The Third Apprentice (19 page)

Ailwen, Mistress of Life and Death

Taren looked up from the scroll. “She’s taken the
symbol into the Realm of the Dead,” he said dryly. “We’ll never be able to
retrieve it.” Dropping his hands to the side, he allowed the scroll to fall to
the ground.

While Taren read, Zamna scanned the walls behind
the burial site for any sign of an exit. He chided himself for not having
crafted a map of the path the bone man had led them on. Without knowing which
route to take, they would likely never find their way out of the meandering
tunnels. Peering down into the chasm where the amphista had appeared, Zamna
asked, “Didn’t you say that thing guarded the Realm of the Dead?”

Taren nodded, realizing what Zamna had in mind.
“You think we should go down there?” he asked.

“There’s no other way out,” Zamna replied.

“The fall might kill us,” Taren said.

“Then we’ll be headed in the right direction.”
Zamna’s face was serious, his eyes affixed on the depths of the chasm. There
was no other choice. With the amphista on their trail, there was no time to get
lost in the winding corridors. It would kill them long before they found the
exit, assuming something else didn’t get to them first.

A deafening screech ripped through the air. The
amphista was moving again, and it was growing impatient. It flicked its red
tongues to locate the prey it sought, and quickly homed in on their location.
Charging forward, it slithered its way toward the intruders.

“We have to go now!” Zamna shouted. “It’s the only
way!”

Taren summoned his courage and nodded. Hoping the
fall wouldn’t kill them instantly, they ran for the chasm and jumped inside.

F
alling into the
darkness, the two men could do nothing but lie back and experience the feeling
of weightlessness. Down they fell, on and on. It seemed an eternity in the
darkness as they continued to fall with no end in sight. The mists became
thicker as they continued moving downward, but still no end came. As light as
feathers, they floated along, their bodies lowering themselves within the mist.
Finally, their bodies righted themselves, and the travelers landed softly with
their feet against the floor.

They stared at each
other a moment, neither understanding what had happened. Had they entered The
Realm of the Dead? Had the fall killed them? Looking around in the darkness,
they felt only minor relief that the monster had not followed them into the
chasm.

Zamna stretched his
arms out in front of him to make sure they were still there. “Are we alive?” he
asked.

“I think so,” Taren
replied. He knew little of the Realm. To his knowledge, no one had returned from
this place to write about it.

A thick fog settled
around their feet, dissipating slightly as it rose higher into the air. All
around them was darkness. Zamna focused his eyes to see, his night vision being
superior to that of his companion.

“There are figures
in the distance,” he said. “I’m not sure what they are.” Silently, he hoped the
shapes ahead were not more amphistas.

Slowly they pressed
on through the fog, Zamna leading the way. Only the smallest bits of light
could be seen ahead of them as they faded in and out of view. Stumbling
blindly, they proceeded toward the lights, hoping to find something — anything —
that would lead them to the symbol.

Zamna’s eyes
scanned the darkness for any sign of an exit. This time he would not fail to
mark its location. Becoming lost was not an option. The Realm of the Dead was
no place for the living, though their descent had saved them from the
amphista’s deadly grasp.

Finally they
reached the light, which shone down like a sliver of moon on a cloudy night.
Though the poor lighting left much to be desired, they were grateful for the
small amount of illumination. Footsteps paced slowly all around them, some of
them shuffling and staggering. Puzzled, the two men paused, listening to the
darkness.

Amid the footsteps,
an occasional moan or cry could be heard. The sounds seemed far away at first
but moved closer as the travelers maintained their position. A loud wail broke
through the mixture of sounds. Somewhere, someone was weeping. The mournful
sound sent a shiver down Taren’s spine. The lights grew dimmer, leaving the men
in utter darkness.

“We should keep
moving,” Taren whispered.

Without a word,
Zamna moved forward, extending his hand in front of him to feel for unseen
obstacles in his path. Only steps ahead, he bumped into a hard, cold object.
Halting, he ran a hand across its surface. It appeared to be some type of rock,
possibly obsidian by the feel of it. As he moved his fingers, he felt a lump
sticking out of the rock at the level of his head. At that moment, the dim
light returned, shining down onto the glassy rock. The face of a man, his
features twisted in agony, appeared before them on the rock’s surface. Zamna
jumped back putting some distance between himself and the figure. His hand went
instinctively to his dagger, but he did not draw it from its sheath. He could
not use a blade to fight a man of stone.

Taren summoned his
courage and stepped forward to observe the rock. There were no other body parts
visible. Only the face of the tormented man could be seen. Taren wondered who
this man had been and what he had done to deserve such a fate. Was this the
death that awaited us all? With the light shining brighter, he stepped forward,
ready to explore the rest of the Realm.

“Come on,” the mage
whispered.

Zamna took one last
look at the face before proceeding. He could swear he saw its lips move, but
maybe he was only imagining it. The lights grew dimmer once again, and Taren
paused, placing a hand up to bar Zamna’s path. The La’kertan looked up, seeing
why the mage had stopped him.

A few yards ahead,
spirits wandered aimlessly, their pale-purple forms moving silently on
nonexistent feet. They seemed to hover rather than walk, but the sound of their
footsteps could be heard against the cold stone floor.

“Maybe one of them
can answer a few questions,” Taren said. “I’m going to try talking to them.”

Zamna was uneasy
but made no move to stop the young man from trying. He had never fought a
spirit before and had no idea if they could be harmful. As the light continued
to move, it illuminated the path to the spirits. All along the walls, stony
hands reached out with no visible sign of bodies. Their fingers extended
outward as if grasping, locked in an eternal state of wanting. Zamna felt a
chill. He knew what it was these hands wanted. They wanted his life essence to
take as their own. It was life that they craved here in their world of
darkness, and it was life that eluded them. Here were two lives that had come
willingly to their abode.

“Don’t let your
guard down,” Zamna cautioned. “And don’t let those spirits touch you.”

Taren nodded and
approached one of the pacing spirits. It stepped back and forth, its head held
between its hands.

“Excuse me,” he
said in a soft voice. “Can you help me?”

The spirit did not
reply. It continued its pacing as if he were not there. Taren moved over to the
figure of a woman. She sat silently against a black rock, her knees hugged
tightly to her chest. Her head was bowed, and she appeared to be weeping. Taren
knelt down beside her.

“Hello,” he said.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” He felt sorry for this spirit, who was
obviously in need of comfort. The spirit did not look up. She continued to
weep, unaware of his warm presence.

“I don’t think they
can see or hear us,” Zamna said, coming to his friend’s side.

Taren nodded in
agreement. “Maybe we aren’t really here.”

Zamna seemed
puzzled. “Not here?”

“Not to them, at
least,” he explained. “This is their Realm. We don’t belong in it.”

Zamna shook his
head. He still did not understand, but it was of little consequence. He was
anxious to get moving and find a way out.

The two men started
to walk away, but Taren paused, turning his ear to the darkness. “Did you hear
that?” he asked.

“Hear what?” the
La’kertan asked, listening intently for the sound. All he heard was the pacing
of the spirits and the weeping of the woman.

Taren hesitated a
moment. “It sounded like music.”

A distinct melody
found its way to their ears. “I hear it!” Zamna said. “Do you recognize it?”

Taren nodded, still
listening to the music. “It’s the song of a nightingale,” he said.

“Does it mean
something?” Zamna asked. “Should we look for it?”

“In some tales, the
nightingale represents immortality,” the mage explained.

Zamna understood.
If the bird meant immortality, then perhaps it could lead them to the symbol.
After all, the sole purpose for retrieving it was to achieve immortality for
Taren’s master. “Let’s find it then.”

The song continued
echoing through the darkness. The duo forged ahead, pointing themselves in the
direction of the music. It grew louder as they approached, and eventually the
figure of a small bird came into view. It flitted and flapped merrily upon the
stones without a care in the world. Though it was only a spirit like the others
in this Realm, it was neither mournful nor regretful. It seemed almost cheerful
as it sang out to the darkness.

Taren approached
the tiny creature with a half-smile. Stepping forward, he extended his hand to
touch it. The bird evaporated, leaving behind a tiny puff of purple fog. A soft
clink
met Zamna’s ears, and he approached the rock where the bird had
been perched. His fingers groped in the darkness, feeling every inch of the
stone surface. He stopped only when his hand landed on a small object, which he
lifted toward the light. It appeared to be crystalline in structure, with a
slight purple hue. The object was sharp, as if it had been sliced away from a
larger stone. This piece was no more than a shard, about four inches long.

“It looks like it
might be an amethyst,” Taren said with a shrug.

“If it might be of
value, then I’m taking it,” Zamna replied, placing the shard in his pocket.
Though small, it might fetch a good price should he ever escape from the Realm.

Taren did not care
what became of the shard. It was the bird who had caught his interest, and now
it was gone. The light dimmed once again, and Taren cursed the darkness. How
would he ever find the symbol like this?

A single howl
pierced the air, soon followed by more howls in response. Within seconds, an
entire pack of wolves was howling somewhere in the darkness. Shadowy figures,
outlined in pale purple, hurled themselves in the direction of the intruders.

“Run!” Zamna
shouted.

Taren ran blindly,
stumbling through the darkness. Desperately he tried to stay ahead of the
pursuing wolves. Zamna constantly glanced over his shoulder to see if the mage
was keeping pace. They ran with their hands out, groping desperately in the
darkness to avoid colliding with unseen obstacles.

The wolves gained
on them easily, their swift paws making easy strides along the dark passageway.
They had no trouble seeing in total darkness; they were bred for this Realm
alone.

Behind him, Zamna
heard a crash as Taren tripped and toppled over onto the ground. The wolves
were right behind him. Taren had no chance of escape. Drawing his daggers, Zamna
ran back toward the mage, wondering how to fight an undead wolf.

The wolves reached
Taren at the same time as Zamna. The assassin lashed out with the dagger in his
right hand, immediately followed by the dagger in his left. The metal passed
through the spirits without harming them. To his amazement, the wolves did not
stop. Apparently, they had no interest in either of the men.

Helping Taren to
his feet, he turned to watch as the wolves ran on ahead. Glancing at each
other, the two proceeded to follow the pack. The light returned briefly, but long
enough to give the travelers a glimpse at the spectacle ahead. The humanoid
spirits were screaming in terror, fleeing from the pursuing wolves. They ran in
all directions, some of them stumbling and falling. Without regard for the ones
who had fallen, the others trampled them in their flight. The wolves bit into
their legs, gnashing their teeth and tearing at the spirits. Though they were
not creatures of mortal flesh, their agony was quite real. Zamna and Taren
stared helplessly, unable to fathom the events taking place before them. The
wolf hunt continued for several minutes before the beasts’ appetites were
satiated.

“We have to help
them,” Taren whispered. He stepped forward but stopped when he saw that the
spirits who had been attacked were rising to their feet. Surprisingly, they
went back to their normal routines of pacing aimlessly, and the wolves trotted
along, leaving the spirits in peace.

Taren wondered who
had sent the wolves, and if that person might be able to see and hear him. “We
should follow the wolves,” he suggested.

With no other
course of action in mind, Zamna agreed.

The wolves headed
back into the darkness, unhindered by the many obstacles in their path. They
knew exactly where they were going, and they moved purposefully toward their
destination. The two men pursued, their steps lit only by the soft purple glow
of the spirit wolves.

Into the darkness
they walked, seemingly for miles. Every step brought them closer to an unknown
destination. Taren feared the wolves would simply disappear as the nightingale
had, leaving him and his friend hopelessly lost. Twisting and turning, they
continued on, leaving the other spirits farther behind.

“Maybe we should
turn back,” Zamna suggested. He had no idea how far they had gone, but it
seemed they had been walking for hours. Perhaps the wolves had no destination
in mind. Maybe they paced aimlessly as the human spirits did.

Taren wasn’t sure
what to do. They had come so far, it seemed pointless to turn back now. Where
they had already been did not seem like the right place. There had been no sign
of the symbol nor an exit from the Realm. What harm could there be in pressing
on? They were already lost. “Let’s follow a while longer,” he finally replied.

Zamna sighed.
“Maybe they’ll at least turn back when they’re ready for another hunt.”

Forward they
trudged, still twisting and turning to avoid unseen obstacles in the blackness.
They could no longer hear any sound but their own breathing. Even their feet
ceased to make noise against the ground.

Zamna was about to
insist they turn back when one of the wolves leapt, disappearing into a void of
black. “What just happened?” he asked.

Taren did not
reply. The two men watched as the wolves jumped one by one into the darkness,
leaving the travelers alone to wonder.