We struggled at first in our journey through the Glenn. The wildlife stalked us and hunted us with the ferocity of no animal I have ever seen before. One of my men, a naturalist in his spare time, noted that this was likely a result of the vegetation that grew there, for every plant, every leaf, every blade of grass was imbedded with poison. As to why the plants had grown this way, he had no answer.
This desolate place did not obey the laws of nature as we knew it. Even with that sickly presence thick in the air, we ventured on, for Seletoth’s voice called to us.
And I knew He was close.
The Truth, by King Móráin I, AC55
***
The next morning, the party made their preparations for the final day’s journey. Mount Selyth was six hours’ ride south, through hills thickly wooded with snow-laden conifers. Despite the expected ease of this route, they still prepared as if it was to be a lengthy expedition. Padraig and Aislinn donned the colours of their respective houses, as if riding out to a great battle. Fionn wore his bright red cloak, fastened thickly against the cold to come, with layers of furs packed against his chest underneath. Both Farris and Nicole wore their thick, Simian armour, the former not acknowledging the latter as he did.
I opened up far too much last night, Farris told himself. Best to forget about it and focus on the journey.
They left Rosca Umhír far more armed than they had when they arrived. From the Silverback’s cache, Farris wore a holster around his hips with two firearms strapped within. Nicole bore the same, with a leather satchel over one shoulder, containing ammunition, and among other things, her round, explosive stone.
With each step he took, Farris could have sworn the frozen countryside grew quieter and quieter until a silence heavier than the hills themselves bore down upon them.
The road wound through frosty hedgerows and hills towards the great mountain. Like an abscess upon the land’s surface, swollen rocks rose over one another, forming a bloated mass of icy stone.
Farris rode next to Fionn, both having travelled in silence for most of the day. Eventually, Farris spoke.
“So, what are you gonna ask Him?” he asked.
Fionn didn’t respond but stared blankly ahead. Sure that he had heard, Farris went to ask again, but before he did, Fionn responded.
“Why?”
“Well, I thought it was worthwhile—” Farris cut himself off. He realised Fionn’s response was literal. Of course, no question other than Why? would be worth asking.
But could there even be an answer worth hearing.
Abruptly, the path turned towards the towering stone; walls of ice and rock higher than Farris could see. Despite his layers of chainmail and plate, a breeze more chilling than any before pierced his chest, causing the fur on the back of his neck to stand on end. Hastily, he pulled on his helm, cringing under the steel’s chill.
Through limited vision, Farris turned his attention to the road ahead, daring not to speak any further. Many said that none who climbed this mountain ever returned, but no one ever elaborated on why this was the case.
Higher and higher they went, the path becoming tougher to traverse with each step. Padraig had suggested that they tie up their mounts much earlier in their hike, but only when they reached an icy slope as steep as a wall, and Fionn made the same suggestion, did the others listen.
Farris took to the wall first, firmly planting two climbing spikes an arm’s reach overhead. Despite the weight of his armour, he pulled himself up with little effort, stabbing into the ice with each thrust. Aside from the cold, Farris had climbed walls in far worse conditions back in Penance.
With a thick hempen rope dangling from his waist, Farris reached the top of the incline after a few short minutes. Once he reached the summit, he planted the rope into the ground and signalled for the rest to climb up. Fionn struggled the most out of the other four, due to his mutilated fingers, but made it up in good time with help from them.
“Which way now?” asked Nicole.
Without saying a word, Fionn started on down one path, and the others followed. Farris couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside that mage’s head. It seemed as if he was getting some sort of information from an unseen source, like guidance from a god.
I hope he knows what he’s doing, either way.
Onwards they went, walking on weary feet. Breathing came harder to Farris the higher they went, his damp breath bringing drips of warm water to the inside of his helm. He shuddered to think what it must smell like.
“Stop,” rasped Fionn abruptly. The mage halted the others with a half-raised arm. “There’s something up ahead.”
Squinting through his visor, Farris saw that this indeed was true. The path carried on forward, meandering through icy rocks like a river. At what would have been its bank, an old wooden structure stood.
“A guardhouse,” whispered Padraig. “I fear we may be —”
A hissing shot rang past Farris’s ear, followed by another. A third struck him in the forehead, violently shaking his helm and knocking him to the ground. He quickly scrambled to his feet, as a dozen more crossbow bolts rained down upon them.
“Farris, over here!” cried Nicole, taking refuge with the others behind a thick boulder jutting out from the ground.
Farris darted over as more projectiles shot towards him, one flashing right past his eyes. As he stumbled forward, he stole a quick glance up ahead, and saw six cloaked figures standing next to the guardhouse, and more climbing out.
Wraiths!
Farris swore under his breath as he dove behind the boulder with the others. Fire burned in Fionn’s hand as the mage launched flames blindly over his head, not daring to move from his hiding space. Padraig clutched a useless broadsword in one hand as Aislinn Carríga unsheathed her own.
“They’ve pinned us,” said Farris, quickly sticking his head out to examine what lay before them. “There’s no way over.”
“Look up!” cried Nicole, with terror in her voice. “There’s more!”
Indeed, high above them, along the icy valley walls, another group of Wraiths marched forward, crossbows in their hands.
“We need to retreat,” said Farris. “Leave and regroup!”
More bolts tore through the air as Farris gave the signal to flee. Everything seemed to slow as he ran, with Nicole and Fionn by his side, the other two not a step behind. The Firemaster roared as he threw more flames behind him, though these were met with another stream of silent bolts.
“Regroup!” cried Farris. “Over here—”
From the corner of Farris’s limited vision, Nicole glanced back up the valley, but as soon as she turned, a bolt struck her in the face with a sickening crack. She fell backwards, collapsing onto the stone floor with a clang of metal.
“No!”
Paying the salvo of ammunition little mind, Farris leapt to the ground where Nicole lay. A thick iron bolt extended out from her visor, barely small enough to fit. Blood poured out from the motionless helm, running down the snow-clad steel in drips.
“No,” Farris whispered, desperately shaking her body. “Not here… not like this.”
But she did not respond.
“Please,” said Farris, shaking her again. “Don’t leave me. Nicole, don’t leave me!”
More bolts fell around him, one striking the back of his neck, ricocheting off his armour.
“Don’t. Please. There’s no one else.”
Tears streamed down his face, obscuring his vision.
“No one else knew,” he sobbed, bowing his head over her chest. “No one else knew me like you did.”
His throat went dry, his words failed.
No one else made me feel unafraid, as you did.
A flaming arrow struck the ground by Farris’s feet, followed by another.
“She loved me,” he whispered. “She said she loved me, but I was too afraid to say the same.”
Because I am a coward.
Farris heard voices, shouting out to him. But whether they came from his allies, or his enemies, he did not know.
He removed his gauntlets, then removed one of Nicole’s. With both his hands, he clutched her exposed one. The kindness and warmth that her touch once held had already gone, lost to the cold of this dead world.
Maybe he always knew how he felt but was too afraid to acknowledge it. Or maybe he only realised it now that she was gone. There in that isolated, frigid valley, with steel bolts and fiery arrows raining down upon him, it all became clear.
“I loved her,” he said. Slowly, he stood, flexing his exposed fingers. He faced the Wraiths, as more crossbow bolts bounced off his armour.
“I loved her!” he roared. His voice boomed through the canyon. A familiar fear gripped Farris’s spine. The same anxiety that plagued him his whole life. The same terror that made him lie so often, to pretend he was someone he was not. But without Nicole’s warm presence to quell it, the old fear thundered through his chest.
There’s nothing left in this world to fight for. There’s nothing left to fear.
“Do you hear me?” he cried, reaching down for Nicole’s satchel. “Do you fucking hear me?”
He picked it up, checking that the ammunition was inside. They were, along with Nicole’s explosive device.
I’ll kill them all, he swore, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. I’ll kill them all and shove this down Seletoth’s fucking throat myself.
From his waist, he pulled two daggers, clutching both tightly in each hand. Then he turned towards the valley and howled. His chest strained with the outpour of grief, and whole mountain seemed to shake. In that cry, there was everything he had felt for her. Everything had had been afraid to admit. Everything she had the courage to tell him, but he did not have the same to say it back.
I should have told her first. I should have told her every hour of every day.
He roared again, but this time a cloud of flaming arrows answered. Farris raised his arm to cover his visor. Most of them missed their mark, while others bluntly struck his body and bounced off.
“She never wanted to come,” he whispered, more tears forming. “She wanted to go home to Penance, to live the rest of our lives in peace. Together.” He sniffed, clenching the daggers in both hands. “But you took that from her, and for what?”
Farris jumped into a sprint.
“And for what?!”
Through the flaming arrows and bolts of the Wraiths, Farris tore forwards, not slowing no matter how many hit him.
Her armour is made from strong stuff.
Through the thin slit of his helm, Farris focused on one Wraith standing in the centre path up ahead. The dark figure held his crossbow between his knees, frantically reloading as two of his companions continued to fire at Farris.
But the enraged Simian did not slow.
As if observing his actions from another body, Farris saw himself leap upon the Wraith, plunging a dagger into the darkness of his hood. They both fell to the ground, the cloak of the Wraith knocked askew. With a wet crunch, the blade of Farris’s dagger found the centre of the Wraith’s now exposed face.
Farris ripped the bloodied blade from bone and turned to the other two. Both figures balked in response, hands raised in surrender.
As anguish surged through his veins, Farris plunged forward, running both blades across the chests of the cloaked figures. The two fell easily, their hoods revealing two old, greying men.
Just men, thought Farris, turning his attention to the others, now fleeing up the mountain path. Only men.
Farris threw the daggers aside and reached into his holster, his fingers finding two firearms. Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled both out and fired at those running, immediately dropping two, leaving one remaining.
“Tell the others!” Farris roared. “Tell them I’ll kill you all!”
Several yards from where he stood, a rope ladder hung down the cliff’s face, leading up to where the Wraith’s upon the higher ground had been. Farris threw himself against the stone face, pulling himself up the ladder with pained movements.
Don’t think about her, Farris told himself. Just keep on moving. Don’t stop until they’re all dead.
When Farris reached the top, he was greeted with another burst of ammunition, bolts and fiery arrows bouncing from his armour. Six Wraiths stood before him, huddled together like an unarmed phalanx.
“Where is your god?” Farris roared, pointing two bloodied daggers in front of him. “Tell me or I’ll kill you all!”
His vision was obscured by the helm, so he pulled it off. The blood of those he killed blurred in his eyes. Farris screamed the name the only person who had ever loved him, then charged towards the cloaked men.
Another salvo of bolts and arrows met him.
***
“Now’s our chance,” said Fionn. He thought it best to not show the others his fear. And his pain. “While they’re distracted.”
“Distracted?” cried Padraig. “She’s dead. Dead! And that’s all you can say?”
Ignore him, said Sir Bearach. Just go. They’ll follow. You won’t get another chance.
Fionn sprinted forward, through an arrow-littered ground. The faint footsteps of the others told him they followed.
Don’t look at her, urged Sir Bearach as they passed Nicole’s corpse. You need to keep moving, or she won’t be the last.
A harrowing scream rang out overhead, and the body of a Wraith came tumbling down the valley wall. More cries rang out from above, but Fionn kept his attention focused ahead. Not on the wooden outpost, but on the road that wound past it.
“Farris,” muttered Aislinn as they ran past the blood-soaked structure.
“He’ll be fine,” assured Padraig somewhere behind Fionn. “He’s strong, that one.”
Onwards, they went, leaving the scene of the slaughter behind. Fionn led the way, the snow-encrusted path taking them further up the mountain, curving towards the peak. The shrivelled remains of pine trees flanked the path, like skeletal sentinels standing tall overhead.
Farris… thought Fionn, a lump starting to form in his throat.
Not now, urged Sir Bearach. Dwelling on it won’t help. You need to keep moving.
Fionn gritted his teeth. The dead knight was right.
I can’t stop. Nobody else can do this but me.
Up ahead, a thin sliver of smoke rose upwards, like a great serpent swimming through clouds. This, joined by the sounds of faint voices, alluded to a settlement up ahead.
“More Wraiths?” asked Padraig, not too far behind Fionn. “Should we stop?”
“No,” said Fionn, curtly, He brought his rings together, catching the spark they produced and igniting it. “We’ll strike first.”
Without giving further orders, Fionn sprinted ahead, only assuming Padraig and Aislinn followed. The path rose over a steep hill. Once Fionn reached its crest, he let the fire quench in his hand, for there would be no need for an ambush.
Before him, the path led up to a small encampment. Wooden buildings surrounded a great bazaar in the centre, in which a fire burned brightly, expelling plumes of smoke and rich odours of incense.
Dozens of figures surrounded the fire, running to and fro, but none appeared to be armed. Nor did they seem like the Wraiths from before. These instead were simply men, old men, dressed in black robes. Not unlike the druids of the Trinity, these holy men scurried throughout the settlement, worried cries and orders being called back and forth.
Fionn ran towards the bazaar, grabbing the arm of one old man running by.
“Seletoth,” said Fionn. “I need to see Him.”
The man stared back, pale-faced, and with wide eyes encircled with black weariness.
“None may see the Lord,” he whimpered, casting a frightened glance at Padraig and Aislinn, who came up behind Fionn. “Only the Blind Ones may enter.”
Perhaps unconsciously, the old man nodded towards the far end of the settlement, where the rest of the mountain rose into the clouds. At the base of this peak, a huge, crooked opening was embedded in the stone, covered with a thick, grey canvass.
“It’s urgent,” said Fionn. “He’ll be expecting us.”
“Ardha!” roared a voice. Another man, younger than the first, ran over to them. He thrusted a crossbow into the old man’s hands. “I hope you remember how to use one of these,” he said. “He’ll be upon us soon enough.”
“Who will?” asked Fionn.
The younger man narrowed his eyes. “A Simian,” he spat. “Went blood-mad and killed half our garrison. He’s coming for the rest of us.”
He’s alive!
“The Simian is with us,” said Fionn. “Take us to whoever is in charge, and we’ll ensure no more harm comes to your people.”
The two holy men exchanged worried looks, then the older one nodded. The other man turned to Fionn and the others.
“Follow me,” he said, turning away before waiting for a response. The three followed, jogging through the encampment. There must have been about two dozen other men and women there, all clad in the same dark robes as those that ambushed them back in the valley.
“Could these be Wraiths?” asked Padraig, though none answered.
The robed man brought them to the foot of the opening, and pushed the canvas inwards, slightly.
“The Blind Ones are inside,” said he said. His grip on his crossbow tightened. “They tend to the Lord, but they shall never grant you access to see Him.”
“For your sake,” said Fionn, stepping through, “they better make an exception.”
It took a moment for Fionn’s eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, but when they did, he found himself in a wide, circular room, barely illuminated by tiny candles lining the stone wall, twinkling like stars in a night’s sky. Stone etchings marked the floor in crooked circles.
Fionn clicked his fingers, illuminating his immediate surroundings. To his surprise, several more robed men stood along the wall, motionless in the dark. They chanted softly in low whispers, but Fionn couldn’t make out their words. He pressed onwards, squinting at a nearby worshipper. This one had his grey hood pulled over his head, grey lips moving rapidly as the rest of his face remained perfectly still. When Fionn stepped forward for a closer look, he jumped back, yelling with fright.
The worshipper had no eyes.
Where they should have been, a pale scar upon thin skin lay stretched above his gaunt cheekbones. In the flames of Fionn’s torch, the scarring almost seemed translucent, like hide stretched thin.
“We are the ones who have seen too much,” said one voice, louder than the rest. Another robed man stood at the far end of the chamber. Both hands stretched upwards. “The minds you’ve reached, the souls you’ve touched. The One, most true…”
“Lord Seletoth,” answered the others, in unison.
“Who are you?” cried Fionn, stepping towards the one who spoke. Fire raged in the mage’s hands.
“We are your Sons, born to no Mother,” he continued, ignoring Fionn’s words. “We are your seed, One God, no other. No Lady, no King.”
“Just Seletoth,” came the refrain.
Realisation dawned on Fionn as he stood there, staring up at the eyeless face of the speaker. Older than the rest, this one wore no hood, but an oddly shaped headpiece, asymmetrical in its design. Crooked shapes curved upwards over another, entangled around his forehead. The reflection of Fionn’s flames danced upon its steel.
“I’ve heard this prayer before,” said Fionn. “You’re Sons of Seletoth, aren’t you?”
For the first time, the one who led the prayers responded.
“The Lord has graced many with His infinite wisdom, though most caught but a glimpse. We are those who have seen the Truth in its fullest form, and have come here, to Seletoth’s resting place, to tend to Him directly.”
“I need to see Him,” said Fionn.
The old man chuckled. “None may see Him,” he said, gesturing to the scars on his face. “And we make accommodations for those who must be in His presence.”
Fionn took a step back. “Why? Why can no one see Him?”
A terrified cry rang out from somewhere outside, followed by a loud crash.
“Farris!” cried Padraig. Two metal clangs told Fionn that both his companions had armed themselves. But the red mage ignored the commotion outside.
“Where is He?” demanded Fionn, taking a defiant step towards the Sons’ leader. “I’m the son of King Diarmuid, Third and Nineteenth, and I demand you bring me to Him.”
Again, the old man smiled. “He is just beyond here, but even King Diarmuid himself would not be allowed gaze upon the Lord’s face.”
Another loud crash echoed through the walls, followed by a torrent of screams and shouts.
“Don’t you know what’s happening?!” roared Fionn. “Diarmuid is dead! Meadhbh is dead! Seletoth is our last hope in stopping Morrígan!”
Fionn caught a glimpse of a great iron door directly behind the old man. The same iron door that he had seen in his dream. In the chapel with Morrígan.
There must be a way in.
“We are aware of what has been destined to come,” said the old man. “For Seletoth has shown us all. The Beginning, and the End. For even He is powerless to prevent the End.”
“No!” cried Fionn, his voice rising over the commotion outside. “The Lord brought me here! I am to see Him, and I won’t let you stand in my way!”
“I told you,” said the priest, “none are permitted to enter. For one glance at the Lord is enough to—”
Suddenly, the large canvass at the chamber’s entrance was torn open, spilling blinding light from outside over them all. Fionn turned to see Farris Silvertongue, clad in blood-soaked armour, standing before the chaos that was once a quiet settlement. The Simian wore no helm and limped as he strode into the chamber.
“You!” cried the priest. “You—”
With a crack, the old men fell backwards abruptly, a bloody round wound in his forehead. The Simian held a smoking firearm in one hand. The other worshippers cowered in fear, but with a terrifying cry, Farris fired at each one in turn.
“No!” roared Padraig, bolting towards the Simian. “Farris, stop!”
But something else had caught Fionn’s attention. Hung around the priest’s bloodied neck, a thin chain held a thick, metallic key. Fionn darted forward, pulling the key from it. He glanced back to see Farris collapse to the ground. He clutched his waist with one hand, as blood poured from a wound behind a crack in his armour. In his other hand, he lowered a satchel to the ground. It spilled open, and tiny black balls poured out from it, followed by one large round object of black stone. It rolled to a stop on the floor nearby. Padraig and Aislinn ran to the Simian.
Fionn, instead, sprinted towards the great iron doors. The key quickly found the lock, and as Farris’s cries of protest echoed through the chamber, Fionn pushed the door open and stepped inside.