Slithering Maze 19: When Past is Prologue

Basysus 29, 1278: Court of Lemongrass Inn, Arth Prayogar. When you’re at rock bottom, the only way is up…

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: A simple exploration of the Sunfate temple went from lost sanctuary to waking nightmare, then a slaughterhouse. It was Fateweaver against Windtracer until Tela learned the truth—Lady Nimad wasn’t a Fateweaver, but a lich of the Gatekeeper Society. Which means Windtracer troubles just tripled for Tela and her crew. Now, with Kiyosi captured and the crew reeling from taking it on the chin, the clock ticks down to what may be the end of Kiyosi’s fate…

Basysus 29, 1278: Court of Lemongrass Inn, Arth Prayogar. When you’re at rock bottom, the only way is up…

Morning sunlight was just a bad idea. The first thing I tasted was the bitter copper of old blood. Second was my own bruised stupidity as I woke halfway to the wrong side of dead.

I pried open gummy eyelids and glared at the golden sunrise like it’d spit at me. The world swayed as if it were half a bubble off-kilter, then righted itself. I wasn’t sure that was better. With a heavy groan, I tugged the blue wool blanket over me.

Pain jabbed through a dozen aches as memories crowded in too close. My thoughts churned with ugly visions.

I remembered blood soaking the sandstone floor in haphazard puddles. A lingering taste of bitter dust that coated my tongue and scratched my throat. Writhing blue water that slapped anything alive until it stopped moving.

Finally, I remembered that too-bright look of burning insanity buried deep in Lady Nimad’s eyes as she abducted Kiyosi. I jerked up in bed and scrambled to grab a knife that wasn’t there.

“Ki!”

My shout echoed off the tan-tiled walls before my voice crumbled into a whisper.

“Stay alive.”

I buried my face in my hands as I trembled, rage hot in my chest. The reality of life, and what happened, descended like a flock of vultures on a battlefield. I wasn’t sure if I was angry at Lady Nimad, Herd Tolvana, or myself.

“Sha’ree? How in the dark high tides did it get this bad? Another damn lich. I barely survived the last one.”

The Lady Deep didn’t answer. Normally, she never really did, at least not with words.

A gentle weight settled onto the bed next to me. Then a pair of callused, scaled hands carefully gripped my arms. I raised my head to look at Skarri, scrubbing a damp trail from one of my cheekbones.

“Hey.”

The temple guard leaned forward, locking eyes with me. Her forked tongue snaked out to taste the air before she took a slow breath.

“Tela? We will fix this. I don’t know Kiyosi very well, but from what I’ve seen, he’s clever and resourceful. He’ll survive, and we’ll deal with that lich directly. Permanently.”

There was a deep, determined glimmer in her rust-red eyes. Stable. Steady. It was easy to see how she earned her place as a shaman’s personal guard.

After a long breath, I nodded.

“We can do this,” I dared whisper.

Skarri nodded with a small, reassuring smile on her face.

“Yes. We will.”

She let go of my arms and sat back, smoothing her green-trimmed cream tunic. Then she studied me carefully. Probably looking for cracks in who I was. There were plenty. I just tried to keep them under wraps.

I was a mess of bandages, bruises, and new jagged scars on my bronze-dark skin. Even my dark hair was a skewed tangle that a rat wouldn’t bother with for a nest. I marked it up to a new personal definition of panic-rumpled. Methodically, I combed my hair out with my fingers and re-tied my braid.

Skarri tilted her head as she watched.

“So, where do we start? Studying the submerged model in the temple?” she asked with a soft hiss. “Oh, and what was that about Lady Nimad not being a Fateweaver? That she was something called a Gatekeeper?”

I recognized a gentle prodding to climb out of my depression pit when I heard one. Silently, I appreciated it while I slowly rubbed my face.

“Model first, yes. But Lady Nimad? That… is complicated. Probably something to talk about after I wash up and put on clothes I’ve not slept in. How’s Mikasi and Atha?”

“They’re mostly fine.” Skarri idly waved a hand at the door to my room. “Atha is giving the local healers a headache because he won’t be still and let his stab wound heal. Also, he’s demanding jasmine tea with rum, saying it’s a quality healing balm.”

That pulled a small chuckle out of me. I easily imagined Atha squaring off against a cadre of healers over tea and rum. Skarri grinned as she continued.

“As for Mikasi, he’s better, or at least better behaved. Both he and his smoke cheetah came away bruised. Nothing worse.” Her smile faded. “He blames himself for what happened.”

“Mikasi hasn’t done anything to be blamed for.” I shook my head, clenching the blanket in my fists. “Of anyone, I’m to blame. He wanted to grab the medallions. I said to leave them. It drew Lady Nimad and her cut-throats right to us.”

“Stop that,” Skarri’s brow furrowed. “You don’t know that last is true. Besides, we learn from what happened, move forward, and then be better.”

I pursed my lips as a sigh fell out.

“Right. I know.” I glared at the rumpled shirt I slept in along with bandages wrapped over two new cuts on one arm. “Let me get cleaned up. After that I’ll explain about the Gatekeepers and why Lady Nimad is a huge problem. I’m just glad we’ve three days to sort this out.”

“Yes, fresh clothes and food. After that, the problem can be run to ground,” Skarri smiled.

“Deal,” I told her, then swung my feet to the floor to grab clean clothes and a quick bath.

The bath was steaming hot. That, and the soothing sounds of the marketplace out the window, helped me sort out my thoughts. The liches of the Gatekeeper Society weren’t my favorite topic to talk about. But the others needed to know for their own safety. I remembered the carnage in Bathrogg Station taking down a Gatekeeper lich like it was yesterday. That didn’t need to happen again.

Skarri wasn’t alone when I later returned to my room. It wasn’t Mikasi or Atha, either.

I paused at the door, then walked over to the bed to stuff old clothes into my pack. With a wary eye at Skarri and my new guest, I snatched up socks and boots.

Outside, past the balcony, the ever-present prairie wind had picked up strength. Scents of early-season wildflowers mingled with the aroma of fresh-grilled vegetables and meat from the merchant vendors. My stomach softly complained about being ignored.

“Meeting in my room is turning into a habit,” I said to Skarri and Trade-Warden Rhen Shotho while I tossed my socks onto the bed. “I figure the healers still have Atha wrapped up somewhere, but where’s Mikasi?”

“Downstairs. Market Street.” Skarri gestured to the balcony while she arched an eyebrow ridge at me. “He said you’re usually hungry after a near-death experience.”

I hesitated then tugged on my socks and grabbed my boots, my expression a bit sour. It was good that the people I trusted knew me that well. But it felt a bit vulnerable, too. It wasn’t something I was comfortable with.

“Well, he’s got a point,” I murmured, feeling a tiny flush in my cheeks. “Trade-Warden? Not to be rude, but what can we do for you? Is this about the fruit merchant again, or is it the temple?”

Rhen folded his arms over his chest with a sigh. Today, he wore a sea-blue tunic under his dust-tan brigandine armor. It was like seeing a muscular, brown-furred statue with the label of ‘imposing centaur official’ stamped at his hooves.

“Sunfate Temple. I’m following up about what happened.” A frown ghosted over his mouth. “Both that you poked around in it and that you were attacked there.”

“So, we’re up on charges for ruin running?” I asked warily. Honestly, it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d been arrested for that, nor the last.

“I’m overlooking ruin thievery given the circumstances,” the Trade-Warden deadpanned. “But I also wanted to check to see how you were recovering.”

Skarri coiled her tail under her, resting her hips down as if she were her own chair.

“Also, I think it’s important to know what you meant by Lady Nimad not being a Fateweaver, but instead a Gatekeeper.” She looked at me quizzically. “What’s a Gatekeeper?”

Rhen tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at me while he flicked his horsetail.

“There is that, too. Fateweavers I know and loathe. A Gatekeeper is something new.”

I drew a deep breath, stamped into my boots, then studied them both. The chill wind from outside cooled the warm air to something comfortable. But I just wasn’t feeling that soothed, mostly because I didn’t want to explain. I was worried where those details might go.

“It was a guess,” I admitted. “I think Lady Nimad isn’t a Fateweaver. Pretty sure, given how she reacted when I called her a Gatekeeper.”

I looked down at the calluses on my hands. A few faded scars traced up the dark skin of my arms. Each one a memory of past decisions. I coughed a little, then cleared my throat.

“Fateweavers would’ve been bad enough. But Gatekeepers? They’re worse. It’s a cabal of liches that call themselves the Gatekeeper Society. The whole lot have been out to overthrow most kingdoms since the Great Collapse.”

“Why?” Rhen asked, narrow-eyed with a touch of protective anger behind the question.

“To remake the Ancient Order on their terms.” I shrugged, letting my hands fall into my lap. “They’ve been at it for centuries but haven’t pulled it off yet. Why try harder now? No idea.”

They both started to ask more questions, but I winced, waving them off.

“Let me start at the beginning…”

I interlaced my fingers in front of me, then started talking. First was about the lich Baron Marius Apollinare and his obsession with me. An obsession where he permanently turned my eyes reptilian, yellow, and sunlight sensitive, because I refused to die. I recounted the horror of Bathrogg Station, the Automatic Crystal, and how I ended Lord Marius. Finally, I pulled out the crystal that held Lord Marius’ imprisoned essence.

That made them both grimace, like it was a severed finger or something. I ignored that and pushed on to what Odro told me about the thousand-year-old liches themselves and the Gatekeeper Society. Crazed lunatics whose idea of ‘order and peace’ was painted in blood and stacked on corpses. A lot of corpses.

When I was done, the air felt brittle, and my audience of two were silent for a few heartbeats.

Rhen snorted. “If this was anyone but a Windtracer saying this, I’d think they were lying.”

Skarri’s snake tail twitched nervously. “So all of this… is normal for you?” she asked, pupils narrowing to slits.

I scrunched up my nose and winced, probably looking like I’d swallowed sour milk. It wasn’t like I ever set out to be a cautionary tale. That just sort of happened.

“No. The thing with the basilisk on the road was new,” I mumbled as my shoulders tensed. “Also, I didn’t think that running face-first into a lich was going to be a yearly event. If I had known, I’d have bought fancier knives.”

“This sounds like a very dangerous habit, like jumping off rooftops,” Skarri said warily.

I bristled a bit at that. But Rhen, bless his law-keeping centaur heart, stepped in to save what dignity I had left. He grunted.

“Two’s still a coincidence. Besides, it’s only habitual if she goes after them.” He rubbed his nose, then sniffed. “But given what your companions said yesterday, you’re going to want back into that underground temple. Which I can’t let you do…”

I stood bolt upright off the bed, fists clenched. Anger rose fast in my cheeks. Skarri hurled a narrow-eyed scowl at the Trade-Warden.

“What? You can’t be serious…” I started.

“…unsupervised,” he interrupted with a weary sigh. “I can’t let you go unsupervised. Windtracer, the Council is already foaming at the mouth over this. The only reason they’ve not swarmed in there is that, under the law, the Trade-Wardens have to look into this attack and kidnapping. Trust me, they want to get at that captive water elemental. Badly.”

Slowly, deliberately, I folded my arms across my chest. Mouth pulled into a tight line.

“I’m Ishnanori. We haggle for fun over breakfast,” I said in a flat tone. “So what’s the bargain?”

Rhen nodded, lightly pawing the floor with a hoof.

“Fair question. I escort you and your people in there and back. It keeps the law satisfied, and the Merchant Herds out a little longer.” He shrugged. “This also gives my fellow Trade-Wardens time to figure out what to do about the water elemental.”

Suspicion skittered along my neck like a trail of energetic ants. This smelled like the dumb games nobility played against each other. I hated those. Especially when historical artifacts were involved. It was simpler when they stuck to land wars.

But Rhen Shotho seemed honest enough, even though he had pointed a crossbow at me a few days ago. Nothing he said seemed suspicious, and it got us closer to what we wanted, which was freeing Kiyosi. I nodded.

“Deal. Let’s go yank up that model. Ki doesn’t have a lot of time.”

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

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