Bul-Kathos nodded. “Aye…and no one else’ll stop you. If they still stand, that is. I’ve let any who can hear me know that the way must be clear for you and yours…”
With a swirl of his cloak, Rathma turned to Uldyssian. “Well, son of Diomedes, you wanted to see what lay in the mount. Come and I will show you.”
But something else concerned Uldyssian far more. “Where is my brother? Where’s Mendeln?”
“With Trag’Oul. It must be so for now. Events are rushing forward even swifter than I had imagined that they could and he, too, must be ready to aid in the struggle.”
Despite Rathma’s indifferent tone, Uldyssian felt every fiber of his being go taut. “What is it?”
“It is,” the ancient being said with a sigh, “what it has been. My mother. Lilith. I underestimated her. She has adapted once again…”
“What? What has she done?”
Rathma’s gaze shifted to Mount Arreat. “She has gained control of your edyrem, of course.”
And before Uldyssian could respond…they both vanished from Bul-Kathos’s side.
12
Mendeln worried about his brother. He had no idea where Uldyssian had vanished to and the being called Trag’Oul was of no help whatsoever.
He is where he must be, just as you are where you must be, the dragon had each time answered to his question.
Where Mendeln was bothered him almost as much as the location of his sibling. He no longer stood in the empty darkness that seemed Trag’Oul’s domain, but rather in a wasteland, a place where there had been much carnage long, long ago.
The landscape and sky were utterly gray and not the slightest hint of wind graced his cheek. Dust covered what Mendeln assumed were ancient buildings of some sort, buildings scattered far from one another. They all bore some similarity to one another, though. Some stood nearly whole, others were barely skeletons. In addition to the buildings, there were also signs that this place had been rich in tall trees and other flora as well. Now, though, there were only the petrified traces of that once lush time. Every plant, however, great or small, had perished at the same time that this settlement had come to ruin.
As had the inhabitants. Mendeln sensed the dead. They had died long, long ago. Longer than even legendary Kehjan had existed, yet they were not fully at rest.
He awaited some word from Trag’Oul, but the celestial creature was as silent as the grave. A frustrated Mendeln finally stalked toward the nearest of the ruins, where he began dusting off the upthrust corner of one.
Not at all to his surprise, the archaic words of the language Rathma had burned into his head were just barely visible. These, however, meant nothing to him, not even after Mendeln sounded them out. He understood the “letters,” but they added up to nothing comprehensible.
Straightening, he muttered, “And so what do we have here, then? What?”
The legacy of the demoness’s previous crusade…came the answer immediately.
Mendeln shuddered, but not only because of what the dragon had said. Since Uldyssian had pointed it out, even he now recognized the similarity between his voice and that of the leviathan…not to mention Rathma, also. How long ago and how deeply had they infested his mind?
That question almost made him rebel against any further movement here, but the threat of Lilith and his concern for Uldyssian overrode the hesitation. In truth, thus far Mendeln had not experienced anything actually sinister at the hands of those who claimed that they wanted to be his mentors. In fact, if he recalled his own mind, they only acted on desires already stirring within him for the past few years.
And if learning from them could help save both his brother and his world…it behooved Mendeln to do whatever was necessary.
He stepped to the next ruins, the trek taking barely more than a heartbeat. Mendeln was aware that this was not right, that the distance should have taken much longer. However, he was grateful that he would not have to take what would have possibly been hours just to traverse his immediate surroundings.
The second structure was much more intact than the first. A quick dusting revealed more unknown words. This time, however, Uldyssian’s brother did not so quickly give up. He repeated each rune with care, trying them in different vocal variations. Perhaps pronunciation was the mistake, he wondered. Perhaps—
Suddenly, the word before him made sense. A name, or at least a noun. Pyragos.
Quite pleased by his success, Mendeln spoke the word out loud. “Pyragos!”
Instantly, the ground around the ruined building shuddered. Mendeln stumbled back, already regretting his rash action.
From below burst a grotesque, fleshless form with wings stripped of the membranes that had once given them the potential for flight. The head was shaped like a bull’s, even with two savage horns that interlocked in the middle. The fiend leaped up, dry dirt and what might have been drier skin dropping from it. Mendeln was immediately put to mind of the demonic presence that he and Uldyssian had fought in the jungle.
But something concerning this situation was not quite the same. First and foremost, the skeletal form rising up from its grave was shorter than the one in the jungle and its frame was much more petite overall despite the vast wings. Staring at it, Mendeln would have sworn that it was—or had once been—female.
Less certain than a moment before, he yet again repeated the name. “Pyragos?”
In reply, the ground to his right shook. In fact, the entire landscape suddenly convulsed. He cursed himself as he leapt back. Once had been ignorant; twice had been utterly foolhardy.
Out of the wasted landscape rose a legion of monstrous corpses, none of them completely human and all nearly bone…or some equivalent to it. In fact, there were many that to his eye seemed more merely empty garments or shadowy images. They came in all shapes, all sizes, to his eye registering as once male, female, and…simply other.
But there was something about them that did not seem right. Mendeln had faced ghosts before and these were not such. He put a hand to the foremost, a winged thing with horns that, from its slight size and certain characteristics, Mendeln judged once female. The hand went through, not so great a surprise, but the sense of former life was not there.
They are the memories of angels and demons, came Trag’Oul’s voice. Their deaths so terrible that their shadows are forever burned into this place…
Not real spirits. Mendeln wondered if either group had what he would have called a soul, but suspected not. Perhaps that was another reason they both coveted and distrusted humans…
Then…among them he sensed the coming of others. Misty forms milled around and even through the macabre memories, misty forms with which Mendeln was more familiar. These were true spirits, true souls.
But…of whom?
Show yourself to me! he demanded. Show yourself!
They did. A legion of men and women, many of them astonishingly perfect even in death, overwhelmed the visions of demons and angels. Mendeln recognized them for who they were, for their perfection was as Rathma’s.
The children of Sanctuary’s founders. The first nephalem and the immediate generations after.
The ghosts of the nephalem stood motionless, as if awaiting his next action. Mendeln had no notion as to what that might be and Trag’Oul appeared silent on the subject. Evidently, it was up to Mendeln to make his own path.
But with an endless array of dead before him, what was that path?
He looked to the foremost of them, a woman of such dark beauty that she made his heart beat faster. Her silver eyes stared into his without blinking.