Journey Into Nyx (15 page)

“But …” Lanathos seemed at a loss for words.

“Pyxathor, you have the floor,” Brimaz interrupted. He had little patience for metaphysical discussions even in time of peace, and he wasn’t going to entertain such a debate now.

“Why are the gods blaming the humans?” Pyxathor asked. “Why are they attacking the mortals’ settlements?”

“Because of Xenagos’s Revel?” Elspeth guessed. “Perhaps they believe the mortals contributed to his ascension.”

“Perhaps,” King Brimaz said. “I guess we’d have to ask a god to know for sure.”

“So do we join the humans in their fight or not?” Seza demanded.

“The gods are bringing their Nyxborn armies through the Nykthos, the nexus point between our realms.” Brimaz said. “Pyxathor will lead any warriors who do not wish to aid the humans. You will go there, intercept the Nyxborn as they arrive, and kill them before they can do more damage.”

Pyxathor stood and bowed to his king. “I’m honored that you trust me with this task,” he said.

“For those who wish to aid the humans, I’ll lead an army to the Nessian Forest where the humans are amassing for a strike against the gods’ army,” Brimaz continued. “I welcome all who are willing to join me, but I respect any who choose to follow Pyxathor.”

“Can you gain access to Nyx through the Nykthos?” Elspeth asked.

“No, only the Nyxborn can use it as a conduit,” Lanathos answered. “And they can’t go back the way they came. Once they are in the mortal realm, they can never return to Nyx.”

“Is there no way into Nyx?” Elspeth asked.

No one spoke for a long moment, but all eyes were fixed on Elspeth. In the past, Elspeth might have squirmed uncomfortably at the attention. Tonight, she raised her chin defiantly. They couldn’t stop her, even if they didn’t want to help her; she would find a way.

Finally, Brimaz asked, “Why do you want to go to Nyx?”

“To kill Xenagos,” Elspeth said. She didn’t say the real reason out loud, but it echoed in her mind like cacophonous chimes: to avenge the death of Daxos.

“You cannot kill a god,” Lanathos said. “No mortal can do it.”

“
You
cannot kill a god,” Elspeth replied. “But you don’t have a sword forged by a god.”

Brimaz raised a hand of caution. “You don’t know what your weapon is capable of. Let’s pursue another path to victory.”

“You are pursuing two paths already,” Elspeth said. “I choose this one.”

Lanathos looked troubled. “There’s a tree on the waterfall at the edge of the world. Many myths describe an entrance to Nyx through Kruphix’s temple.”

“How?” Elspeth said.

“The god-stories aren’t clear,” Lanathos said. “Some speak of a ladder to Nyx, which must be figurative. And even if you find the way, you can’t get through the gates without passing an ordeal and receiving the blessing of a god.”

“I assume the gates are figurative as well?” Elspeth asked.

“No one knows,” Lanathos said. “Maybe the gates are as real as that fire. Or maybe everything is mist and light. I have no guidance on this.”

“I don’t care,” Elspeth said. “Unless you tell me there’s a way to kill Xenagos from here, then I’m going to Nyx.”

“I know of no way,” Lanathos said. “I might be able to discover one, but it would take time.”

“There is no time,” Elspeth said furiously.

“She’s right,” Ajani said. “The god’s wrath will scour the world if we don’t stop it.”

“How do I get to the edge of the world?” Elspeth asked. “Do I just take a ship and sail for the horizon?”

“It’s not that simple,” Lanathos said. “It’s not a linear course. It can be done with a ship, but you need a navigator who knows where he’s going.”

“Who has this information?” Ajani asked.

“The god-stories speak of two people who know the way,” Lanathos said. “Theophilia, who is Nylea’s naiad companion, has visited Kruphix often. But she would not help you. She loves Nylea, who is at war with the mortals.”

“I think I met Theophilia already,” Elspeth said. “She tried to kill me in the forest.”

“Well, the other—and this is strange,” Lanathos mused. “Callaphe the Mariner knows the way. She is a figure of
myth, and had not been seen for ages. But in recent months, there have been many sightings of her. Callaphe knows the edge of the world better than anyone else. She has a ship known as the
Monsoon
that she can sail along the precipice of the waterfall.”

“Where can I find this Callaphe?” Elspeth asked.

“She dwells near the Siren’s Shipyard,” Lanathos said. “The god-stories say you must throw a shell bearing the likeness of the kraken into the water to capture her attention.”

“You are resolved to this plan, Elspeth?” Brimaz asked. “You mean to make your way to Nyx and confront this satyr, Xenagos?”

“Yes,” Elspeth said.

“You can travel with us to the Nessian Forest and then follow the river to the sea,” Brimaz said. “The tyranny of the gods has gone on long enough, and the satyr doesn’t deserve to have dominion over a pile of dirt. If I could find a way to bring him to his knees, I will happily cut his head off myself.”

“I’m coming with you, Elspeth,” Ajani said.

“And I am grateful,” Elspeth assured him. “I need the help.”

She knew this wasn’t something she could do alone.

K
ing Brimaz led his band of warriors down the Oreskos Road, a dirt track that served as the main route between the leonin’s homeland and the Nessian Forest. The leonins traveled at a high rate of speed, and Elspeth had little time to ponder anything but her rapid pace down the rutted road. Whenever they crested a rise, Elspeth could see Mt. Velus burning indignantly in the distance. Blasts of fire arched upward at irregular intervals. Purphoros was still taking wild shots at Nyx, and the mortals were bearing the burden of his anger.

By noon of the second day, they reached a wide valley between two separate mountain ranges. The swampy lowland was home to the Sperche River, which choked out life with its frequent flooding and left infertile dirt and gravel in its wake. A jagged ridge of limestone mountains loomed on the other side of the valley. Eventually, the Oreskos Road led to a gap between two of the limestone mountains. This natural formation was known as the Cypress Gates, and it marked the edge of the Nessian Forest. The mountains were heavily forested, although they were not considered part of the forest proper. Travelers hadn’t entered into Nylea’s domain until they’d passed beyond the Cypress Gates.

But the valley was ten miles wide, and they had to ford the rushing Sperche River. Keen-eyed warriors had spied a
traveling party in the distance at the crossroads at the heart of the valley. By the time the leonins reached the crossroads, the sun was low in the sky. As they approached, they saw that most of the people were already dead, just corpses sprawled along the road.

There had been some kind of rustic shrine marking the crossroads, but it had been destroyed and the rubble blasted in a cone-shaped pattern. The shredded flesh of the bodies had been partially eaten by some beast, and the ground was covered in paw prints. It didn’t take an oracle to see that the indentations in the ground were infused with the stars of Nyx. The Nyxborn killers were leaving traces of themselves for all to see.

A single figure knelt in the middle of the road. He wore the tattered robes of a priest of Heliod.

Brimaz motioned to Ajani and Elspeth to follow him while most of his contingent kept their distance. Elspeth, with a dark hood pulled up to hide her face, trailed behind the two leonins. As they drew closer, Elspeth recognized the man kneeling in the center of the carnage. His name was Stelanos, and he had been one of Daxos’s friends in Heliod’s temple in Meletis. As they approached, he turned his head slightly and they saw that his eyes had been ruined by some mystical cause. He was blind, and where his eyes had been mist leaked out and into the air, like smoke emerging from the cracks in an old forge. Stelanos clutched a ceramic flask with both hands as if it was the only thing that could keep him safe.

“Who’s there?” he cried.

“We are fellow travelers,” Brimaz replied. “We’re horrified by what’s happened here. Who did this?”

“Heliod has turned his back on us,” the man said. “He has forsaken us.”

Ajani came and knelt beside the man. “I am a healer,” he said. “May I help you?”

The man swiped at the air with his bloody hands as if to ward Ajani away. “No, leave me to my fate.”

“Why do you believe this is your fate?” Ajani asked. His voice was a low rumble of reassurance.

“Heliod and Nylea have joined together,” Stelanos said. “They intend to destroy everyone who once loved them. I was a priest at Heliod’s temple, and we were forced to flee with just our lives.”

“What is the state of Meletis?” Brimaz asked.

The man made a choking sound. “Ephara protected the polis from utter destruction, but she didn’t care about saving Heliod’s priests. To her, it was good riddance for the wayward children of the furious god.”

“Have you other news of the pantheon?” Ajani asked. Stelanos seemed to deteriorate in front of their eyes. His mouth was dry, and he was having a hard time formulating words.

“Mogis and Iroas are fighting in the deepest corner of Nyx, and they haven’t been seen since the satyr ascended,” Stelanos whispered. “Nothing is known of Pharika and Phenax.”

“May I get you water, brother?” Ajani said. “Is your flask empty?”

Stelanos cradled the ceramic flask against his chest. A picture of Heliod’s winged horse was painted on the long neck, and words of his teachings ran around the base.
WHAT IS, IS, AND EVER SHALL BE
.

“No, I have what I need right here,” Stelanos said.

“Who blinded you?” Ajani asked. “Was it Heliod?”

“When he purged his temple he accused us of working with the murderer Elspeth and her lover, the satyr,” Stelanos said. Elspeth covered her mouth with her hand to keep from protesting. “He blinded me as we fled the gates of the city. Once we neared the forest, Nylea’s minions trailed us. So we turned toward Oreskos, thinking we might beg the leonin for help. But her beasts overtook us and mauled my
friends, but they let me live.”

“Why do you think they let you live?” Ajani asked gently.

Stelanos turned his head away so his blind eyes stared at the horizon. “Perhaps to tell you, whoever you are,” he said. “They will not stop until they recover the sword from Elspeth the Betrayer.”

“Please let us help you,” Ajani said. “You could travel with us. We’re seeking the army of humans and centaurs to aid them in this fight. Heliod is misinformed. Perhaps there is a way to set things right.”

Stelanos shook his head. “No, I must accept my fate. Leave me here. Let me find my end in my own way.”

“Let us at least bury your dead,” Brimaz said.

“Leave us as a warning to others,” Stelanos said. “The gods have forsaken us.”

Ajani stood up, and Brimaz signaled his men to move around the crossroads and continue toward the gate. Even after they’d left him behind, Elspeth kept glancing back. Finally, Stelanos lifted the flask and drank. Then he crumpled to the ground and didn’t move again.

“Nightshade,” Ajani told Elspeth as the scene faded in the hazy air behind them.

Brimaz nodded gravely. “Erebos had offered him his cup of resignation, and he could see no option but to drink it. Humans cleave to
destiny
when they should embrace the unknown instead.”

Brimaz’s warriors crossed into the long shadow of the Cypress Gates. The sun was just about to sink behind the mountains, and the temperature was dropping quickly. As Nyx began to emerge above them, the ring of blackness still dominated the sky. For the first time since Xenagos had ascended, Elspeth could see the faint forms of animals in the stars. They seemed to be in motion, scattering in all
directions away from Xenagos’s black ring. There were no god-forms, and mostly the heavens were just a mass of astral clouds and chaotic points of lights.

The Cypress Gates framed an opening in the sawlike ridge of mountains. The highest point of the ridge was almost seven thousand feet, but far to the north. The Gates themselves were each about five hundred feet high.