Eventide - IV
Chapter IV
Water dripped in an endless cascade, striking the dank, lichen-covered walls of the under-ground with a dull resonating tone like some great heartbeat. The sound echoed throughout the caverns and winding passages carved into the living rock of the catacombs deep beneath the earth.
A creature knelt at the base of the rocky plinth, its arms held high above its head. In its paws was a shallow stone bowl whose rim had been etched with a complex series of runes--the language of the ancients. Its eyes averted, the creature crawled backwards in a shuffle of rags as the vessel was accepted.
Illatryx stared into the gloom, watching as the lifeless body of yet another pitiless beast was cut free from the altar. So it had been for centuries, yet even the forbidden magics were naught but a salve to lessen the strain of the years, each one shorter than the last.
The scent of blood, still fresh, rose like some macabre perfume from the bowl, its runes still ensconced in a dull glow. Illatryx drank deeply, barely feeling the alien warmth that filled her as the viscous draught slipped past her lips. Two hundred years ago, she would have held the vessel in shaking paws, too giddy to think or even focus on the rituals at hand. Her body was still young, then, held in equilibrium at the prime of her youth by the foul magic she had learned to harness. Now, it did little more than to keep her alive.
"Ah, has the mistress supped?" The voice was that of Khalain, who clung to the shadows like an oily smudge.
She motioned to the guards that stood at the chamber's edges. When they had left, she set the empty vessel aside and cautiously made her way to the side of the altar. "What is it you want?"
The creature materialized slowly, its form decidedly male, reminiscent of some beautiful, lithe feline. The pelt glistened and reflected the glow of the torchlight like liquid, its outline never solid and shifting like sculpted mists. Only the twin points of glowing eyes and the ridge of its mouth remained constant, the latter filled with jagged teeth that seemed to sprout from deadened flesh.
"Well?" Illatryx asked, becoming impatient with the creature's silence.
"I have found the Heartstone; it is as you had said: it lies within the city." Khalain's voice was like oil upon silk, yet the mocking tone was still visceral. "Is it not unfortunate that one as powerful as yourself still has to rely upon the services of a daemon?"
Ignoring the scathing remark, Illatryx drew in the blood that still lingered upon the stone with a claw. "You would do well to obey me without questioning my methods."
"And what would you so desire, o' damned queen? Would a mewling godling thrust upon me righteousness and foul justice?"
Illatryx wheeled, her strike connecting with nothingness as it passed harmlessly through the creature's body. She shuddered at the sensation; it was as if she had been immersed in frigid water.
Khalain shook his head, his features blurring with the motion as he strode over to where the bowl sat forgotten. "You are but a child in the grand scheme of things, Illatryx. Even I am nothing more than a spirit lost to the sands of time."
"Do not toy with me! You speak in riddles, saying nothing and thinking yourself wise! I have spent my entire life in search of this--I will not stop now." She hissed the words as her claws gouged the altar stone.
"So be it." The creature replied. "The horde will be ready to move in a day. Your scouts are already moving ahead and they should arrive by nightfall."
Illatryx nodded absently, watching as blood dripped from her paw to spatter upon the floor of the cavern. After several long moments, she spoke. "Do you remember when I first called you?"
"There is little that I forget," He muttered.
"You said that you were not surprised to see me when I had first called you from beyond the Mist." She said. Her voice was soft and almost gentle. "You told me of a prophecy that night when the House burned."
The frigid blue of Khalain's eyes shimmered and winked out of existence for but a moment. He spoke slowly, purposefully. "Illatryx is the damned queen, keeper of the forgotten ways and foretold to bring forth the black sun from its realm beyond the Halls of the Dead."
"Riddles," Illatryx muttered, rubbing at tired eyes, seemingly uncaring as to the blood that smeared her fur in its passage.
Khalain watched from the corner of his eye. "I cannot say more." He shrugged, returning the bowl to its place as a ghostly paw ventured towards the aged spine of the tome.
"Then begone."
The silence which greeted her was absolute, yet still she could feel the lingering touch of the creature upon her; a faint brush against the wizened fur of her cheek like a lover's kiss long since forgotten. Gathering up her things, she made her way to the deeper reaches of the subterranean cloister, barely registering the guards who came to attention at her passing. All that she sought now was solitude.
As she stood before the still surface of the pool, Illatryx murmured the key to a Seeing. The glowing threads of power seemed to come alive before her eyes, faint at first but growing stronger with each passing moment. It was in this very cave that she had first come into her power, had first received the vision that had guided her upon her quest.
"Yet I find myself here once more," sighed the rat as she knelt at the water's edge.
Touching its surface with a single claw, she watched as ripples danced across the mirror sheen, carrying with them the ribbon-like veins of fae.
The one who awakens the Beast that sleeps and kindles the black sun, Illatryx thought to herself as she cast aside her robes and slowly slipped into the cool water. Khalain is far too like that accursed tome for my liking.
Rolling onto her stomach, the rat lounged upon the side of the pool, the cool, natural stone smooth against her flesh. With a weary paw, she pulled the ancient tome to her side, its thick, leather-bound frame chased in copper now turned green with age. The parchment, though weathered and stained, was supple beneath her fingertips, yielding to her touch as she found the passage she had read perhaps a dozen times as of late.
The writing itself did not match the hand that was so neatly scrawled upon the pages, nor did it appear to have been penned by the original author. The words were feverish, cramped and jumbled upon the back of a particularly empty page. At its center was a symbol, a circle with-in a circle, the arches filled with complex lines and cryptic glyphs. It was not the only case of such additions--there were many places where notes had been scribbled, some of them her own.
Yet this page in particular irked her. Illatryx felt she should know the arcane markings, as if they were some half-forgotten memory. It was even possible they had been her own at some time long ago.
As the sound of paws nearby caught her ear, Illatryx shut the tome and glared at the guard who saluted from the small cavern's entrance.
"M'lady, your scouts send word that they are in position. They are setting up a staging area for the gate as we speak." Though his gaze was directed at the rock wall behind her, it was obvious that the guard was nervous.
Though annoyed that what little relaxation she could have gotten was now ruined, Illatryx waved the guard away and gathered up her things. "Good. Tell them to await my signal--and keep the area clear of any interlopers."