Chef Bryardee
King of Condiments
| 14 | THE ABSENT HEIR IV | 3,700 |
Behind her, the winds stirring around the mountaintop whistled inside the narrow passageway. The noise gradually quieted down until it was gone altogether, replaced by utter silence in between the reverberations of her cautious footfalls and soft breaths. The jade conflagration hovering in front of her slowly burned away the shadows ahead of her, step by step, but the edgy sensation in Oriana’s stomach wouldn’t subside so easily.
Several minutes that seemed like at least half an hour passed, and the only thing the woman’s sense of direction told her was that the winding path was slowly leading her downward. The air was absolutely dead now, and the temperature seemed to drop one degree with every step she took. Exaggerations like that meant she was losing her focus, letting the merciless cold get to her. Every now and then, Oriana would shake them off and resolve herself once more.
Far too wary of the peeling darkness to take her eyes from it, Oriana slipped and slid here and there on the grit and gravel beneath her steel-toed boots. A dainty hand coddled the coarse and uneven wall, her fingertips cold to the touch. The light of Occultus drove her forward, but her mind wandered on images of her undefined destination – which proved to be her undoing.
Suddenly, the ground seemed to fall out beneath her and her stomach shot into her throat. She fell backwards in midair. Her bottom connected first, and a painful grunt shot out through the darkness. The harsh grade gradually sloped toward the floor, and Oriana impacted and tumbled several times over before eventually losing all momentum and coming to an agonizing halt. The novice spelunker earned a handful of cuts and scratches for her daydreaming – the most painful of them all on her right butt cheek – but she would survive. Ghost Fire remained, but was beginning to fade out ever so slowly.
Lying flat of her stomach, Oriana rubbed her sores as she sat up. Her bow was across the floor and, just as her hand reached out to grab it, she noticed something else out of place. Her hand shot to her lap; the knot tying the chest satchel to her torso came loose, its contents splayed all over the cavern floor – not excluding the stone.
Frantically, Oriana searched left and right, running her hands across the frosty ground. Her hands swatted aside the snacks and other comparatively trivial trinkets scattered about before something caught her eye. There, ahead of her and deeper into the darkness where the dying light of Occultus did not reach: the faint glow of the jade flames reflecting off of something meters away.
That had to be it.
Oriana crawled toward it, moving faster and faster on her hands and knees. For some reason, perhaps irrational desperation and anxiety, she never made to her feet. The bruise on her left knee ached, and she barely had the energy to exert herself this much, but she needed to get it back. The ethereal fire flickered wildly, having dwindled down to the size of a small candlelight. With each motion forward, the reflection on the stone faded until it was gone altogether.
She clipped her knee on a wrinkle in the ground, and fell just short of it. Her body collapsed over the flame. The surrounding shadows would no longer be held at bay as everything went black. Reaching forward, Oriana snatched the rock up, and the familiar texture and shape in her hands put her at ease. Somehow, the bitter cold and isolation very suddenly no longer mattered. A deep sigh of relief echoed through the cavern, and she laid out again, holding it tight to her bosom.
Oriana pinched the stone in her hands, and lifted it up. The natural, radiant glow of the mineral was absent, but the oily blemish in the center was inexplicably vivid in her line of sight. How it did that and what exactly the dark fluid was had only been a passing curiosity of hers since she’d snagged it from Theodorus. At night, graphic images manifested in the stone’s lucid reflections haunted her dreams, turning them into nightmares. Regardless, that all mattered little now, only that the priceless nugget made due on its lofty promise to bring him back.
Oriana collapsed her fingers around it again, and clutched it firmly in both hands.
“So infatuated, she seems, over something so trivial…”
The voice startled her, both her emerald eyes shooting wide open. Oriana remained completely still, laying there in the darkness, as if her presence weren’t already acknowledged by the unseen orator. His voice was an ominous baritone that seemed to reverberate indefinitely throughout the entire cavern. Rolling onto her stomach, the woman peered into the pitch-black veil ahead of and all around her. It came from that way, she thought, but she saw nor sensed anything.
“Or maybe, it isn’t so…” When he spoke next, his voice resonated right next to her ear. “Trivial.”
Jolted, Oriana rolled over several times away from the warm breath that teased her earlobe. Where most people would have panicked, though, the coral-haired cat burglar acted immediately. In an instant, Ghost Fire reignited in front of her, this time seemingly with a greater flare and fervor. Every crease and crinkle in the hollow was exposed. Her emerald eyes danced rapidly back and forth, her head turning swiftly over each shoulder to spot the eerie meddler.
Then, to her left, she noticed the wall on that side banked inward a couple meters down to a corner. Without hesitating, Oriana removed the bow from her back and crept from her crouched position toward the bend. Gently brushing her shoulder against the freezing rock, she snapped her eyes across the fringe and then fell back just as fast. The fleeting glance gave her only half the picture; Occultus’ light was cut off from the deeper half of the next chamber by the corner.
Oriana took a deep, quiet breath. She watched her misty exhalation curl around the idle flame before spinning and bursting forward.
In one practiced motion, the bigatium-plated bow was leveled dead ahead. The index finger on her forward hand was pointed, with her focused narrowed to a pinpoint at the tip of her fingernail. Just an inch off of it, a small glowing ring of fire sparked to life.
Her eyes flashed in surprise as she observed the macabre spectacle ahead: all of the walls were concave, forming a sort of rough and ovoid vault that was clearly manmade. Dozens of burrows were hewn out of the rock, each of them holding what looked like various figurines and statuettes. Some of them held candles with quietly dancing flames. Aside from these smaller cavities, there were larger ones with basic living amenities. The foul odor of it all reached out to her, even as far as she was.
The woman’s nose bridge wrinkled, but she retained her concentration and form.
At this angle, Oriana couldn’t quite make them out but she surmised the various grey scratches on the floor were symbols and characters written in the old tongue. All of them were circumscribed about a small risen platform in the center, just big enough for a single individual to mount.
The enigma currently poised there was crouched low with their back facing Oriana. A dingy, grey cloak with heavily-frayed end obscured their entire form. She trained Bellator’s righteous fury on the stranger, every instinct telling her to let loose the coiling inferno. Then, she remembered something.
“I’m glad I finally found you,” Oriana said, feigning a softly shrewd composure. “I’ve been looking all–”
“You did not come here in search of me, puella…”
Oriana squinted on him, carefully strafing toward the opposite wall. He appeared to be fiddling with something, but her attention was taken by the additional cavities revealed to her higher up in the dome.
“Is that right?” she said. “Well, you just might be who I need to speak to.”
The hood bounced up and down softly as the man nodded. “Perhaps…”
“Yeah, perhaps…”
Now within a safe few meters of the entity, Oriana realized just how large he was. Long, spindly shins poked out from the threadbare hem of his cloak. His complexion was ghastly, a withered grey similar to what she saw of Cantet Fabros’ inhabitants. Around his ankles were what looked like black shackles with silver edges. The chains were snapped, the last torus-shaped link somehow ripped in half as if he had freed himself from the bindings with unbelievable brute strength.
Whatever calm that might’ve been growing on her vanished then. Occultus’ lantern would fade soon. She kept that in the back of her mind.
Just as Oriana opened her mouth to speak, he asked, “What is your name?”
The woman raised her eyebrow slightly, riposting, “That’s funny. I thought you might already know.”
He laughed once, and a moment of silence followed. “Perhaps…” Even his laugh echoed robustly. “Is it not a common courtesy for one to offer their name to someone they intend to appeal to…?”
Oriana grinned. “Who says I want anything from you?”
He turned his head to her slightly, not revealing anything beneath the mantle yet, and nodded again. “That is a possibility. I suppose you’ve come to this dusky hollow without any intentions, whatsoever.” By his words, she could tell there was a smile on his face when the brooding quipped, “Although, you do not seem very comfortable in the dark…”
Oriana frowned, unable to deny the jab. As she stared him down, the jade fire at her breasts flickered, and its reflections along the walls began to dim; the grey of the man’s cloak began to darken, along with everything in her line of sight. Butterflies riled in her stomach. His head veered her way, as if waiting for the fire go out, for the opportunity to pounce.
Suddenly, the man’s arm burst out of his cloak – long and lanky yet the muscle was firm and toned beneath the ashen skin. Light flared from the dome, and Oriana snapped her head up. A blazing emerald ball, similar to that of Ghost Fire but much stronger and brighter, was conjured from nothing. The radiance peeled away the darkest shadows, swirling docilely overhead. Oriana didn’t notice, but her jaw had dropped in the midst of the masterful spectacle.
“What is your name?” he asked again.
She relaxed her drawing arm, and the ring of fire dissipated. “Oriana.”
Again, the mysterious figure nodded. A deep breath escaped his maw and, straining to do so as if he’d be hunched over for years and years, finally stood to his feet. It was now that Oriana truly fathomed how massive he was. He was at least seven feet tall, if not a few inches beyond that. When he turned to her, instead of the grisly visage she half expected, Oriana saw a man with his face completely wrapped in old black bandages. There was no hair either, and there were black and silver manacles around his wrists similar to the ones on his ankles.
“Thalice,” the man declared, his voice coming through the raggedy veneer as if it weren’t there at all. He gave a deep, courteous bow, though his head still didn’t reach down to her level. “At your service, puella…”
Oriana clenched her jaw. The impulse to shoot him had disappeared by now. She lowered the bow slowly, standing up to her full height, as comparatively diminutive as she was. Oriana let out a sigh, and admitted, “To be honest, I’m still wondering if you’re who I’m looking for.”
Thalice clasped his massive hands behind his back. “What is it you are looking for?”
The woman hoisted the bow back over her torso. Occultus’ light was withering before her and, with an annoyed swipe, she dispelled the paltry flame. She contemplated for a moment before admitting, “Cantet Fabros. Somebody pointed me here. Not to you specifically, but…”
Thalice swiveled around slowly. “Perhaps,” he said, pacing about in thought. “Though, there are likely few motives that would lead a pretty little bird to one such as myself.” Oriana didn’t deny that. Whatever he could provide her with, as soon as she had it, she’d be out of there in a heartbeat. “You aren’t here for my head, are you?” Oriana shook her head. Thalice lifted both hands out to his sides, asking, “Pitiful as it may seem, I don’t believe I appear outwardly to be an individual possessed of great fortune or prosperity.” She laughed once, looking the shabby man up and down. “Which, fortunately for us, cuts down the odds supremely…
As strange as it was, Oriana noticed he was looking at what was in her hand still, seeing or sensing it beyond the tight veil.
“Doesn’t it?”
She hesitated for a moment, holding it still at her side. A long moment of uneasy silence and indecision passed between the two of them. Oriana could feel her blood rushing, the chilling temperatures around her numbing her sense of touch. Thalice hummed to himself, turned and walked across the central pedestal to the other side of room. Digging into one of the cavities in the wall, the recluse pulled something from there and held it out to her.
It took several moments before Oriana made her way over to him. He dropped the trinket in her hand, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of his looming form. Backing away slowly, Oriana assayed the peculiar necklace pendant: It was a circular pendant wreathed in what looked like thin, dried branches. In the center was an obsidian jewel.
“Do you believe in the supernatural, puella?” Thalice asked, and a quizzical bend came to her brow. “There is a certain tale you must be familiar with.” Oriana raised her chin. “The tale of the king, the once-prince and his benign sibling?” An amused smile spread across her expression, but she said nothing initially, so he continued, “Once upon a time, long before the Cataclysm or any of those that came before it, there were five supreme divinities, the most distinguished of which were the progeny of Xoros, the—”
“I know, I know.” She interjected, nodding her head. “The god of All.” Around where she supposed his cheeks were, there was movement: he was smiling. “I know all about the Lenimentum,” Oriana asserted.
Thalice tilted his head to the side. “Do you, now?”
“Urasil divided her dominion of All, as bestowed upon her by Xoros, into two halves: Creation and Death.” Thalice placed both hands behind his back again, listening and nodding along. “Irasil was given the latter half and, alongside his brother-in-law Areus, was given supremacy over all of Ar—”
“Bullshit!” Thalice said.
Silence echoed in the wake of his booming shout. In spite of how much she tried to hold it back, Oriana was noticeably unnerved by his unusually resounding intonation. Then, as if he hadn’t noticed it, Thalice chuckled to himself. He turned away from her, heading back to the pedestal, and Oriana stowed the pendant away in her pocket. Absently, one hand found its way up to the limb of her bow.
“Where did you read that bile, puella?” he inquired. She said nothing, and he placed both hands at his hips. “I apologize. I didn’t realize those falsities were still percolating, even after all of this time.” Oriana furrowed her brow, confused. “Over a thousand years, malice and ignorance have prevailed with the same proficiency of death to deride or otherwise destroy that which is meant to be incontrovertible.”
Sensing himself rambling, Thalice took a deep breath to regain himself. Before he could begin again, Oriana spoke out, a little angry now. “So it was all a lie? Is that what you’re saying?” He opened his mouth to correct her, but she seethed, “So this is nothing but another fucking wild goose chase that’ll get me nowhere? Is that—”
Thalice raised a finger, wagging it. Oriana raised an eyebrow.
“Hopelessness is a very powerful thing,” the man stated, plainly. “It can drive one to do any number of things, all in the name of---” Both massive, ashen hands came out to his sides, palms upward. “—Nothing.” Again, Thalice began pacing around the room as he talked. “The same can truthfully be said of religion, can it not?” She didn’t disagree. “What can compel a downtrodden and oppressed man to move mountains can also aspire him towards vice and malevolence. Show a man who has been forsaken, rightly or not, by the world something that is beyond this world, something that promises the power to rise up above it…
“And the world stands no chance against him.”
Thalice moved to one of the lower cavities on the wall, and sat down in it. He offered her one nearby, but Oriana declined. It was apparent she was still slightly unsettled; Oriana hadn’t let him out of her line of sight this entire time. The enigmatic man, however, very easily moved past her reluctances.
“Lenimentum,” he stated the name, asking, “Do you know what it means, puella?”
Oriana nodded. “Reclamation.”
“Do you know what it means?” Thalice repeated. Again, she seemed confused. Thalice very graciously provided the answer. “Although Areus stood as the undoubted king of Mortalis, it was the goddess who bestowed upon Him dominion over Araevis. Thus, they came to understand that Areus stood above Irasil in the pantheon, but…” Thalice reached over to a burlap sack sitting deeper in the cavity, dug into it, and pulled out his clenched fist. “In a man’s last moments, who is it that he prays to?” Slowly, he unfurled it. “The one who can bring them back from the brink?” Fine soil slowly poured out from his palm. “Or He who is the brink Himself?” Oriana slowly began to understand. At least, she believed she did. “However, it was not merely Death that Irasil inherited from his sister,” Thalice claimed, clapping the last bits of dirt from his hands. “As she was Creation, her brother was blessed as antithesis of Creation when she decided no longer to be that which her father intended.
“It was Ruin that Irasil inherited from Urasil, puella.”
Oriana nodded, piecing together the puzzle. She hardly understood those that followed the religion, only the fable and those like it concerning the Lenimentum. When she found the burned and buried texts, the woman half-expected nothing more of them than to be outlandish folktales fabricated as nothing more than a bedtime story for children. Only the odd stone gave any credit to any of the myths.
“What’s the difference?” she asked.
“The promise of death is certain,” Thalice proclaimed, raising his index once more. “As we both know; it is an inevitability that awaits us all with nothing to be done to prevent or prolong it. The very concept of death is far beyond us.” He stood up to his full height, and a long and gruesome shadow was thrown across the cold ground. “What we do fully understand, however, is the necessary amount of sunlight and moisture required for crops to grow healthily and plentiful. And, as it is all that we can ever do, we sow the seeds of longevity and prosperity, dutifully and vigilantly…” Oriana shook her head slowly, finishing the man’s sentence for him in her mind. “Lest we be visited upon by…
“Ruin.”
Thalice pointed to one of the idols in the holes. Oriana hadn’t noticed it before, but she realized none of them were carved in the likeness of any of the Vis. She could hardly be considered an expert theologist, Oriana didn’t recognize a single aspect of any one of them.
“It is very unique that,” Thalice started again. “the absence of He, who is possessed of a divine capacity, would be hoped for as opposed to the contrary.” He waved both hands out to his sides, shrugging lightly. “Well, the majority, at least. There are those who would invite Ruin upon others. There are many things that can be considered both the blight of man as well as his greatest benefit: avarice, ambition, affection. Some are worse than others; many of them lead to trivial consequences…
“Others may lead an entire country towards war.”
Oriana squinted, unbelievingly. “War?” Thalice shrugged again, silently. The impatience built up over the course of his extended dialogue was beginning to vent. “I get at least the majority of what you’re saying; they were a bunch of radical, bat-shit crazy motherfuckers that I couldn’t care less about. What I want to know is—!”
“War,” Thalice interjected, his volume almost ear-splitting. “in the name of the Great Reclamation that is to come.” Each time the words left his lips, it was delivered with that same earthshaking intonation. The light of Occultus overhead began to roil more excitedly, spinning and growing brighter. “Reclamation in the name of the Arbiter of Oprena, to reclaim the jewel of All from the blasphemous, virulent, parasitic plague that is mankind!” Before Oriana even realized it, he was on her! Towering over her delicate flesh, his massive palm was floating just over the surface of her pale skin. Terror stricken, her widened eyes were the only thing that moved. The cold seemed to rush in on her, glaciating the woman all over. “Judgment will fall upon us all, and no one will be spared the wrath of Ruin, puella!”
Oriana stood there, stunned to silence. Only now did she realize how fast her heart was beating, how tight her grip on the sinewy pendant was, how blurred the edges of her vision were becoming, or how overwhelming the jade brightness writhing overhead was becoming. She attempted to step back but one knee buckled, and then the other.
Thalice moved in closer and closer, watching as the coral-haired spelunker’s eyelids dropped over her emerald eyes. She fell to the floor, the pendant falling from her grasp. Something else fell away as well; the ominous recluse couldn’t see it under his deep shadow, having to lean in close to perceive it.
Suddenly, he was brought to a pause, and an audible, reverberating gasp shot through the chamber. Occultus’ light vanished in a brilliant flash.
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