Fallen 002: Chaos and Order

“I told you I’m here to help—” Esteban began.

“Forgive me, but that hardly seems likely.” Flexing my hands, I took a menacing step forward.

The count didn’t miss the implicit threat but nor did he back away. “If you kill me, there’ll be no getting out of here for you,” he blurted.

I shrugged and took another step. “At least I’ll get to enjoy the taste of human blood before I die,” I said, not entirely joking.

Esteban’s face flushed. “I can get you out!”

“And why would you do that?” I hissed. I was within arm’s reach of the noble now.

“Because I want something in return.”

I paused, intrigued despite myself. “And what would that be?”

Esteban raised his chin. “Before I tell you, I need you to answer a question.”

I couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto my face. Despite the very real danger, the count didn’t lack backbone. “Go ahead. Ask.”

Esteban inhaled deeply, taking a moment to regain his composure. 

I waited patiently. I didn’t truly believe the noble could get me out, but I’ll admit I was curious as to what game he played. Whatever it was, it was likely a matter of life and death. No one was so foolish as to approach a hungry vampire as defenseless as he had otherwise.

But whose life? And what help can I possibly be?

“Is it true that the Cursed are still Gifted?” Esteban asked at last.

The question was wholly unanticipated and left me struggling to control my expression for a moment. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected the noble to ask, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that. 

The nature of the Cursed was a debate that had been raging amongst Scales’ disciples for millennia. While Cursed were rare, they were not unknown. Popular belief held that after becoming tainted by Chaos, a Gifted was stripped of Scales’ blessing.

I had had no cause to doubt the truth of conventional wisdom—not until I’d morphed from Gifted to Cursed myself and continued hearing the god in my head. Now, I knew for certain that the teachings of Scales’ own disciples was wrong.

Or at least not the whole truth. 

Even though I’d become a vampire—a creature many Gifted considered part of the upper echelons of Chaos—Scales still addressed me as a ‘Gifted.’ It was the only reason I hadn’t entirely succumbed to despair after my turning. The god had not forsaken me, and some part of me remained a Gifted, one of his chosen champions. And not beyond redemption.

“It is true,” I said finally, even as I wondered how Esteban had happened across this truth. 

“Then you can enter a dungeon?” the count asked, eagerness peeking through his expression for the first time.

I tilted my head to the side and studied the man anew. It was another interesting—if dangerous—question. Dungeons were manifestations of Chaos. They spawned randomly across the land and, if not dealt with quickly, would birth dark creatures—vampires not the least of them—that would run amok amongst the empire’s civilian population.

It was only the Gifted—humanity’s champions—who could venture into a dungeon and destroy its minions, thereby restoring Order to the infected region. I’d never heard of a Cursed entering a dungeon, but since it was Scales who controlled access to the dungeons and the god still seemed to consider me a Gifted…

“I’m not sure,” I answered truthfully. 

The lack of conviction in my response dampened some of Esteban’s enthusiasm. “But if you had to guess?” he pressed. “Do you think you’ll be able to?”

I shrugged. “I suspect so.”

“That’s good enough, I suppose,” he muttered. 

I frowned. “You’re not making sense. What do dungeons have to do with anything?”

Esteban exhaled heavily. “I will help you escape imprisonment but only if you promise to enter a dungeon in exchange.”

I stared at him, so perplexed by the request that I forgot to snarl at his temerity. “Why?”

“To free my niece.”

I blinked. Seeming to sense my confusion, Esteban expounded further, “My niece, Stella, entered a newly formed dungeon in our lands a week ago. She hasn’t emerged since, and I fear she’s become trapped.”

“A not uncommon fate,” I allowed. “But that is the risk every Gifted runs.” I stared hard at him. “It’s the price, we—they—pay for their gifts.”

“True,” Esteban admitted. “But Stella is also the Family’s last remaining Gifted. It’s imperative I free her.”

“Ah. I see.” The nature of the count’s predicament was becoming clearer. 

The empire was divided into duchies—and baronies to a lesser extent—and each Family was tasked with keeping their lands free of Chaos. But without any Gifted that was impossible. Which explained some of Esteban’s desperation. 

Once the matter was brought to the attention of the imperial court, it would not be long before the count lost his title—and his lands. Still, that did not entirely explain his presence in the prison. There were other more palatable remedies he could pursue instead. “But why come to me? Why not seek help from the Gifted?”

Esteban blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve tried that already, but the local chapterhouses have refused me. They say they cannot help. There’s been a fresh Chaos outbreak along the southern coast—a big one. The bishops have dispatched every available Gifted to deal with the threat.” His look turned mournful. “If we have to wait for aid to arrive from the capital or one of the duchies, it will be too late for Stella.”

I winced. I’d been a Gifted myself once, if only one in training, and could comprehend better than most the devastation a new outbreak could wreak. “How bad is it?”

“There is talk about two or three baronies being lost.”

I bowed my head. The eternal war between Chaos and Order had been raging in the world of Kel for eons. Millennia ago, the war had been won by Order, with the emperor, its foremost champion, at the helm. Since that day, the continent had fallen under humanity’s rule, and Chaos had been banished to the dark corners of the world. 

However, times were changing. 

In recent decades, dungeons had begun forming with greater frequency, and more alarming still, they had started spawning within the empire itself—if only along its hinterlands. The clergy were adamant they had matters under control, yet it was readily apparent that the Gifted were no longer closing dungeons as swiftly. 

By necessity, many dungeons now stayed open, growing ever larger and more dangerous with every passing week as the Gifted were forced to restrict their efforts to the most dangerous ones. And many feared that soon, nowhere would be safe, not even the inner duchies. 

“Will you do as I ask?” Esteban asked. 

Shaking off my musings, I bestowed the count with a broad smile, revealing sharp and distinctly inhuman incisors. “Of course. Anything to get out of this bloody prison.”

“Thank you,” Esteban said, nearly sagging with relief. Unbuttoning his velvet-lined coat, he reached inside. “There is just one last thing to take care of.”

“Oh?” I asked, eyeing the coat warily. Did he have a weapon concealed inside?

“I need you to prove you are what you say you are,” the count replied, head still bent. 

“How?” I asked, genuinely curious. As far as I knew, there was no way for an unGifted to examine a Gifted.

“There it is!” Esteban exclaimed, finally finding what he searched for. Withdrawing the object, he held it out on his open palm for my inspection. 

Slowly, I turned my gaze downward. 

Esteban was holding a stone tablet. The object was largely unadorned, but its edges bore markings that were familiar from my days of training under Scales’ disciples. “What is that?” I asked, my interest quickening. 

“It’s a divination tool that I found in an abandoned monastery,” Esteban said. “Centuries ago, this artifact was used to study young Gifted and gauge the Paths open to them. I suppose that these days the clergy no longer have use for such trinkets and have found better ways of selecting a Gifted’s Path.” He shot me a sideways glance. “Somehow, they still managed to mess up yours, though.”

I nodded slowly. What Esteban said was not strictly true, but it was close enough. While no one could claim to know the mind of a god, Scales’ disciples had long since figured out by some arcane art known only to themselves, the Path the god desired for each of his Gifted. 

I’d never completed my training with the disciples. If I had, the clergy would’ve chosen my path. But before I could graduate, by some stroke of misfortune that I still did not understand, I’d become Cursed and prematurely obtained my Path and Talents. The disciples blamed me, of course, and I couldn’t say they were wrong, but to this day, I didn’t know what I’d done to earn Scales’ wrath.

All that was ancient history, though, and there was little point rehashing it. Returning my attention to the device in Esteban’s hands, I considered the rest of what he’d said. “Even if the artifact works the way you think, how will it prove I’m truly Gifted? My Path is already set; there is nothing for your divination tool to show.”

The count inclined his head. “If everything I’ve heard of this device is accurate, it will still display your Path, be it set or otherwise. More importantly, though, the artifact won’t work for any except a Gifted. If it comes on, regardless of what it shows, that will be proof enough that you retain Scales’ blessing.”

“I see,” I mused, still skeptical, but willing nonetheless to give the count’s toy a try. I glanced at the device in his hands again. “What do I do?”

“You only have to touch it.”

Doing as the count bade, I reached out a pallid hand and brushed sharpened fingernails along its surface of the artifact. Despite myself, I was curious to see what happened. 

A second ticked by. Then another. But the tablet remained stubbornly inert.

My shoulders dropped fractionally. “Oh well, I guess that means—” 

“It’s working!” Esteban exclaimed in awe. “By Scales, it’s  actually working!”

My gaze snapped downward. The count was right. 

The tablet was glowing.