They pass through the crumbling and abandoned remains of a mind flayer outpost. Miles later, winding back around, there is a side passage where some sort of city once stood; it is now dark, and in front of it stands an ancient statue to Mog the beetle-god. Stone Bear’s death spirit Elder hisses that the pull of Nacreous is getting stronger, and he guides the group through short cuts which speeds them on their way.
After a few hours, the wide tunnel lurches off into a much smaller passage that has been carved out of solid stone by intelligent creatures. The heat here is terrible as they skim around the edge of a huge lake of lava. In the hellish orange light the adventurers can see giant spouts of magma spurting upwards, and one whole wall of the cavern looks like it holds a giant mosaic to Imbindarla that was made by flinging red hot magma onto the wall and letting it cool. The effect is eerie.
It’s unlikely that the group would be able to breath if they weren’t already in vapor form. They quickly pass a narrow bridge that spans the lava, then fly beneath a half dozen round stone platforms that are hanging by massive chains from the roof of the cavern. The platforms seem to be designed so that a person would have to jump one to one and then swing to the next platform. Other than that, they have no obvious use. “Oh, man!” says Nolin. “That would have been fun.” But they don’t have time to investigate, and soon fly past the lava and into the cooler air of smaller caverns.
Much father on, the passage stops and takes a sharp left-hand turn as if it is curving around something in the path. The area in front is collapsed rubble, the edges of what must have once been a much larger cavern.
Stone Bear frowns. “The spirits are incredibly strong here. I can actually hear them from behind the rock.” He raises his misty hands in front of him, tiny whorls of vapor drifting off as he tries to understand what he’s sensing.
I don’t like it here, hisses Elder. We are so close. Let us continue.
No, interrupts Bear, another of the shaman’s spirit guides. This is a good place. We should stay for a time.
Stone Bear extends his senses and gets a feeling of something like an immense ghostly whirlpool – and maybe a prison as well. It’s hard for him to tell, and even harder to find words for the things he can sense.
Mara sniffs. “The air is clearer here, too. Fresher. It feels like I’m outside on a spring day. It’s a wonderful change.”
Malachite agrees. “There is goodness in front of us.” He smiles wryly. “No ghouls here, I think.”
Velendo slows his misty body to a halt as he realizes where they must be. “In front of us, under that collapsed ceiling, is thousands and thousands of ghouls and the remains of our greatest heroes.” His voice is reverant, and behind him Nolin begins to quietly sing a requiem. “Here is where Saint Morak and Saint Aleax sacrificed themselves in order to stop the White Kingdom the first time, hundreds of years ago.”
“There are spirits emerging from there,” says Stone Bear softly. “They are being blown back in as soon as they emerge. I don’t believe they can leave.”
“I’d like to help,” says Velendo in wonder, “but I’m only a priest.” He comes out of wind form and sits down heavily. He looks up at the wall. He first heard about this sacrifice more than six years ago. Now, he’s sitting in the dark right in front of the place where it actually happened.
“We’re the second team,” he calls out loudly. “We’re here to try again. We’d like to set you free while we’re here. I bet no one’s prayed for you in a long, long time.” He’d like to remedy the situation, and he bows his head.
“I think,” Stone Bear’s voice is quiet as he also comes out of his misty form, “I think they’re inviting us in where they can hear us. There’s. . . there’s another passageway farther on.”
Malachite stands up. “Lead us.”
“It could be a trap,” cautions Velendo as he raises his face.
Stone Bear turns and gazes into the countenances of spirits that only he can see. “I don’t think so.”
They walk for twenty minutes or so, judging that the tunnel was carved as close to the holiness as the ghouls could stand, slowly ripped from the stone by tool and claw over the course of decades. Finally they reach a spot where someone or something tunnelled in to retrieve Aleax’s bones. The group turns right towards the silvery radiance instead of continuing on the main passage. Cautiously, the group moves upwards through a braced shaft, and they soon find themselves standing in what must have been a cavern the size of a stadium. They tread on rubble that has filled the space up to within thirty feet of the original collapsed ceiling. Beneath their feet lie the bodies of the fallen, both mortal and undead.
Around them swirl hundreds of silvery spirits.
“I think this place is drawing souls in somehow,” says Stone Bear. “Some of those who were freed once Imbindarla died. This place is holding them in some way.”
“I want to. . .” Velendo swallows drily. “I want to talk to one in particular.”
“I can try to call him for you,” offers the shaman.
“Yes, please.”
“Give me your hand.” Stone Bear throws his head back, and he speaks in a way that makes no sound. Movement flashes around the corners of Velendo’s vision. The shaman is suffused in light for a few seconds, and he twitches horribly. When turns back towards Velendo, his voice is that of an old man.
“Well. Look at you.”
“Stone Bear?”
“No.” The blind shaman smiles beatifically, and Velendo falls to one knee.
“Get up!” says the spirit of Saint Morak in a quavering voice. “What are you doing down there?”
I know how that that feels, actually,” says Velendo sheepishly, and he struggles to his feet. “Your pardon. It was instinct.”
Saint Morak touches the edges of Velendo’s face. “You’re real people!” he says disbelievingly. “It’s been some time. My body is down,” he gestures, “there, someplace, underneath all that.”
“It’s going to be a lot of work getting you out.”
“You don’t have to get me out. That’s certainly not what you came for.”
“No,” admits Velendo. “It would be nice if we had that kind of luxury, but getting you out may have to wait.”
“You came for ghouls,” says Saint Morak confidently. “To finish what I thought I had ended.”
“They may be trying something new. It’s been some time.”
Morak turns to Mara and Malachite. “It’s good to see our priesthoods working together again.” He turns to Agar, and squints despite the fact that Stone Bear has no eyes. “Boy, there’s a squidgy thing with tentacles sitting on your shoulder. You’re aware of that?” Saint Morak sounds slightly disapproving.
“Yes. He likes it there; he’s my friend.”
“I’m sure.” Velendo is surveyed again. “You’re certainly all tricked out.” Morak sounds slightly jealous and covetous of the ostentatious armor, the jeweled weapons, the obvious magic.
“We need every advantage we can get,” says Velendo carefully as he tries not to offend. “Things are difficult down here.”
Saint Morak sounds disgusted with himself. “I thought we had solved that problem.”
“You put it off for a goodly long time, but the ghouls have reemerged. New plots are brewing?”
“What plots?”
A horrible thought sneaks into Velendo’s mind. “Stone Bear?”
“He’s in here.” Saint Morak’s voice is still strong.
“I know this is going to be horribly offensive, father, but may we detect evil on you? We’ve been tricked before. I just needed to be sure.” Mara checks, then nods that her detection worked and that everything is fine.
“No offense taken,” says Saint Morak, his aged voice coming from Stone Bear’s throat. “I ought to do the same. May I borrow your holy symbol?”
Velendo looks shocked, and glances down at the solid stone shield on his arm. “Can you hold it?”
“Let’s see.” The possessed shaman takes Velendo’s shield, and in his hands it is as light as a feather. He casts a spell, and Nolin tries not to even think naughty thoughts. Saint Morak then glances down at the animated carvings of Velendo on the outside of the shield.
“What’s that a carving of?” He tries unsuccessfully to blink. “Oh, for crying out loud! It’s you!”
Velendo is thrilled to finally have someone who might understand. “That’s what I said!”
Nolin intercedes. “I don’t mean to interrupt either of your holinesses, but is crankiness mandatory in your religion?”
Both look up and respond simultaneously. “Who’s cranky? I’m not cranky!”
Morak continues. “Goodness knows I have a right to be cranky, being denied my proper reward and being trapped underneath rubble for what must be dozens…”
“Hundreds.”
“…hundreds of years, but Calphas has a plan for me. My eyes can not see all the intricacies of his master plan. I do his will.” He pokes fingers into unfamiliar and empty eye sockets. “In a manner of speaking,” he mumbles.
“Well said,” murmurs Malachite.
“There’s someone you’ll want to meet,” says Velendo, and Cruciel manifests beside him. Saint Morak gasps, and he causes Stone Bear’s body to immediately drop to one knee. “There’s a lot of that going around,” remarks Velendo sheepishly.
“There’s an angel next to you!”
“We’re really not fit to be following in your shoes the way we are. I guess Calphas thought I needed a little help.”
“Rise, Morak,” intones Cruciel. She lovingly places her fingers underneath his chin and guides him back to his feet. “You are blessed in the name of the Wallbuilder, for you are a keystone in the wall of faith. Be joyous.” Her voice reverberates with power.
Still unsettled, Morak turns to Mara. “Aleax should be around here somewhere,” he mumbles. “He died with me. Not that he wanted to at the time.”
“He is,” answers Nolin wryly.
“You’ve seen him? Where is he?”
“Aleax has been called home, Morak.” Malachite’s tone is serious.
Malachite and Nolin quickly shares the story of Saint Aleax and the Ivory King’s betrayal. Saint Morak is amazed, and although he keeps staring at the rich treasure which adorns the Defenders of Daybreak, he seems to take in every word. “What are the ghouls up to now?”
“Trying to eat the carcass of Imbindarla.” Stone Bear’s body snaps to attention.
“What?”
“Like we said, new plots are brewing.” The group explains current events, such as how Imbindarla has fallen and how her unborn son wishes to consume her flesh and thus gain a share of her power.
“He ate his way out from underneath this collapse!” Morak spits indignantly. “I had him! I’ve never seen the like.”
“Maybe you can tell us all about him?” says Nolin eagerly. “We’ve never seen him, and don’t know as much as we need to.”
There’s a momentary pause. “I might be able to show you,” says Saint Morak thoughtfully. “He had an advisor, not very powerful, not very competent, but who could for a few seconds taken on the bodies of other undead.”
“Soder. He’s gotten better at it.”
“Has he? He was not here when we dropped the cavern. I wish we had an opportunity to do it properly, but it was the only chance we had. What Soder does, I might be able to do for you if you want it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re all linked, the dead. More now than before. I might be able to put your spirits near them. Just for a few minutes, I imagine, and we’d have to make sure your bodies were safe here, but it might give you an opportunity to see what I didn’t reach before.”
The group looks at one another. It would mean an unparallelled opportunity to scout, although the danger could be horrible.
“Think about it for a few minutes,” says Morak. “I think that this shaman can handle it. I should be sure. And in any case, there’s another spirit here that wishes to speak with you.” Morak’s appearance vanishes from Stone Bear’s face as the shaman’s muscles go slack. He twitches again, and his face takes on a familiar cast and turns towards Malachite.
“You were sloppy,” says Claris’ voice to the hunter of the dead. “You should have killed the elven archer and the shadow personally. If you had, my spirit wouldn’t be here.”
To be continued. . .
