Magister Alistair was not pleased.
The last few days had been disastrous for him. The first and most spectacular failure of his campaign to cleanse and control the Outskirts had not gone down well with the Council, or his masters within the Magisterium. It was a cruel blow so close to the election, the elevation of one worthy to sit in the only remaining seat on the Council.
He strode through the somewhat empty causeway within the inner sanctum of the nobility, making way for the Tower of Seers. A huge, brooding mass of mottled grey and black stone, it was one of the largest buildings amongst a host of impressive, giant constructions. His long, rich black cloak flowed around his legs as he approached the feared place. Absolutely no one was entering, or even standing near the tower – stories about what went on within the shadowed halls reached even the Magisterium.
Alistair halted outside the sturdy, unassuming little door. He hesitated here, flashes of his last and only visit burning in his mind – of the intensely hot darkness, the chanting voices and white shapes in the black; the haunting words and elusive answers. He reached upward, brushing his blonde hair back from his face and rubbing the small, brilliant diamond in his forehead as he was won’t to do when worried. It always calmed him, remembering how far he’d come and just how much power he’d attained. He was better then this.
Just as he was squaring his shoulders to make the plunge and knock on the door, it opened and a small servant in complete white bowed to him.
“My lord, you are anticipated. Please, come this way.”
Alistair stared at the faceless servant, perplexed. It was always the same one, same manner and greeting. He didn’t know why he’d thought it would be different this time, perhaps memory was at fault. He hated to have his advantage and momentum taken away so easily; now, suddenly, he was a supplicant to be ordered about and there was nothing he could do about it. Alistair gritted his teeth and meekly followed the servant inside, trying to reign in his anger and hide his fear. There was a long hallway ahead of him, periodically lit by small blue flames that did nothing to pierce the darkness. He could feel his heart beat increasing as his fear rose; he’d forgotten the hallway with its dancing blue lights
The servant was a mere shapeless blob of white in the pitch black and Alistair struggled to keep up. Every three metres there was a small, brown door. They should open to nothing but the brick of the tower, but Alistair knew better; this entire building defied reason. Even as he thought this, they passed the point where Alistair knew the exterior building ended. The hallway gave no sign of stopping however and he shivered, suddenly doubtful. He’d never been brought this far before and with each step his anxiety grew. Surely there were other avenues he could have accessed before taking this drastic measure – but no, the City Guard were useless, common slackers and the power of the crystals were negated by the dank, poisoned soil of earth under which the creatures were hid.
It was only here he would find the power to know what had happened and, should the recalcitrant, cryptic Seer be willing, what would happen now. He had a team of men and Magisters sweeping the scene of the massacre for information of course, but such investigations take time and the results thus far were few. The only news he had at the moment was that all were dead and one, the boy, was missing. If he was alive, then perhaps something of the situation could be salvaged. Alistair was brought out of his reverie by the sudden halt in movement ahead. He hadn’t noticed a door in quite some while, he realised now; he was in uncharted territory. Even as this dread thought hit, he became aware of his laboured breathing. Sweat plastered his hair to his head and the heavy material of his clothes stuck to his limbs.
“Well, boy?” he snapped. “What happens now?”
“I can go no further. Your path lies ahead and only you may tread it,” came the soft, calm reply.
Alistair blinked. He was meant to go on alone? There were, he noticed, no more little blue flames ahead, only a wall of darkness. After a moment, he noticed the servant staring at him expectantly. Far be it for him to show fear to one so low, he thought furiously, straightening up. He marched forward into the darkness.
*
Minerva watched.
It was her sole occupation, dominating her every hour and every day. She stared out at the forest to the right and the twisted plains on the left. Between them both and the wall on which she stood, was a vast veil. It was a mixture of the powerful magics employed by the Magisters and the deadly chemicals that had made the outside world too dangerous and volatile for occupation. She’d been standing directly still for the past seven hours and the strain was beginning to tell on her. Her usually hot blood and impulsive actions were reigned in by iron discipline.
Silverstream was not so restrained and his large, furry body was pacing to and fro before her. She could feel his frustration pulsing through the bond between them and it filled her with the need for action, for movement. She admired the distinctive colour of his fur, for which he’d been named. He was a ferocious, powerful wolf, easily twice as large as any of the other Bonded. Her lips quirked as she thought of the surprise and not little jealousy she’d been received with when she’d first shown up to the barracks, just a slip of a girl accompanied by a giant, silver beast that moved with silent, deadly grace.
Of course, she was not so small now. Training for the elite Company of Wolves was intense and over the years, she had grown into a large, well muscled warrior to match her companion. Too often, Minerva couldn’t help but feel that there’d been a mistake somewhere, a wrong decision made. She wasn’t meant to be here, she was meant for action. Of course, this was the only option available to the Bonded, to watch and guard the Wall.
“Will you not calm down?” she asked. “You’re making me agitated.”
She could have ordered him to sit and enforce her will on him as other Bonded were wont to do. Minerva didn’t feel the need for such barbarism however. Silverstream paused, cocking his head to the side. After a moment, he came forward and nosed her hand, whining gently. She caressed his large furry head, turning it toward her. Once, his eyes had been easy to see, small intensely dark pupils. Now and ever since the Bonding, they remained opaque orbs of shifting white and grey. She couldn’t help but miss them.
Minerva sighed.
Just then, she felt Silver’s ears prick forward, his attention focus. She shifted, loosening her stance. The stiff leather of her armour creaked as she did so and she turned her sharpened vision to the stretch of wall on her right. At first she saw nothing, but soon thereafter she heard the steady clop-clop of booted feet and not long after that, the owner of those boots came into sight. It was her Pack Leader, Sevrant. He was tall, extremely athletic and good looking – what’s worse is that he was well aware of that and so constantly wore an expression of smugness. It was not an appealing trait.
She straightened to attention as he and his companion, Bright Eyes, stopped before her.
“Sir, there is nothing to report, sir. All is quiet on this front,” she said.
“Relax, Minnie. Must you be so formal?” he said, sparkling eyes freely appreciating her supple body.
She gritted her teeth. “I’ve asked you not to call me that, sir. You’re my Pack Leader.”
“Oh yes, I remember now. And what was I last week?”
She hadn’t meant to of course, but her hot blooded nature got the best of her. She was too primed for battle, too ready for action so at the end of a day of nothingness, she remained strung up and tense. There had to be some outlet and she had found one that night – it had just been misfortune that he’d been the closest to her at the time.
“Respectively, a mistake, sir,” she said.
His eyes darkened and she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. He reared back, a little stunned. Their companions stood a metre apart, eyeing each other with cool disdain.
“I see. Carry on then,” he said, stiffly.
He turned on his heel and marched away.
*
At first, there was complete nothingness and Alistair felt overwhelmed with helplessness and fear. He felt disorientated and strange, as if he’d just crossed some boundary or portal. After a moment, he found his eyes adjusting to the dark and eventually, he noticed he stood on the edge of a precipice. He reeled backward, heart smashing against his ribs. He tried to get a grip, to breathe and slowly, he began to calm down. It was, he could see now, not a precipice so much as a hole in the ground. Spiralling stairs led downward.
He was to go underground? He felt a sliver of unease coil in his gut; no one from above liked to venture there. It was, by and large, forbidden. If this was the price he’d have to pay to get his answers, then pay it he would. He stepped down, placing both feet firmly on the first step. As soon as he had done so, there was a grinding, metallic noise and the stairs began to move. He yelped, startled and flailed for balance as he was taken deep down into the depths. He had one last, desperate glance at the fast fading square of light, before it was lost to sight.
Alistair turned his attention ahead, determined not to be cowed. If only his enemies in the Magisterium could see him now, he thought with a sneer. How they would laugh, the mighty Alistair quaking in his boots. But then they had never been brought to see the Oracle, as he now suspected he was. Nowhere had he read, or heard tell of such a place as this even existing. It must be the resting place of the famed Oracle, leader of the Seers. A sense of pride puffed up his chest as he thought of this, not even his powerful father, Lord Rea could claim such prestigious patronage. Now, at last, he would finally get some answers. The grating sound of metal machinery halted with a last, guttural groan and the stairs came to a halt.
Before him, a long, white tunnel spread outward. Regular torches were spaced at precise intervals, but they gave off no smoke.
“The Oracle will see you now, sir.”
Alistair jumped, his diamond suddenly sizzling with power as he saw the white clad servant bowing in the corner.
“Fool! You nearly got yourself killed!” Alistair hissed.
‘I am sorry for startling you, sir, but the Oracle awaits,” the servant said in the same, even tone. “You are to go on alone, always straight. Never deviate from the path.”
Alistair frowned, noting this last was not a request but an order. He might have reacted differently in other circumstances, but he was out of his depth here and could risk nothing. He gave the slightest inclination of his head, turned and stepped away. As he began to walk, the steady swish-swish of his cloak rustling behind him, he noticed that the walls on either side were covered in intricate carvings. It was a wide tunnel he was in, the white colour accentuating the spaciousness. He didn’t feel cloistered or claustrophobic at all, which was unexpected but pleasing. It allowed him time to focus on his surroundings. Alistair found that staring at the complicated whirls of the script made him dizzy so instead he tried to just skim over the images. There were pictures of men fighting in great numbers and much bloodshed, oceans of it that spilled down beneath them. Above them, winged creatures fought, angels or gryphons or he knew not what, but there was terrible slaughter done and bodies rained from the sky.
Elsewhere, along the walls, he saw men with bright lights in their foreheads – the Magisters of yesteryear he realised – holding at bay tides of savage beasts. He was creeping along now, face inches from the wall, intently following the story; the history of mankind. Eventually, the terrible magics wreaked havoc upon man, demon and earth alike and but none were as devastated as the people. A whole section of wall was given over to depicting the gruesome deaths; one striking image burned itself in Alistair’s mind. It was a woman, rising desperately above the tumult, squealing baby held high as if to the heavens.
He trailed a hand over her face, before moving on. So intent was he on following the trail, he didn’t realise he’d rounded a corner into a whole new avenue. The men with bright lights were fleeing he saw now, in dismay, a gaggle of helpless people flowing behind. A far greater number of demons and mutated things followed, getting smaller and smaller as they travelled over mountain and river, forest and plain. Eventually, they came to a cliff. Here they raised the first of the mighty protections that would enclose what was now the City. Alistair blinked, confused. Something had just flickered in his vision, breaking the reverie. He turned again to the mural, only to hear a noise, again; a faint skittering, and an odd rustling in the distance.
He squinted back at the picture, the fascinating history, so different from the official version he’d learned growing up, only to falter suddenly. Why did he need to squint? It was then he finally noticed the darkness – he could see faintly from the torches in the main tunnel, only a metre away, but elsewhere in this avenue, it was completely black. He swallowed noisily. What was it that servant had said? Stay on the main pathway, he’d been warned. Moments ago, he would have sworn that other paths hadn’t even existed, that the tunnel continued on, unbroken but he knew otherwise now. Alistair became aware of his heavy breathing, of the weight of his robes, damp with sweat and slowly began to step backward.
Again, he heard the rustling and skittering. This time it didn’t abate, but rather increased in speed directly toward him. His eyes widened and his diamond sparked into life, blazing the hallway into stark relief. He heard a squeal, saw the speeding, giant spider come to a halt and back away, massive legs and pincers waving in the air. His heart nearly froze at the sight of its albino hide and more, at the other shapes bristling behind it. It hissed and he clenched his teeth, face beaded with sweat – enough was enough. A scintillating fork of lighting flew from his head, ripping through the spider, flinging it backward. Immediately, there was a commotion as other creatures rushed to feed on it. Alistair took his chance, turning to flee. The hallway, he saw now, was much farther away then he thought and seemed to be fading even as he watched.
Terrified, he sprinted for it. Behind him, the larger crush of spiders saw their prey escaping and flew after him – quite literally. Glancing back, he saw some of the giant creatures sailing in the air, webbed skin connecting their spindly legs together. He hastily threw some fireballs behind him, lighting the musty air and setting a few of the beasts alight. It was more for distraction, then anything else. On any other day, this might have been easy work for him, no matter the great number of creatures – but scared, unsure and already on the back foot as it was, he had no option but to flee. They were getting bold now though and they ran with incredible speed. The clear white light of the main tunnel was much closer now but he wouldn’t make it in time. He had to do something.
Alistair stopped, turning around completely. He brought his hands together, then strung them apart quickly. A criss-crossing latticework of corrosive green light spread outward, hanging in the air. He couldn’t make it big enough, didn’t have time, but the majority of spiders flew at it, split apart and into smoking fragments. Those on the outer edges though, could and did squeeze through but it would have to be enough as Alistair was already running again, so close to safety now. He was labouring to get there, lungs heaving, muscles straining and the cost was both physical and mental. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled and he sensed them getting closer. He flung himself around, letting loose a blast of power. The hairy ball only inches from his face exploded, covering him in ugly, sticky grey-black blood. The lance of power jettisoned out, killing those nearest but continuing on outward and gradually falling lower as Alistair lost focus. It hit the dirty, dusty white floor and the effect was instantaneous, creating a backlash that snapped Alistair off his feet and threw him backward, into oblivion.
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