BPL2 - Chapter 9

“Yes,” hissed Smythe. “The dark questions. This is why you are here.” The Oracle knelt down and drew on the sandy floor with her finger, taking her time. She finally stood and gestured to her artwork. “What is this?” she asked.

Lylan tilted her head as she looked at the image of a woman holding a whip and wearing a crown. “The queen of Ithakros,” she guessed.

“Is it?” asked the Oracle. She stomped down hard on the drawing, scraping away most of the head and crown. “And has my sandal just broken the authority of the queen of Ithakros?”

Lylan revised her answer. “It is a copy of—”

“No!”

“A symbol,” corrected Lylan, “of the queen of Ithakros.”

Smythe closed her eyes and reached her hand out, touching the air. “In the Underworld, the mind touches the physical. The intangible takes on substance. Symbol becomes actual. In the Underworld, my sandal wields the power to topple empires.”

Lylan stared at her, trying not to feel mightily disturbed. She pushed forward, embracing all the possible meanings of their conversation, looking for threads that would knot together. “My whip is the Ke’el scepter symbolically. And the scepter has the power to shackle hydras. So when I enter the Underworld, I will be able to use the scepter to master the hydra that lives inside me.”

“Now,” hissed Smythe, walking forward and touching Lylan’s chest again, “you are thinking like a woman. This is good.”

Ting!

You have completed the quest “Awaken the Bloodline (Part 4 - The Summons)

You have received 20,000 experience

You have been found worthy to know the first three sigils of the codex

Ting!

You have received the quest…

Awaken the Bloodline (Part 5 of ? - ? )

Enter the Underworld and consume the Spire of Hexing.

Reward:

Reward: 25,000 experience

Accept or Decline!

Lylan accepted and focused back on the Oracle. “I will be able to do this even though the hydra isn’t real?”

“Real?” Smythe spat on the ground in disgust.

Lylan tried again. “Physical. The hydra is real, but not physical.”

Smythe nodded approvingly, then leaned forward and whispered. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lylan in alarm. “Is it going to—”

“Enough!” shouted the Oracle, slashing her arms. “You watch now.” She stooped down to the ground again and drew three symbols—the first three sigils of the codex, presumably. Then she stood. “You go now. Commence the Trial. Take nothing with you but the scepter and these sigils.”

“Take…” said Lylan, staring at the smudges in the dirt.

The Oracle looked ready to strangle her.

“In my mind,” said Lylan quickly. “Take them with me in my mind. Got it. Done.” She immediately began removing all her weapons, her dimensional bag, her jewelry, and the contents of her pockets. She retained the Moonstone Ring of Remembrance because it really couldn’t be considered gear, and her hidden Six and a Half Guild earring because the Old Man would kill her if she left it.

Normally, she’d have complained about leaving her gear, but she didn’t want to push this creepy woman too far. Besides, at level sixty, Lylan hardly required a weapon to kill most anything that came at her— a rock or a shoelace would do just as well.

Smythe nodded approvingly when Lylan placed everything in a pile on the ground. “We will guard your possessions with our lives,” she said. “Go now, and prove your worthiness to Epesia. When you pass over the River, the Great Queen of the Hydra will be waiting with joy to receive and restore you.” She then began shooing Lylan toward the exit.

“Wait,” said Lylan. “Restore? And what about my memories? The patch. I know the Underworld is key to reintegrating them. Tell me how.”

“Folly,” said the Oracle, impatiently. “Your task will require all your will. You wish to reweave your mind as you battle? Folly, I say. A splintered purpose will doom you.”

“What about the regeneration? Can I die in the Underworld?”

“Fire is your only enemy now,” said Smythe. “But you can surely wish for death in the moment before the hydra takes full possession of you, body and soul.”

That sounded unpleasant. “Is there another way?” asked Lylan. “Can I stitch the patch back in place after the Trial?”

Smythe exhaled through her nose. “Can you do it here and now? Try.”

Lylan’s head felt like it was cracking open as she tried to find the memories. “No.”

“Then no,” said Smythe without pity.

Lylan sighed and offered another option. “Can I visit the Underworld a second time? Go back after I’ve shackled the hydra?”

The Oracle stepped back from her, sneering. “Do you suppose Epesia serves at the pleasure of Ithakros? Have you held that scepter so long that it has made you as arrogant and presumptuous as your forebearers?” Smythe shook her head in disgust. “The passage is shut at all times save the Trial. Once done, it will not open again until the smoldering remains of your charred bones have gone cold and your ashes have scattered to the sea winds.”

A simple no would have done the trick. “I understand.” Lylan gave her a curt bow. “But I still need those memories.”

“You are a queen now—you do what you like,” shrugged Smythe. “But know this… you take all the Keys along with you. The way will be locked and no one will come to your aid. If you do this, your mind will fall to the hydra, and Lylan Ke’el will be no more.”

The sun was blinding when Lylan stepped outside and made her way down the narrow, switchbacking steps carved into the cliff face. She reached the ground and stepped onto the sand, not having the first clue where to go next. “Stupid Oracle,” she mumbled.

A slave trader dying of quinsy once tackled your great-grandmother in the street and licked her, said a raspy feminine voice that seemed to come from the sand itself. That man was less repulsive than Smythe. Would you like me to kill her for you?

Lylan unhooked her whip and spun around on the sand, looking for the source. The beach was deserted.

You are exquisite, said the voice. I love you.

“What the hell…” breathed Lylan.

Something caressed the side of Lylan’s face and she flinched away, only to see that it was the tail of her whip, moving on its own.

Lylan jumped back, tossing the whip on the ground. “What is happening?” she said, her voice more squeaky than she would have liked. “You can talk?”

I see no call to act surprised, said the voice. It is quite hurtful.

Lylan pointed at it. “Explain yourself, creepy thing.”

Creepy? said the voice. The head of the whip lifted itself from the sand and seemed to look at her. Says the Blood Witch bonded to a sea monster.

“I am not a witch.”

Oh, forgive me. Woman who hexes people.

“What are you?”

Again… hurtful, said the whip, flicking some sand at Lylan.

Lylan batted it away and sighed. “Fine. Who are you?”

I am Ek'ked, the Blood Grimoire. And furthermore, I love you.

“Right,” said Lylan weakly. She recalled the very short description of the Scepter. Ask of Ek'ked and you shall receive. Lylan felt she should have had more warning about the thing’s personality.

Am I speaking too intensely? I do that from time to time, said Ek'ked. I worry that I’m making you uncomfortable.

“No, it’s just…” Lylan swallowed. “Yeah, a little. Just a smidge.”

I would promise to stop, but I am not going to. BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.

Lylan stared at Ek'ked for a full ten seconds, unsure how to respond. She finally just said, “Well met, Ek'ked.”

You may address me as ‘beloved’ if you like.

“That’s okay.”

Just do it.

“Um, so I was wondering…” said Lylan, changing the subject. “Since you’re a sentient weapon, maybe you can tell me—”

I wish you would answer my earlier question, Lylan.

“Which?”

Do you want me to kill the newest Oracle? I hate her. I’ll just slither myself right up that cliff and choke the life out of her.

“No, I don’t thi—”

You can even watch. Ek'ked started squirming toward the stairway. Simply say the word.

“It’s a bad idea,” called Lylan.

I think I shall do it anyway, though.

“Murder girl!” shouted Lylan. “Stop. Desist. We’re not killing her.”

Ek'ked flopped down on the sand dramatically and quit moving. Killjoy.

Lylan frowned at her. “I wasn’t aware that sentient weapons could move on their own.”

I’m mythical, dearest.

“Well, I have a lot of questions for you. Can you explain the Scepter’s effects?”

Can you explain the Scepter’s effects, BELOVED.

“I’m not calling you that.”

Then I’m not telling you.

Lylan shook her head, tapping her foot on the sand. “Why are you being such a psycho? I need your help here.”

Well, of course, I’ll help you, Lylan. It’s like you just said—you need me.

“Wait—Don’t…” Lylan held up a hand. “I didn’t say it like that. Don’t put that weird tone in my mouth.”

I know what I heard, said Ek'ked. Besides, as the Blood Grimoire, I’m sworn to teach you everything you need to know about hexing, so I would have done it in any case. Would you like to begin?

Lylan closed her eyes to summon patience. “I would. Thank you.”

Proceed into the Underworld, my lovely, and once there, I can guide you into your full power.

“How do I get in?”

You see that pathetic little stream over there, coming from the rock? That is the entrance. I told them it looked foolish, but did they listen?

“Told whom?”

The sea witches who created me.

“You mean the hydras?”

I hate them, she hissed.

“Geez, okay.” Lylan picked up Ek'ked, holding her at arm’s length so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and made her way to the fissure in the base of the cliff.

The interior was too dark to make out, but something about the threshold seemed significant, like an invisible barrier blocked the entrance. She reached out a hand and tried to push through.

The air at the boundary felt like warm pudding and her hand moved through without much effort. It was nice to know that drinking the blood of strangers hadn’t been for nothing.

“It’s working,” said Lylan. “Gunder wasn’t lying about the Keys.”

Gunder, sneered Ek'ked. Is that trash receptacle still alive? I hate him.

“He’s alive,” said Lylan, pushing her hand further in. “Some gods dropped a city on him, and then I poisoned him with my blood, but nothing seems to take.”

Fret not, love, said Ek'ked. I will handle him when we get back. But the Oracle first. I hate her.

“Shhh.” Lylan closed her eyes, concentrating on the task before her. “Here we go.”

The hydra lay beyond this door, and after that, the River to the exit. She’d just have to learn a little blood magic from an overly familiar, homicidal whip. No problem. No reason to be nervous.

But first things first, and warnings be damned…

Lylan braced herself for the pain, focused her mind completely on the memory patch, and stepped into the Underworld.