Tome of the Undergates

In answer, the creature lunged at his finger, gnashing its teeth with such speed that only the startled shriek that sent him falling out of his chair spared his digit. The Omen hissed, ruffling its feathers as if in challenge as it settled onto its pudgy white haunches.

‘Part-gopher, part-bird, part-woman. .’ Lenk tapped his chin thoughtfully and glared up at Miron. ‘This changes nothing, you realise.’

‘It proves the existence of demons, at least,’ Asper offered meekly.

‘No, the giant fish-demon proved the existence of demons,’ Lenk spat back. ‘What was the point of bringing this out? Shock?’

‘Information,’ Miron replied coolly. ‘An Omen is not a complex creature, living only to eat and cause misery. Neither takes a great amount of intellect, and thus, an Omen is incapable of lying.’

‘So ask it a question,’ Lenk said, ‘and see what it says.’

‘It doesn’t offer information without incentive,’ Miron said.

‘You mean. . torture?’ Denaos asked, grimacing.

‘Not the kind you would be versed in.’ Miron affixed a piercing gaze upon the rogue, observing him casually shift his eyes away. ‘After all, how does one torture that which feeds on suffering?’

‘Rip its wings off and roast half of it until the other half talks!’ Argaol slammed his fist upon the table, drawing the creature’s attention. ‘So long as it gets me further away from that foulness that infected my ship, who cares?’ He leaned forwards, snarling. ‘Speak, bird, where did you come from?’

The creature replied by tilting its withered head as if studying him. His facade of fearlessness twitched, threatened to break.

‘Speak!’

The Omen’s mouth craned open slowly, exposing a tiny void beyond the yellow teeth. A low, gurgling noise emitted from within before a voice, masculine and terrified, boiled out of its throat.

‘Captain,’ it uttered without moving its mouth, ‘Captain, where are you? You’re. . you’re supposed to protect us! Where are you? Why aren’t you here? CAPTAIN!’

Argaol fell back into his chair as if struck. His face was as white as his eyes as he stared, not at the parasite, but at the empty space before him. His jaw hung from his face, his voice oozing out of his mouth like spittle.

‘That’s. . Anjus. He is. . he was the master of wares. What’s-’

‘Zamanthras preserve me,’ the Omen continued, its voice now another man’s, ‘Zamanthras preserve me, Zamanthras preserve me. I’m not going to make it. Mother wash away my sins. I. . I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die! Please, just let me live long enough to see my wife again, please. . PLEASE!’

‘Nor does the Omen truly speak,’ Miron said, sighing. ‘It can only mimic what it has heard. But it does so-’

‘IT HURTS!’ the parasite’s imitation voice wailed. ‘IT HURTS SO MUCH!’

‘Accurately.’

‘Make it stop.’ Argaol’s demand brimmed with tears. ‘Make it shut up!’

‘Your suffering will be brief, Captain,’ the priest said. ‘If that is all we require, then let it be so.’ He turned to Asper and offered a weak smile. ‘Would you kindly do me the favour of reciting, Priestess?’

‘Reciting. . what?’ the priestess asked, blanching.

‘The Talanic Verses. Parable four-and-thirty, if you would be so kind.’

‘“The Healer Addresses the Masses”? But. . whatever for?’

‘Allow me to ask the questions, please.’ He gestured towards the creature. ‘Simply recite.’

‘Er. . ah, very well.’ Asper cleared her throat, drawing the creature’s attention. Averting her gaze, she began to speak. ‘“And it was upon the sixth noon, the sixth dismemberment of the Healer, that he rose again, whole and unscarred. He looked over the people, who raised torch and sickle against him and demanded he be slain again.”’

The creature emitted a low hum, like a pigeon being strangled. Its feathers ruffled, teeth chattering a little more violently. Yellow feet plopping beneath it, it marched in place, as if preparing to charge.

‘Do not stop,’ Miron commanded, staring at the thing. ‘Speak, vermin. Where did your master go?’

‘“And he said to them, Do you fear miracles? Have you lost such confidence in the Gods? ”’ Asper continued, breathing heavily. ‘“Then look upon me with fear, for in fear you will find the need for answers. And it is answers I give you.”’

The Omen shrieked suddenly, hurling itself against the cage. The brass rattled upon the wood, causing all to draw back, save Miron. The beast hissed, gnawing on the bars of its cage with yellowed teeth and blackened gums, straining to break free, to silence the prayers.

‘“Your suffering is not unknown to me, He said. And your dead are with me now, in a place of unending sun and peace. Weep not for them. I shall weep for you. For I say to you, life is sacred.”’

The creature battered itself against the bars, blood leaking from its head, white feathers stained red as it shrieked and made guttural whines. It gyrated, twisted, writhed upon the floor of its cage. Miron held up a hand to Asper, leaned close to the cage and whispered.

‘Where?’

‘North,’ it gasped, through its inner lips, ‘north.’

Miron nodded solemnly, then drew in a sharp breath and finished the prayer. ‘Hii lat Udun.’

‘And so is death,’ Asper translated, eyes going wide.

‘That’s. . Old Talanic. Old, Old Talanic. It’s never been used outside of hymnal verses-’

‘And not since humanity developed one sole language out of many,’ Miron said.

The creature twisted once, then lay still, its life escaping on a gurgling, choked sigh. The assembled could do nothing but stare as Miron slowly took up the cloth and draped it over the cage once more.

‘A demon’s true weakness is memory,’ he muttered. ‘It recalls the chants that led the House into battle, it fears them.’ He lifted the cage off the table and set it aside. ‘But more importantly, we have our answer. We know where they are heading.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Denaos whispered.

‘Can I be anything but?’

‘You bring out a flying gopher-demon, do a few tricks and expect us to go chasing after the Abysmyth?’ The rogue made a flailing gesture. ‘All that convinces me of is that we shouldn’t be chasing demons! Lenk and Gariath couldn’t even scratch that thing! You’re sending us against something that can’t be hurt!’

‘It can’t be harmed by mortal creations, no,’ Miron replied quickly, ‘but there are weapons that even demons fear. Fire, you see, is their bane. The smallest heat source burns them unmercifully, and they cannot bear the presence of smoke.’

‘Dreadaeleon is a wizard,’ Asper said thoughtfully. ‘He can make fire.’

‘Well, thank goodness he did that when it was here earlier,’ Denaos sneered.

‘If I had known that then, maybe I’d-’ Dreadaeleon began.

‘Quiet,’ Lenk snapped.

‘Regardless,’ the priest continued with a sigh, ‘you are hired to me as adventurers. You are free to leave my company at any moment and free to make your own decisions.’ He held his hands up in resignation. ‘Man’s fate is his own to weave.’

Glances were exchanged, myriad emotions captured in every eye. Terror, excitement, purpose, anger, anxiety, all reflected in stares that slowly, one by one, turned to the silver-haired young man scratching his chin absently.

Despite everything said between them, despite their harsh words for each other, they looked to him for their answer, their uniting purpose. Whatever had been said in the name of duty and fury, every word and oath could be revoked in the blink of an eye.

All rested on what would emerge from his mouth.