IGS #4, Chapter 36 (BONUS!)

Scorio

The days became rhythmic. An hour or two of flight behind Braxofitz punctuated by time spent camping as Scorio regained his mana reserves. Xandera would crouch, hands pressed to the rock, eyes closed, as she channeled Acherzua’s strength through her palms. Some of their number would train, engage in light sparring, while others focused on their meditations and mana control techniques. Their Silverine guide was stand-offish, and would find a lonesome rock on which to perch. Leonis would ensure that everyone was fed. People conversed in low tones, and watch was kept against the ever-ravening hordes of Instinctuals.

But nobody slacked off. Jova, Druanna, and he kept the tone focused and on point. Everybody was eager to progress, and it was with increasing relish that people jumped off Scorio’s back or Jova’s plinth to immediately engage in their training.

The Silver Unfathom revealed its subtle splendors. At a glance, it seemed little more than an unending miasma of fog, silver or white sands, and rugged outcroppings of jagged boulders or harsh, raw stone hills.

But time spent soaring across it revealed its treasures.

They crossed an area riven by hundreds of silver streams, the tracery of metallic veins punctuated by petrified fiends who’d paused to drink from the congealed mana. Silverines, yes, but also older wonders, fiends now long gone from this layer of Hell. Some massive, others small, all turned to metal by the poisonous manaways.

Curving around a great mountain, they came upon a region of titanic, slanted mirror-like slabs rising from the silver sands at oblique angles. They reflected the ambient light eerily, shimmers running up their great faceted faces, and Braxofitz called out a warning, urging everyone to fly higher. Druanna slowed as she traversed this area atop her eidolon, and only later did she recount that were it not for her construct’s automated drive to press on, she might have lingered, mesmerized by the glimpses of what she saw in the reflective rocks’ depths.

On their third day they were forced to navigate a morass of floating shards, some as large as islands . These spun in slow orbits around their largest members, with the largest being visible high overhead in the mists. Strange white vegetation grew upon their tops, hanging limply over their sides and trailing in the wind, their tips expanding into gel-like bulbs of glimmering Silver mana.

Silverines were enmeshed in these vines, drawn in, no doubt, by the lures, then caught and wrapped and paralyzed by the growths. But the Instinctuals here were not dismayed; they floated around the islands in great numbers, darting in to nip at the fronds and pallid growths and then fly back out as the vines reached for them.

What might once have been a deadly garden now seemed an impossible to resist spread of rare mana; even as Scorio navigated the islands and shards, he saw one large, supple blue and red Silverine become ensnared as it dared too much, its thrashing quickly abating as it succumbed to the poison.

Silverine Philosophers were present as well, and in the act of harvesting the vines. They turned to watch Scorio and his crew fly past, their expressions inscrutable, the limp white vines bundled in great nets of black rope.

“What are they doing?” Scorio called to Braxofitz, who obligingly fell back to conversational distance.

“These are the lyrnxia vines from which we have built our great southern web,” said the Philosopher. “Once they grew everywhere. But we have harvested it near to extinction.”

“Ah. That’s how you keep the Instinctuals bound in place,” surmised Scorio.

“Correct. Without the vines, they would struggle free.” Braxofitz considered, then shrugged. “It is an elegant solution, though we are now forced to forage far, far afield.”

They were not able to pass unmolested, however. Instinctuals tested them, pressing in voraciously at first, but Jova weaponized the very floating islands themselves, and swatted dozens of them out of the air as she swung the great shards of rock about herself.

The Instinctuals reluctantly backed away.

It befell upon Scorio to determine when it was time to rest and sleep. The interminable light gave no hint, so that he had to pay attention not only to his own deep muscular fatigue, but the energy of his comrades. He’d search for a defensible location, then ultimately make the call and descend.

Druanna’s eidolon was the perfect guard; to Scorio’s surprise, it could remain on guard even as she slept, something it had been unable to do during their sojourn through the Iron Weald. Druanna had only smiled knowingly when pressed, and commented that Scorio wasn’t the only one pressing his powers to their utmost and seeking to advance.

Each ‘night’ they would gather around a campfire. A certain kind of rock, crumbly and filled with miniature holes would burn if Scorio breathed on it long enough, and once set alight would smolder for hours. They’d gather around this and dine on heated stew and withered fruit, either talking in muted tones or simply staring into the burning pile of rocks.

The Silver Unfathom always felt vast and inimical during these moments, when they were fatigued and worn and craving darkness.

To Scorio’s surprise Nyrix had developed a fixation with teasing Kuragin. At first he’d steadfastly pretended to ignore the other man, but Scorio caught him watching Kuragin a few times as the other Dread Blaze trained or went about his exercises.

Then, starting on the third day, Nyrix had begun to needle the other Great Soul, subtle barbs that were offered with a smile. Kuragin would frown, stare at Nyrix in confusion and annoyance, but rarely respond. It never amounted to something worth addressing, but Scorio could tell Kuragin was discomfited and annoyed.

On the fourth night, it finally came to a head.

They were all seated around the fire, having finished devouring their bowls of heart soup, and Leonis was moving about, collecting bowls, when Kuragin rose, dusted off his hands, and glanced about the group.

“I’m still sore from sitting on Jova’s plinth all day. Anybody up for some exercise?”

Nyrix’s smile was inscrutable. “What kind of exercise are you offering?”

Kuragin frowned at him. “Lifting rocks.”

“That all you can think of doing with your hands?”

Wait. Scorio stared at Nyrix. Was he…?

Myla snickered.

“I could bash your head in,” Kuragin offered.

“You mean you could try.”

Kuragin’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. I thought you were just a useless archer kind of guy, who helped people escape from fights.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re just a big lump of muscle who couldn’t think his way out of a dead-end tunnel if he got stuck in one.”

Scorio went to speak over them both, but Myla put her hand on his arm and gave a slight shake of her head.

Kuragin grinned. The expression wasn’t reassuring. “You know, if you weren’t so weak I’d actually take pleasure in punching your nose down your throat.”

“That what we’re calling it these days?” asked Nyrix innocently.

“What the hell are you two going on about?” asked Jova from the far side of the fire.

Nyrix rose to his feet. “How about this. You think you can beat me? Let’s find out. Unless you’re scared, in which case you can just play with your rocks here by the fire.”

And Nyrix left their group to walk across the sand and out of sight behind a large mass of tumbled rocks.

Kuragin cracked his knuckles, a fierce glint in his eyes, and snorted. “Idiot. Excuse me, everyone. I’ve got to go teach him some manners.”

And he followed Nyrix out of sight behind the rocks.

Scorio stared after them, then turned to Myla. “What the…?”

Leonis chuckled, shook his head, and resumed scrubbing the bowls out with fistfuls of sand.

Myla grinned. The firelight glimmered in the depths of her pale eyes, and she reached up to ruffle her short, curly hair. “You honestly don’t know what that was about?”

“I… maybe?”

She snorted. “I’ve known Kuragin for some time now. We’ve traveled together, fought alongside each other, occasionally even been forced by circumstances to share the same sleeping bag.”

Jova and Druanna rose from the far side of the fire to go train. They’d been working on their vortices together for the past few nights, and Scorio felt the tug to go join them. But he wanted to understand this first. “So?”

“Well, Kuragin’s always been a consummate gentlemen.”

“That’s not how I’d describe him.”

“Maybe because you’re a guy.”

“Oh.” Scorio again glanced in the direction of the rocky hill. “Oh…”

Myla winked at him, clearly amused. “Everybody needs to blow off some steam every once in a while, right?”

“I guess so.” He felt so dense. He’d known Nyrix all this time and never asked, never wondered about his… personal life. “I mean, yeah. Huh.” Then he shrugged. “I guess that’s the first time I’ve seen people… express their interest that way.”

“Everybody’s got their own approach.” Myla sounded philosophical. “Some are overt, some wait to be hit on, others are very, very direct.” She glanced up at him. “Don’t tell me other Great Souls haven’t been interested in you before?”

A flash of memory: Naomi in the dark beneath him, the ragged sound of her breathing—

“Yeah, I mean, sure.” He shrugged. “But…”

“But what?”

Why was he even talking to her about this? “Nothing. It’s all good.”

She sensed that he was about to get up. “Can I ask you a question?”

Wary, he relaxed and remained seated. “Yeah?”

Myla stared into the fire. “I’ve had a lot of time while sitting on Jova’s flying rock to think about things. How strange life can be. The choices I made or the things that happened that led to my being here, tonight, on this mission with you all.”

Scorio nodded encouragingly. “I bet.”

“It’s strange. We’re reborn into complete confusion, and then the Academy offers us all the certainty we could want on a silver platter. For a moment there, a year or two, everything feels like it makes sense. I thought I understood what was at stake, and my role in it all. Then…?” She sighed. “You get out there, into Hell proper, and things get… messy. What you see contradicts what you’ve been told, and all those truths start to fall apart. When I first heard about you, I was so glad!” She glanced up nervously at him. “So glad that someone was finally losing their patience with all the nonsense. Because every time I’d complained, you know what they told me?”

“Let me guess. What till you rank up?”

“Yes!” She bounced her knees in agitation or excitement or something. “Yes! But nobody mentions that everybody who ranks up and learns this supposed truth then chooses to stay silent about it. Like our Trials. You’re not supposed to know what’s going on till you deserve to know, and then? Then you just go quiet. All the Imperators and Crimson Earls and Charnel Dukes… all of them have to know more about this, but none of them will tell us a thing.”

Scorio grinned wryly. “Funny, that.”

“So when I heard you were ripping the lid off this entire mystery, I was so excited. And I thought: that’s what I need to do. That’s the guy I need to help. Which is why I convinced Kuragin to come wait for you at the Red Keep. I knew you’d have to pass through eventually. It was a long shot, but—”

“But?” prompted Scorio.

“This might sound crazy, but… I’ve noticed how much you hate the Herdsmen, and I’m like—shouldn’t we keep an open mind? Honestly, I know the Iron Tyrant was the worst, but—”

Scorio’s brow lowered.

“—but here’s the thing: everyone that’s lied to us, that’s hidden the truth from us, they’ve been part of our regular society, right? The House leaders, the important folks deeper in Hell. They’re the ones who aren’t telling us everything. So—and tell me if I’m just being crazy here—if there was a group that was working against the folks that are lying to us, maybe—maybe they have something worth hearing about first?”

“They sent the Shadow Petal to kill me.”

“No, I mean, I know. I know.” She looked away hurriedly. “I’m absolutely not saying they’re the good guys, here. I’m just wondering—if we’ve all been living a lie, about Eterra, and the Pit, and—and—the fiends, and Hell, and our role here—then an outside group that’s fighting against the liars—maybe we need to just hear them out first, before we decide they just need to die?”

Scorio bit back his retort. Considered. “You’re… right.” It was hard to say, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “I mean to learn about them, their goals, their…” He shrugged. “What they’re all about. But. In a past life, I left a warning to myself to not trust them, ever. Now, could that past me have been wrong? Maybe. But I’m taking his warning seriously. And from what I’ve seen thus far? The Herdsmen aren’t the good guys in all this.”

Myla nodded morosely. “I didn’t know that. Sure, that makes sense. I just… if our superiors are lying, and the Herdsmen are also lying, then… who can tell us the truth?”

“I think most of the Great Souls aren’t lying, they’ve just been deceived. The Imperators must know what’s going on. Their memories stretch back to the very beginning. And they’ve all decided to remain focused on the Pit. So there must be a good reason for that. But maybe we’ve just not been told the truth for some reason, even if sealing the Pit is the best thing we can do. As for what the Herdsmen are up to—I think they’re behind the lies, the manipulations, the loss of knowledge.”

“But the Imperators must know about them.”

“Sure. Probably. At the very least, they have to know how the stories we’re told today differ from the truth of what actually happened. I don’t have the answers for you. Not yet. But I’m hoping to find them in this Tomb of Sadness, and if we find it, the Lost Cube. I’m not going to wait to make Imperator to learn what’s really going on. I’m going to find out, now.”

Myla nodded, slowly at first, then more decisively, and sat up straighter. “Right. Me too. Whatever the truth is, it’s better than the lie we’re living now.”

“Exactly.” Scorio considered her. “But I applaud your actively trying to keep an open mind. Too many people are too eager for certainty, no matter how rushed or ill-fitting that certainty might be. And—thanks.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “For what?”

“For reminding me to keep a relatively open mind. I have to stick to the facts. I know my past self didn’t trust the Herdsmen, and Bravurn was a loathsome example of their manipulation and double-dealing, but—still. Whatever we learn about them, I’ll accept. I won’t deny any aspect of the truth just because I don’t like it.”

She smiled. “Good. The truth above all things.”

“The truth above all things,” agreed Scorio, rising to his feet. “Now that’s a creed I can live by.”

Instead of following Jova and Druanna to where they’d gone to train, Scorio moved over to a quiet corner by the large dragon packs and there sat, facing out across the desolate expanse of the Unfathom.

So much uncertainty. He felt at once purposeful, in that he had a definite destination, yet adrift. He yearned for the focus and clarity Jova felt in pursuing Blood Baroness, but his own heretical approach to ascension had clouded the rightness of just blindly doing what every other Great Soul had done at his rank. He yearned for confirmation that the Herdsmen were the evil manipulators behind all the woes in Acherzua, but how to reconcile the role the Imperators played in everything?

He gazed out into the shifting mists. Where was Naomi? Was she taking care of herself? Had she retreated into some primitive existence like the years she’d spent in the Chasm while she’d thought him dead? He hoped not. He missed her. Not the bitter, vengeful woman she’d become at the very, very end, but his companion, his confidante, his friend and the woman he loved and admired above all others. The Naomi that had trained him in the ruins of Bastion, who’d traveled with him across the Iron Weald, who had labored by his side for those endless months under Dameon’s direction.

What he wouldn’t give to have her seated by his side right now.

Scorio sighed and lowered his head.

Would he see her again? Would he recognize her if he did? Or would she forevermore be the Nightmare Lady now, consumed by her darkness and rage and bitterness?

He’d caught the way Kelona glanced at him occasionally. The tentative smile. It wouldn’t take much to tip that friendship into something else. But…

He pressed his brow against his wrist and closed his eyes.

Someone sat down beside him. Scorio cracked open an eye and tilted his head. Leonis.

The big man was wiping sand off his hands with a small towel, his gaze cast far afield, expression neutral.

Warmth blossomed in Scorio’s chest, and he couldn’t resist a crooked smile. For a second there, Leonis looked just like the Leonis of old.

“You doing all right?” asked the big man.

“Yeah.” Scorio straightened. “Just… missing Naomi.” That was at once hard to admit yet good to say.

“I can imagine.” Leonis checked himself, as if aware that the statement might sound presumptuous, and glanced sidelong at Scorio. “Insofar as I find myself missing Lianshi.”

“I miss her, too.”

Leonis snorted gently. “Course you do. She’s amazing.”

“She sure is.” They stared back out into the mists. “I hope she reached Bastion all right.”

Leonis just nodded.

They sat in silence for a spell.

“How are you holding up?” asked Scorio.

Leonis inhaled deeply, considered, then sighed. “Fine. Better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The big man’s rumble sounded… solid. Calm. Resolute. “Ever since our… confrontation. I’ve been thinking on things. Life’s grown simpler. I find myself… reduced.”

“Reduced? That doesn’t sound good.”

“But it is.” Leonis smile was weary and warm at the same time. “I’ve shed a lot of unnecessary cargo. I built so much of this life around asinine assumptions and anger, that… there’s not much left once I stopped being angry.”

Scorio nodded uncertainly. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Feels that way. I feel lighter, at any rate. More at peace. For the first time that I can remember, I’m not…” He searched for the right words, then shrugged. “Not insulting myself, on the inside. Not goading myself on.” His smile was crooked. “It’s nice.”

“You’ve not been training.”

“No.” Leonis frowned, and stayed quiet, staring down at the sand before them.

Scorio waited.

“What was he like?” The change in topic was deliberate, Leonis’ glance tentative. “The Leonis you knew from before?”

“What was he like? I mean, he was you.”

“No.” Leonis sounded sad. “He wasn’t. From what I’ve heard, he was a better man. What was he like?”

Scorio hesitated, licked his lower lip. “Jovial. Big laugh. Always up for a drink, always looking for a reason to celebrate.” An old pain flexed in his chest. “He filled up a room. And he was… always aware of people. What they were going through. He didn’t seem like it. But he knew when people were having a tough time. He’d make them feel better.”

Leonis nodded, his expression wistful.

Scorio stared off into nothing. “And he… he was this amazing guy. You could just—you knew that he’d be there for you when it mattered. And he was. He sacrificed himself in the final Gauntlet run so I could make Tomb Spark. I know it wasn’t easy for him, but he still did it.” Scorio felt his eyes prickle as emotion arose within him. “He was my very best friend.” His voice grew husky. “I’d have died for him a hundred times over.”

Leonis pursed his lips.

Scorio took a ragged breath. After some time, his breath came easy again, and the emotion receded, like the tide pulling back from rocky shores. Curious, uncertain how to continue the conversation, he glanced at Leonis by his side.

The same man. But also not.

Leonis clapped Scorio on the shoulder and rose to his feet. “Thanks for sharing. I’m going to get some rest.”

And with that he walked away. Scorio twisted, watching him go, then turned back to the silver mists. By the ten hells, existence wasn’t easy. But in that moment, as he’d watched Leonis walk away, it felt—every so briefly—as if he were watching his old friend in the flesh once more.