no chisel work, no marks of tools of any sort. He smiled at the thought that they may have occurred naturally—or supernaturally, though Thrax Palonis had abandoned superstition long before Peshil’s grandfather’s grandfather. Some he thought he recognized, or were at least reminiscent of Shields he had known. His breath stopped when he approached one that was all too familiar.