Echoes From Dust

by L. S. Popovich

Table of Contents

Glossary

Chapter 46: Desolation

The complexion of Mitchlum’s streets had changed. Fewer children ran about, fewer stray animals begged at food stalls. Everyone remained indoors and boarded up their windows. Priests and initiates monitored streets and alleyways.

Telos patrolled with the rest of them, dispatching stray cynths with jaded efficiency. Ovid had given her a badge and a short sword to call her own. Small consolations, considering her potential. Izzie was out there somewhere, she thought, no longer under the sway of the Council. And while Riku was learning about the endless array of grotto-le that ruled the wild, Telos was stuck in the smoggy city, with only the tiniest hint of a god to call her own.

During her boring new duties, she soon lost hope but, in time, her despair turned to determination. Ovid was a busy man, but he sensed the change in her. If her god had truly awoken, it communicated in a strange way. When the opportunity presented itself, Telos navigated to the underground passage from which cynths issued in a slow stream. Remera’s soldiers continually subdued them, but the net wavered with increasing frequency. Nonetheless, Telos appreciated the High Priestess’ ceaseless activity. Even if the Council was getting sloppy, Remera never stopped issuing commands to combat a situation that was rapidly becoming impossible.

Slinking through underground passages, listening for cynths — the flapping of their grubby wings and the pattering of their lumbering footsteps — Telos familiarized herself with the caverns. The god within her stirred ever so slightly, or so she believed. Like the first gust of a coming storm, she felt a need to do something meaningful.

She made her way to the wide passage leading to the ancient riverbed, and the familiar glow of the relic’s net met her eyes. She watched the roving masses, and nearby guards updated her on the influx of beasts. The sentries did not intimidate her, but what would happen if she stole the relic? She was tempted to unleash the full force of the waiting cynths on the stagnant city of Mitchlum if it would release the sleeping god inside her.

If Mitchlum fell, only the Fjord would remain and, by itself, the Fjord could not stand forever. Eventually it would fall, and mankind would scatter and possibly disappear. She knew it was the wrong thing to do, but possibilities lingered in her mind.

Telos gazed upon the flickering shield of lightning with wonder and felt herself connect with its sacred force. It was the keystone of humanity’s empire. If it was the will of the gods, then why shouldn’t she tip the scale?

She remembered Izzie’s beast-form, how seamlessly it had taken over. Perhaps inside each person was a grotto-le, a spirit of nature that yearned to return the earth to a pure state. The only thing standing in their way were the ritualistic daily battles that established the Council’s dwindling domain. Human beings had undone the work of the gods and reshaped the land, but this city was all they had to show for it.

The force of nature within her called her to the purpose. One day she could fulfill this desire but, until then, the lives of everyone depended on her hesitation, her mastery of the impulse. Telos relished the sense of power it gave her.

* * *

The horizon was composed of abstract shapes, obscured by tempestuous clouds. Several grotto-le ambushed Riku, Virgil, and Izzie along the way, but Izzie made short work of them. Riku managed to chase away cynths with warding calls and learned how to strike fear into beasts by resonating the plates inside their bodies. The more she experimented, the greater her repertoire became.

“Why does Dust have to be so far away?” Izzie grumbled.

“We’ve covered a lot of ground,” Virgil commented. “It’s not a pilgrimage to be taken lightly.”

“I wonder if it’s like the oasis,” Riku said. She recalled the sunken cave of ruins where her last battle had taken place. Izzie and Virgil refrained from comment and took the opportunity to drink from canteens.

They continued through the desolate Cauterhaugh. Riku believed she was little more than an ancillary member of their team, but felt more curiosity about their destination with every mile.

“The world’s much larger than one person can conceive,” Virgil said. “A priest can traverse but a tiny tract of it during the span of a life.”

“Some of us have lived much longer than others and traveled farther,” Izzie said.

Riku wanted to ask her why she had never returned to Dust before, but remembered that Izzie had never been free of the Council until now.

Dust, despite what Riku had heard about it, was still little more than a legend. What could a place untouched by the Fjord be like? And if Izzie recaptured old memories, what good would come of it?

Wind scoured the landscape, preventing their progress. Taking shelter behind a bluff, they devoured meager rations. For several days they’d camped on hard ground. The scattered towns had finally petered out on sun-blanched plains. The worn pillars and flattened ruins of the ancient world gleamed like marble, polished by the ceaseless wind.

Forests and rivers thinned out, and plateaus rose out of the flared slopes of the floodplain glittering with jade and granite terraces. Dust trickled from mountaintops, settling into a perpetual haze. Ridges speckled with shadowy caves leaned and folded into stratified layers of diverse, grainy colors. Cynths roamed on the periphery and approached the three pilgrims curiously until Riku’s pointed calls frightened them off.

Riku feared starvation and thirst. The barren desert was more vast and terrifying than she had ever imagined. How many travelers had buckled under the brutal conditions?

The next day, a figure faded into view.

“We should avoid that man,” Virgil said, indicating the dark column on the horizon that could have only been a human ahead of them.

“Nonsense,” Izzie said. “He can tell us how far we have left to go.”

Virgil gritted his teeth, and shook his head and muttered, “We can’t afford to take anyone with us.”

Riku’s hope bloomed. It had been so long since they’d encountered any sign of civilization she’d begun to think they were seeking a phantom land.

“Maybe he’s been to Dust,” Izzie said.

“I doubt it,” Virgil said bitterly.

It might have been Riku’s imagination, but Virgil’s attitude toward their destination seemed to be growing darker.

Plodding in silence for some time, they finally neared the ragged man. “He’s delirious,” Virgil warned, “Don’t believe a word he says.”

The man waved to them.

“Pilgrim,” Izzie called, “from where have you come?”

The man’s rasp was almost unintelligible. “From the mountains.” He pointed to his right, where no mountains stood as far as the eye could see.

“Do you venture to Dust?” Izzie asked.

The man’s red-veined eyes widened. “Turn back,” he said. His voice grated. “To Dust I have been, and nothing but death awaits you there!”

Izzie stared hard at Virgil, who shook his head mournfully. “Some who wander back from Dust become delusional.”

“Let him tell his tale,” Izzie said.

“My comrades fell. I fled in terror.”

“What did you find there?”

“No souls but grotto-le live there now, and heaps of metal skeletons from all the priests who have thrown away their lives.”

“He’s clearly mad,” Virgil muttered under his breath. “His mind grows dim, groping at dreams.”

“You haven’t been there in decades, Virgil,” Izzie sneered.

Virgil said calmly, “It was many years ago, but would your god lead you to destruction?”

Riku glanced back and forth between her two elders nervously.

“What do you say, Riku?” Izzie asked, “Should we trust this pilgrim?”

Riku was astonished Izzie had asked her opinion. She sought inside herself for the instruction of her god. Nothing but fear and longing answered her.

“We must press on,” Virgil urged them, “Turning back now would be fatal.”

“I stand before you,” the roughshod man continued, “because I’d rather die of exposure than be torn to pieces in Dust.”

“What you say makes no sense!” Virgil proclaimed. “What use would the grotto-le have for an organic oasis when they have the whole Cauterhaugh to conquer?”

“I’ve defeated four grotto-le in my life,” the man said hoarsely. “And the priests who accompanied me were more qualified than I. All of us together couldn’t pass through!”

Riku trembled and glanced at Izzie, who was regarding both the traveler and Riku sternly.

“Well?” Izzie asked her again. “I won’t be scared off, but will you go back with this man, Riku?”

Riku shook her head. If Izzie intended to go, she wouldn’t turn back.

“May your souls find peace, once you’ve joined the gods in eternity,” the worn-out priest said, bowing. His clothes hung in tatters, his mag body clanked and creaked.

Virgil scoffed and tossed a small packet of biscuits to him.

The man picked it up and shoved it into Riku’s hands, saying, “Save your food. I’m already a dead man.”

The three of them watched him weeping softling as he shuffled past.

Proceed to Chapter 47...

Copyright © 2019 by L. S. Popovich