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Someone had painted, in red, an angry face with sharp teeth on the side of rock and he could see, half hidden under the fallen branches and leaves, a burrow. He would have guessed that it was the home to some animal, but there hadn’t been any so far, not even a squirrel. A monster would have made sense, but not with how the bones had arrived at the river. It was too far away and there was an issues with which way the water flowed.
He was curious. It wasn’t too dark in the hole. For once it actually looked well lit.
He took a look around. He thought he saw something among the trees again. He wanted to call out, see if Erimot or Ranvert would respond to him. He didn’t want Ranvert to find him though.
He brushed the debris off of the hole and climbed in, drawing his sword just in case. He could feel the shadow wrap around the guard and his hand at the same time, trying to find a way deeper into him.
The sides of the burrow were smooth enough to slide on and he knew there was dirt getting caught in the folds of the armor, but he didn’t care. He didn’t plan to be wearing it for very long in any case. The hole wasn’t too terribly deep though and he knew that he would be able to climb out again if there wasn’t another route out.
The burrow opened into a cavern, made by hand. There were wooden support beams holding up the boulder, keeping it from falling and crushing those below. There had to be someone below, as there was a fire pit that was still burning, the smoke going up and its a hole carved into the rock. It must have been much softer than it looked. There was no furniture though, aside from a pile of leaves alongside one wall, which could have been a bed if someone was desperate enough. All of the leaves were dried and crispy and no use for comfort now.
Casteval wandered deeper into the cavern, hearing his own breathing. There was nothing. There couldn’t have been nothing. This wasn’t the kind of place where there was nothing. Everywhere he’d gone there had been something, some direction for the plot. He doubted that this place was just for him to take a rest.
He sighed. The breathing didn’t pair up with his. He straightened up, looking deeper into the cavern, into the shadows. Now he could see it.
Along one of the walls, laying on her side, was a woman. She looked as if she had collapsed and hadn’t bothered to pick herself up again. Casteval bit his lip, not running to her side. He wanted to. It was the kind of thing that he did. He wanted to help. Every time he’d helped though, it had been abd for him in the long run. He was tired of it.
“Hello?” he called out. He couldn’t see her well, the fire light didn’t reach that far. She looked like a lot of hair, mostly which covered a lot of her features. Upon hearing hi though she shuddered, hands twitching, shoulders heaving. “Hello, I’m going to come over there, is that alright?”
The woman pulled herself up into a sitting position. She looked like she was rubbing her eyes. He must have woken her up. She didn’t bother to pick herself up though, to make herself presentable or clean in any way. She just sat there, looking at him from the dark.
He walked towards her, one hand extended, as if she were a street cat.
“You’re not planning to do anything stupid with that, are you?” she asked and her voice was a deep monotone, making it sound like she didn’t really care.
HE looked at his other hand. He still had his sword drawn. He swallowed, unsure of what he wanted to do. He wanted to keep himself safe, but he didn’t want her to feel threatened by him. He might needed it as well, for something aside from combat.
“I’m hoping to use it intelligently,” he admitted, putting the sword back into the belt he’d attached around the armor. “Who are you?”
She laughed and the sound was like a bark. She didn’t move though, not from where she was sitting, even though she ran her hands through her hair. “Isn’t that cute? Trust me, you’re not going to like my name.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Casteval wished he’d grabbed a stick from the fire, used it to see what he was getting himself into. “And if I don’t like it, there’s not much I could do about it.”
“Are you here to free me? I don’t want you deciding you’re going to leave me here after you hear me name.”
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The light was bright, wakeful, the world soft and yellow and vibrant. Casteval hadn’t seen a space this alive since he’d gotten here, had barely seen anything like it in the place that he’d always thought was the real world. There were trees, lots of them, and their leaves were so many different colors of green, yellow, and red that it must have been autumn, though the sun shined so brightly that it must have been summer.
It wasn’t too hot though. The air was crisp, and the wind was subtle. There was nothing unpleasant about this place. If it weren’t for Ranvert, most likely still following him, he would have stayed a while, just basking in it. He had to make his own path though, had to find Casteval, before Ranvert had the opportunity to.
He walked forward, finding a trail easily. It had been walked so many times that it was well kept, the roots from the trees smoothed by feet, the plant life trained to only grow on either side. The plants weren’t any that Casteval could recognize, they were all green and twisting and gnarled, their stalks like tree bark, their fruit hanging low and heavy. They were intriguing but Casteval did not touch them. There was no way that they weren’t poisonous.
He walked the trail, his eyes on the grandeur around him, his ears open for the sound of footsteps behind him. It was easy for him to hear. There was no birdsong to interrupt. There was nothing, no living sounds aside from his breathing and the sounds of leaves brushing against each other, a river in the distance.
This was what came right before rebirth, where people would choose how they would come back, what life they would lead. It all seemed random to Casteval. There were many trails, all branching off from one another, but Casteval did not know how they worked, where which one led, what any of them symbolized. He wanted to stick to the main path, but that would let him be followed too easily. He changed to the right path, every time it split, until he found the river that he could hear so distantly.
Even at the shoreline of it, seeing the smooth stones on the side of the rushing water, he could barely hear it. He walked to it but even then, the white peaks of water, the splashing of the small falls, the roar of the quick pace, were hardly noticeable. It sounded like it was still a mile away, and he was hearing it through all of the trees.
He walked alongside it and, with no company and no real plan, he thought. He didn’t know what to do now. He had to get Erimot back, had to, somehow, get Ranvert out of them, but he didn’t have any ideas on how. He’d only seen something get drawn out of Erimot once and it was a terrible thing to witness, both because of how it was done and because of how Carmilla had treated them. He wouldn’t go to her, even though she was the best resource he had. He wouldn’t let Erimot get hurt that way again.
Ranvert had been, not exactly a friend, but not an enemy either. He’d unsettled Casteval, was too flirty and dirty and didn’t care about Casteval’s preferences or requests. He doubted that Ranvert had gotten permission to share Erimot’s body and he didn’t know why Ranvert had wanted it in the first place. Surely, Erimot’s weak body couldn’t be aiding him in any way, they were too exhausted to do hardly anything on their own. That made Casteval think that the reason was just for him, that Ranvert knew that Casteval wouldn’t oppose him while he was in their body. He wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t fight him, and that left Ranvert so much power.
He wanted to become Casteval, the real Casteval, the original Casteval. Casteval could understand that, the desire to be a hero, to be loved by all. It had been something he liked about his name when he was a kid, the amount of attention it got him. That wasn’t right though and he soon learned that his name was the only thing he and Casteval had in common. That wasn’t true now though.
He found a still area of the river, the rocks around it standing tall enough to force the raging water around it to pass it by. He took a look at himself, unsure of if he even wanted to see his reflection.
The man in there didn’t look much like him now.
His blond hair had thick streaks of brown in it, giving him an odd streaky look. One of his eyes had turned brown as well, making the difference between it and the gray one to its left such a strong contrast that Casteval couldn’t look away from it for a long moment. His jaw looked sharper as well, his cheeks more noticeable. All of him looked stronger.
He was starting to look like Casteval. He had never put much thought into what the character must have looked like but now he didn’t have to guess. He had a very clear estimation.
He pulled away from the water, pulling his hair out from its band before running his fingers through it. The darker strands even felt different then they had before. He put it back up. He needed it to be out of his face. He wondered if his face would look like his face again, if he was able to bring Casteval back.
He was almost there. He was going to find Casteval’s vessel and give it the sword and the armor and then, he’d have to figure out what to do about the blood. He wondered if his own blood would do. He wondered if Casteval’s blood was stored somewhere and he could use that. He didn’t want his blood to work. He didn’t want to be Casteval. Regardless, it felt like he was becoming him.
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“Ranvert, of course,” they mocked. “What do you mean, of course? It’s so easy to climb inside of here, to take control, anyone could have done it.” There was a sound, clothe against clothe. Casteval couldn’t guess at what it was until Ranvert’s eyes shined through from between Erimot’s lids, red worms that gave off such an eerie glow that Ranvert could have been a bogeyman. “Come on now, you have to admit I had you going for a while.”
Casteval crossed his arms. “Get out.”
They’re hands were on Casteval’s arms, fingers drumming against his damaged skin, tracing the rips in his jacket. “Or what? I don’t think you know how to get me out of Erimot, do you?”
It was true that he didn’t but there was no way that he was going to try what Carmilla had tried. He wasn’t going hurt xim like that. He didn’t want them to hurt at all.
“What do you want?” he asked instead, “There must be something.”
“Oh,” Ranvert cooed in Erimot’s voice, stepping forward, hot breath against Casteval’s cheek, to close for comfort, too close for anything aside from a disgusting mockery of intimacy. “I just want to have fun. You do know what fun is.”
“I’m not interested in your idea of fun.” Casteval took a step back, breaking the contact.
“Fine,” they raised their hands in surrender, no longer following Casteval in the dark. “fine. Here’s what I want. I want to be Casteval.”
“What?”
He could feel Ranvert roll his eyes. “Oh come on, read a book, why don’t you? Casteval is the biggest hero in the history of heroes! Ranvert is just a cheap thrill in a paperback that had a golden best seller sticker on it that doesn’t mean a thing! The world needs a Casteval right now and you’re working on waking him up. Even from within here that’s going to leave repercussions! All I’m saying is, when you find that dumb idiot’s corpse, you put me in there instead. Let me take that body for a test run. Let me be the hero.”
That didn’t make any sense. Casteval took another step back. “What are you talking about? That’s not how any of this works.”
“Like you would know,” there was no care in his words now, Erimot sounded like something strange, foreign, inhuman, with the amount of toxins in xir mouth. “You don’t know a thing about how this world works. You don’t know the first thing about yourself. You’re a moron, through and through. I found you, told you I was a bounty hunter and you were my mark, and you never questioned why I didn’t take you in? Why I didn’t collect that delicious reward? I’ve been playing you since the very start!”
“If the world needs Casteval, it needs Casteval. You can’t replace him.”
“I’d do a much better job than you ever would and you know it. You’ve got the sword and the armor and look at you, you barely even look like him. You have no concept of how to fight, how to win, how to play the part. I’m everything that Casteval is that you aren’t.” They went quiet for a moment and Casteval could feel the steam in his thoughts start to whistle, ready to boil over into his fists, into his blade. “If I just borrowed a tiny bit of your compassion, I would be a better Casteval than the original.”
He wanted to run him through. His hand was on the hilt. There was smoke billowing between his fingers, anchoring him to it. It was seeping into his veins. The blood in his wounds was shoved out, the skin made flush once more, healing faster than it should have. His scalp itched.
“You were never a real person, you’ll never be Casteval!” he pushed through his grit teeth. “You’re nothing but a shitty writer who can’t get over the fact that his book got more popular than he was. You wanted the fame and the glory, but you went into the wrong field for that. You’re utterly pathetic.”
He couldn’t fight Ranvert. As much as he wanted to see him bleed, there was nothing that he could do. He wouldn’t hurt Erimot. He let go of the sword. The tendrils prodded at him, trying to find their way, trying to get him to act. He didn’t want to be Casteval but if it meant that Ranvert couldn’t, he was willing to at least entertain the concept.
He started to walk.
“So what, you’re not even going to stop me?” Ranvert prodded.
Casteval put his hand on the wall, following the path to the left. He hoped it was the correct one. “I’m not going to hurt Erimot, if that’s what you’re asking. You talk about wanting to be a hero, yet you’re willing to get someone hurt for your benefit. That just makes you a coward.”
There was a bit of light ahead, he could see it. It was just a pin prick, but it was light. He didn’t listen as Ranvert called out after him. He wasn’t going to hurt xim.
He couldn’t be bothered with how much of a hypocrite that made him feel.
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Casteval stared in the direction of Erimot’s faint glow. The bottle was the only light source they had. It was the thing that had kept Casteval alive in the Darkness so far. He had used it so many times. He didn’t want to break it, not for this. It wouldn’t even work, that oily thing was still wrapped around his hands. It would shield whatever light came from it.
More of them were climbing on him. He was an easy target, squirming on the ground. He could feel them pinning him with their hands. There were so many of them. His struggling didn’t seem to matter at all. He wasn’t shaking any of them off. They were safe in their shells.
He couldn’t think of any other options.
He clenched his hands, using all of his strength to clap. He felt the glass start to give, heard a shrill peeping from the oil slick on his hands, and pushed harder. His muscles ached, every tooth mark in his arms sparking, and then there was a crunch as the bottle collapsed under the pressure.
The lavender light filtered poorly and then spread, brighter than before, burning through the parasites predator, burning through the screaming snail things, burning through the darkness. There was more light than the temple had ever carried, had reflected, and he was certain those within could see the flare of it as it traveled through the tunnel.
And then he wasn’t thinking anymore.
He didn’t need to think. He didn’t need to do anything. There was no pain, there was no stress. There were children laughing and birds cawing. He opened his eyes.
The light did not hurt him, it was sunlight, coming from the two twin suns in the sky, one gold and the other violet, spinning round each other in a way that would be mesmerizing if it wasn’t blinding. He could smell salt and seaweed. There was sea foam. There were people, some with long horns and vibrant hair, others normal people, like him, lounging and playing and swimming. People were making sandcastles. Even though the sand was a slightly too red color and there were people that didn’t look human, everything was alright.
There was a sigh beside him and he turned. One of the horned people was sitting beside him, skin pale in places and red in others. They wore a swimsuit that clung to their body but there was a long red shawl on top of that, hiding most of them. Underneath the ridge of horns were some well-wrapped bandages.
Erimot lay xir head on Casteval’s shoulder. “You ever see anything like this?”
“You look different,” Casteval admitted, “Is this what you really look like?”
“Of all the things you’re experiencing right now, you chose to comment on that?” Erimot nuzzled in closer. “Do you have any idea where we are right now?”
“I was told earlier that the world I thought of as home is actually Hell,” Casteval admitted. He wasn’t much of a cuddler. People expected things from cuddling. This was nice though. “so I guess this must be Heaven.”
“No,” Erimot’s hand fell fingers intertwining with his own. “This isn’t Heaven. This is home. This is a memory, one that was dropped into a well, so that someone could move on, get one with their death, and try to live again. This is what the world was like, the real world, and I don’t know how long ago it was.”
“I was expecting it to smell like lavender,” Casteval chuckled. He wanted to rest his head on top of Erimot’s. Even though something was wrong with xim, something that Casteval was sure he knew, he still wanted to touch xim, be close to xim. He wasn’t a romantic person, he’d never had feeling of that nature for someone, but he wanted to do nice things for Erimot, make xim smile more. Here, there was already a smile, small and content. It was a good look on xim.
“Lavender isn’t the color of the memory, nor the smell, or even anything. It’s just a color to hint at the feeling within the memory. This one, it’s almost universal. This one, it’s beautiful. It’s not one that was easily given away.”
There was wetness on Casteval’s shoulder. He turned as much as he could without disturbing Erimot, raising a hand to xir face, feeling the dampness of the gauze. “Are you alright?”
“I’m the best I’ve been in centuries,” xi admitted, pulling away, just a little bit. When Casteval turned more to see where xi was going, xi changed course, pressing their lips together.
No. No, this wasn’t what Casteval wanted and he knew Erimot well enough to know that it wasn’t what xi wanted either, not right now. Xi was still in a relationship, sort of, or at least still had feelings for Carmilla. Casteval didn’t feel romantic attraction to anyone. He shoved xim off.
The bandage was coming loose around Erimot’s eyes. There was something red underneath all that gauze. “What’s gotten into you?” he wiped at his mouth. There had been a sharpness to Erimot’s teeth.
“Well, if we were lucky, we would have said you,” Erimot chuckled and that voice wasn’t Erimot’s at all.
The light faded like closing your eyes and the pain rushed back in like a wave in a storm. Casteval groaned, still lying on his back. There were wisps of something curling around him and when he moved they fell off of him like dried leaves. He got to his feet and every bite screamed at him. He bit his lip. Pain was nothing, it was fine. He couldn’t do anything about it right now anyway.
He searched the darkness for any light and when he saw it he grabbed it, snatching Erimot into the air. “What are you? What are you doing in my friend?” he growled.
Erimot chuckled. Then they let their head drop back as they laughed. Their hands came up to Casteval’s shoulders, making the pain spike, as they cackled. “Oh this is rich, this is so so rich. You mean to tell me, darling, that you can’t even tell? I knew I was a good actor, but I never expected you to fall for it so easily!”
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Geinif stood, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge of it. He was like a teacher, looking upon a prized pupil who had suddenly found himself in the middle of a terrible predicament. He was being studied, though he didn’t know how. He didn’t even know how this conversation was happening, Geinif had only the lower lobes of his ears left.
“Listen to that? Is that how you would have spoken to me, if you’d come here first? I doubt that’s the case. Still, if you think you are so much different than the hero, Casteval, you can continue to try to raise him, to give him the tools he needs to slay the dragon, to punish the betrayer, to rescue the weak, and make those who cannot help their natures pay for crimes they can’t stop committing.”
“I don’t even know where to go next,” Casteval admitted.
“You still need the blood and I doubt you are willing to kill yourself to give it to him,” again he was speaking in riddles and Casteval wished that these people would speak in simple, coherent, sentences, just for a day, or an hour, or five minutes. “But the body, the true body, not just the soul but what would be reborn, is in the Forest of Potential, well off of the beaten path. I suppose the blood may be there as well.”
“How do I get the blood?” Casteval asked, inching forward in his seat. He hadn’t wanted to ask the dragon anymore questions. “How do I raise him?”
Geinif thought on that for a moment before admitted his ignorance, “You may have to fight for the blood or ask for it or bleed it. For raising him, that is something I do not know. It is not something that I have ever tried to do, nor anyone else. I suppose there aren’t many people left to try to imagine his return. Perhaps, that his why his old foes are growing so restless.”
He spoke quietly then, turning to look out the window, out into the brightness outside. They could hardly see through the glare. “You will need to take the light with you, I hear you have your own.”
Casteval nodded.
“Good. The walls here are full of pock marks, as I’m sure you noticed. They are where the freshly dead dropped down from, but they were once the means of travel. One of them will get you where you need to go.”
“How will I know which one?”
“Perhaps a friend will guide you,” he shrugged, not just looking out the window with his eyeless head but walking to the translucent wall. He pointed as something, someone, wandering in the light, looking lost, looking tired. “There is your ally, they will take you where you need to go, if you trust them.”
“Thank you,” Casteval said, though he did not feel too much gratitude. While Geinif had told him so new things and had cleared out the horror of being the true Casteval, his demeanor was one of a bully and that was not something that Casteval could commend. He stood, half expecting Geinif to escort him back into the main building of the Temple, but was instead ignored. That was fine. It was not too difficult to find his way back.
At the counter he saw Arnestie on one knee, arms wrapped around Palisse. She wasn’t crying, the redness of her eyes had faded back to their normal honey color, but she held onto xim all the same. Cursette was behind the counter, reading the book that Palisse had abandoned.
Upon seeing Casteval, Palisse and Arnestie pulled away from each other and she hurried over, bowing to him as if that were a custom that anyone still upheld. He didn’t know when she had died, there was a chance it was still a thing when she was alive.
“I’m sorry!” she whimpered, her head still down, her eyes not meeting his, “I shouldn’t have told you all that, I should have double checked first. I didn’t know what I was talking about. I caused you undue anxiety. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey,” he put a hand out, resting it on her shoulder, “that’s alright. You gave me more information than you were probably supposed to and I don’t mind if it wasn’t all true. It was true to the extent of your knowledge.”
She looked at him then and her face was so relieved that he couldn’t hold her inaccuracies against her. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Actually, could you tell me a bit about the Forest of Purpose?”
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Casteval was barely out of the Temple when he saw xim, staggering from light to light, far too tired to make such a journey. He rushed forward, trying to catch xim before xi fell, but xi was alright, xi was doing fine on xir own, even if xi was going slowly, cautiously, through the boneyard.
“Erimot?” Casteval gripped xir elbows, steadying xim. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be resting.”
Erimot smiled solemnly, leaning forward to rest xir forehead against Casteval’s. “I couldn’t just let you stay out here on your own, could I? I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just wait fro you to return.”
“You could have laid down, slept, rested, healed up,” Casteval groaned, pulling away. “You’re not going to get any better out here.”
“Your eyes!” Erimot pulled back, looking over Casteval’s face. Xir hand traced the bones in Casteval’s face gently, as if they were lovers or something equally as intimate. “Something happened, didn’t it? What happened?”
Casteval raised a hand and rubbed at his right eye. Nothing felt any different. “What do you mean?”
“Your eyes were gray, but now, that one’s brown!” xi examined. “You’re hair, as well, it’s getting darker.”
Casteval stared at xim. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible. He pulled his hair free of the elastic and stretched it out before him. It wasn’t all getting darker, but there were obvious streaks in it, deep and dark and thick. It looked like a bad dye job, but he had never thought to do that. It was happening without his permission.
“What does this mean?” he asked, unable to hide the panic that was rising in his throat.
Erimot thought for a moment and then, oddly enough, leaned in and sniffed. “Hmm… you smell different too. You’re starting to smell more like Casteval, instead of yourself. This is just a theory but, perhaps, being here, doing all this, it’s making you more like him?”
Casteval looked down at himself. Even the sword looked more at peace at his side, the shadows spiraling around his thigh. “I’m not. I don’t want to be.”
Erimot put a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Shh. I know.”
“What can I do about it?”
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to hurry.”
Casteval wrapped his arm around Erimot’s waist and together they headed away from the Temple. Geinif hadn’t been willing to give Casteval a direction, but Palisse had. He didn’t know which of the holes was exactly the right one but when they reached it he would be able to guess. They all had symbols near them. He would be able to recognize it.
“Have you ever been to the Forest of Purpose?” he asked, “That’s where Casteval is, supposedly.”
Erimot nodded, sullen, “Only once, and for a brief moment in time. There were so many there, they all were looking for a reason to keep going. I was a target there.”
Casteval didn’t press. He knew how painful it was for xim to be possessed. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it must have been to be in a location where there were so many, combating for a body, for a reason to keep going. That was what the forest was for, different branches, different paths, different choices. Not everyone got what they wanted. It was one of the last places before being reincarnated or reborn.
Of course that was where Casteval would be. He knew his purpose but, with so many variations, knowing the end point didn’t mean that he knew the path. There was way that would have had to even guess at what he would be. Casteval hadn’t known, but he wasn’t the true Casteval. He just had to hope they’d follow the right trail.
“Hello? Hello?” came a myriad of voices, stemming from the holes. Casteval could hear them slithering around in there. “It got so bright all of a sudden, I was blinded. Can you help me?” Not all of the voices said the same thing, some were quieter than others, some couldn’t form the words as well as others. Erimot came closer, tightening an arm around Casteval’s shoulders.
“What is that?”
Casteval released Erimot’s waist, pulling out the bottle from his pack once more. “Don’t listen to them, they just want to eat those who go into the dark.”
“Look at you, becoming a regular death walker. You know this place pretty well, don’t you?”
That didn’t sound like Erimot. Casteval didn’t know what a death walker was, but that wasn’t a sentence structure that Erimot would use. Xir hand was rubbing against his chest, as well, fingers making lazy circles through the leather of his jacket. Casteval swallowed.
“How did you know where to find me, anyway?” he asked, looking for the symbol that Palisse had described.
“Ranvert,” Erimot shrugged, “the guy’s deplorable, it made me terribly uncomfortable to be in the same room as him, but he knew how to travel from one stage to the next without going through the traditional paths, and he could sniff you out. He led me straight to you.”
An arrow with three heads, carved into the stone wall. It was almost impossible to see with the embossing of snail shells, but he found it eventually. That would be the right path. He held the light out in front of him.
“And where is Ranvert now?”
The creatures in the dark screamed and skittered down into the tunnel, wanting to be away form the light. Casteval stepped inside, Erimot coming with. Some of the red lines in Erimot’s skin glowed pleasantly, intermingling the lavender light.
“Who knows?” Erimot admitted, “He told me where to go because he couldn’t babysit me any longer, that’s what he said. Something about another bounty? He was sniffing a lot. I’m guessing he went after a new target.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Casteval grumbled. “He wanted a reward from me, he never said what it was. He wouldn’t just leave without it.”
Erimot shrugged. He could feel it, even before seeing it. He could also see the snail things, trying to get away, burrowing into smaller holes in the walls. They quick, considering their shape, and Casteval realized that they didn’t have two humanoid arms but four and they scurried like spiders, walking on their hands instead of dragging their bodies around. They didn’t even leave slime trails.
Falling Plane of Loss | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Sleeping World | The World of Gray | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Temple of Light | The Temple of Light | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Temple of Light
The temple was a bright flash, all of the lights that they’d posted reflected, growing, and spreading out into the Darkness of Dying Itself. There was no place for the writhing things to hide, no home for parasite, no puddles of shadows for those dark things with their long hair and their spiraling shells to call out to those who wandered. It was just bright, so bright that it sounded like it was humming.
Arnestie had a hand on the back of Casteval’s neck, leading him as well as checking on him. Even if xi spoke, Casteval wasn’t sure he’d hear xim. There was so much noise in that silence, that thrum, that he could feel it vibrating his bones.
Arnestie opened the door and the light was inside as well, weakened by the black glass but now so bright that the candles were unnecessary. There was a cloudy light, patches darker like clouds suspended ad trapped before the sun.
The sound didn’t follow them inside, which was good, for there was a different noise in there, an angry sound, disciplinary. Casteval hurried down through the lobby and over to the stairs, ignoring how his bruised throat sucked in air. Arnestie was right behind him, though xi did not share his concern. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the cause of the sound.
There was a man, berating Cursette and Palisse, spitting as he spoke, too frustrated to keep track of his saliva. It would have been a difficult task, as well, as he could not see his own spittle. He looked normal, for the most part, wearing the same uniform as the other two, though he could not wear a hat. He had no hair or scalp for the hat to rest on. His head had been split straight across, barely a noticeable incline form side to the other, right across the bridge of his nose. There was hardly any brain matter left and definitely no eyes, but he spoke and insulted as if they would have just held him back.
“The Casteval? Even if I were to believe you that he would come here, how would I ever believe he would stoop so low as to return the light to the Temple? That is the job of an errand boy, not a grand hero! You should have fetched me immediately! You should have followed protocol! No one gets second chances, no matter how many signatures you can gather!”
“That’s enough!” Casteval growled, his own tone surprising him. He pushed himself between the half-headless man and the women, even though they were protected by a thick wall of glass and a wide marble counter. Palisse’s eyes were red and puffy and Cursette’s eyes were down at her feet, which padded soundlessly against the floor. He knew that he was no match, he gave no relief in his physical protection, but he didn’t want to see any more of this man’s yelling, nor the hurt in their features for what sounded like a mistake. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They did everything wrong!” the man spat. He collected himself though, hands taking the lapels of his jacket and straightening them. He calmed himself down somewhat and he looked like he was trying to read Casteval, but he had no eyes to do that with. “So, you are the Casteval that they were speaking of?”
Arnestie’s hand was on his shoulder. Even though he didn’t know xim very well, he felt stronger to have someone at his side.
“Not the Casteval. A Casteval. I’m just a normal man.”
“A normal man who fought back the darkness just because it was asked of him? A normal man who left the stage he was placed in to find answers? A normal man who wears the sword of a hero and drags the armor of a monster? No, you are not just a normal man, not after everything you have done. Not with what you will continue to do.”
“Fine, a not so normal man, I’m still not THE Casteval, like everyone thinks. And yes, I saw the file, I know what I am. That doesn’t change anything, not who I am, not who I know I am, deep within.”
The man smiled at that and gave the bow of an overly generous and highly trained butler, catching the spilled ooze and patting it back into what was left of his head. “I am Geinif, the head of this company, for the moment. It would behoove us, I think to continue this conversation I private. I doubt our audience is enjoying the show.”
Casteval looked over at Cursette and Palisse, who both had their eyes cast down, Palisse on her romance novel, still closed on her lap and Cursette looking almost anywhere other than at the two of them. He looked up at Armestie, who just placed a large hand on Casteval’s shoulder and nodded.
“Fine, whatever. Let’s just be quick about this.”
The smile on Geinif’s face twisted. There was something sinister in it, in all that his remaining head implied.
White patent leather heels clicked against the white marble. He was walking down a hall and Casteval followed, hearing murmuring from other offices, doors open just a crack so those within could take a peak and who must have been an old hero. Casteval did his best to ignore it, to just follow Geinif as far as they were willing to go.
The office in question was the last one of all and when Geinif opened the door to it it was surprisingly small, even though there were shelves set into the wall, each one of them with the top half of a humanoid head. They all looked like they would fit in the same place on Geinif’s face, as if to complete his feathers.
