Chapter 49. Descent

  Jeremiah returned to that nightmarish shack without thought for Monty, the mission, or anything at all. His feet carried him while he tried desperately to think of anything else at all.

  His thoughts kept returning to home—his first home, where he’d grown up. There had been a creek near there that the local boys swam in every summer. After the rains, it would swell, the waters rising and rushing past in a dizzying current. The other boys, tanned and strong from their work on the farms, would goad each other into swimming across at ever wider, more dangerous points, daring one another to stare death in the face and emerge victorious.

  Jeremiah’s family worked no land. His hands were soft and uncalloused, more accustomed to holding garments and books than the sturdy tools of his peers. As the boys jeered at each other to test their mettle, the taunts were never directed towards Jeremiah.

  But one day, the pain of being overlooked had grown more cutting than his fear. The waters were high and terrifying, sweeping debris past the banks faster than the boys had ever seen. Their whooping and hollering bravado barely concealed the dread of the scene. They jostled one another and joked, but even the older boys didn’t dare shove anyone in today, as they sometimes did.

  Jeremiah, among them but not with them, had felt that familiar ache growing in his chest for so long now. And as the boys turned away from the creek to head home, the ache flared into desperation—to be noticed, to belong. To matter.

  Much like during his walk back to the Pit his legs had carried him to that shoreline before his brain could comprehend it. His knees flexed and launched him above towards those dark, rushing waters, flinging his body as far as possible towards that distant shore.

  As he flew, he’d felt elated, free—unbound by being different, weaker, more afraid. It was a moment of unbridled joy that seemed to stretch to the horizons.

  Then he hit the water. Cold and shocking, his boots became weights in an instant, and the current seized him, even stronger than it had looked. Water washed over his head even as he clawed for the sky. Invisible masses collided with him and forced him down or spun him dizzy.

  Jeremiah had time to realize that he was about to die, even if his body refused to accept it. He flailed and kicked away those treacherous boots and was swept downstream anyway, at the mercy of the creek. His bids for air were awash with lungfuls of water as waves crashed over him again and again.

  And then he was being dragged. Someone hauled him up onto the shore and struck his back until he coughed up water. A cheer went up, and the boys thronged around Jeremiah’s rescuer, a broad-shouldered boy with sandy hair. They thumped him on the back, adulation mixed with banter, and Jeremiah was left on the ground, coughing and drawing ragged breath, while they celebrated their hero.

  Why was he thinking of this now? Jeremiah’s bag thudded against his legs as he descended the stairs of the shack. Thud. Thud. Thud. He had wanted to be a hero, to be someone who mattered, and he’d learned what that cost. Thud. Thud. Thud. Then he’d tried to put that childish dream behind him, and that had cost him too.

  What now? What would young Jeremiah have thought of him now, descending now towards the horrors that awaited with the blood of a good man on his hands? What did he think of himself now?

  “ You did what you had to do ,” said Allison.

  “ There’s always another way ,” said Delilah.

  Jeremiah arrived before the corpse. It regarded him with the same unseeing eyes. He reached into the bag, his fingers falling on the tacky wet clump of hair that was Monty’s blood soaked beard. The breath left his lungs as he felt the weight of the head in his hand. He presented it to the corpse, looking away as he did so. He couldn’t risk glimpsing Monty’s empty, accusing gaze.

  Nascent slithered out from his rotten cocoon again, “Have you brought what I asked for?” he hissed.

  “I think so,” mumbled Jeremiah. The entire walk back to this house of horrors had been in a daze. He was trying to come to terms with what he had done, but it was like trying to take responsibility for the actions of something nonsensical you did in your dreams.

  There was horror, but it was a vague and distant horror.

  “Show me,” said Nascent.

  Jeremiah reached into the bag without looking, hoping that maybe his hands would close on nothing. But they found the tacky wet clump of hair that was Monty’s blood soaked beard. The contact made it real, and the breath left his lungs as he felt the weight of the head when he pulled it out of the bag.

  He looked away, he couldn’t fathom the risk of seeing Monty’s yes looking back at him. Accusing him of being a murderer, maybe even a kin slayer, according to Monty. They were a family, after all.

  “And the heart?” said Nascent.

  “In the bag,” said Jeremiah. He gagged, remembering something thick and vague.

  “I requested it be in the dwarf’s mouth,” said Nascent. He was drawing closer to Jeremiah, smiling.

  “I’ve got the heart, isn’t that enough!?” Jeremiah barked at him.

  “No,” said Nascent, “put it in his mouth.”

  There was no going back. Nascent held all the cards, and was going to pay them one by one. Jeremiah set Monty’s head down on the ground and crouched beside it, still not looking.

  “Please, just let this end,” he thought.

  He had handled hearts before, and heads. Hundreds even. All part of Fusoh’s processing. But these were his. He knew this heart, and he knew this head.

  He fished around in the bag for the heart, and had to peel it away from the burlap lining. He had almost retrieved it when it jumped in his hands, one last errant pulse. It had performed hundreds of thousands in its living days, why not one more?

  Jeremiah gasped in shock as the heart pumped once in his hand, jumping back into the bag and squirting cooling blood between his fingers.

  “Freshhhh,” hissed Nascent with satisfaction.

  Again, Jeremiah pulled it out. Luckily, that one thump was all it had left. A final bit of revenge from Monty.

  “See?” said Jeremiah, holding it out for Nascent to inspect. It was heavy, very heavy. Dwarf hearts were huge compared to human hearts, and had an entire extra fifth chamber ha Jeremiah had never been able to determine the purpose of.

  “The mouth!” Nascent hissed, “In the mouth!” he was quivering with excitement, and had started running his hands over his nude body.

  Jeremiah stifled a sob. This was sadism, pure twisted sadism. But he had to.

  “You don’t have to,” said Delilah, “there’s always another way.”

  “Except sometimes there isn’t,” said Bruno and Allison.

  Jeremiah was forced to look at Monty’s face. He had been so dignified in life, so self assured and strong. Now his face was slack and pale. The tension, having completely left him, made his face appear soft and melting. Rigor mortis would set in soon, but for now the head was still fresh enough to be limp. There were scraps of discarded vegetable peelings on his face, brown rot wiping off on his beard and nose.

  “You were a liar,” whispered Monty, “I knew it all along. You pleaded and begged and manipulated me. Just to stab me in the back. I wanted to keep my people safe. That included you.”

  “Shut up,” thought Jeremiah, “you would have done the same to me.”

  “At least you’ll still have money,” said Monty mockingy, “At least you won’t be poor. What a tragedy that would be.”

  Jeremiah opened Monty’s slack jaw with two trembling fingers. The teeth came apart with a sucking sound. He picked up the heart and placed it against Monty’s lips like a red apple.

  “It doesn’t fit,” Jeremiah whispered to Nascent.

  “Make it fit!” Nascent squealed at him. Nascent was beside himself with anticipation.

  Jeremiah held his breath and pushed, cinching his eyes shut. There were cracks, there were pops, the heart compressed and oozed out captive blood.

  “Yes, yesssss,” hissed Nascent eagerly.

  Something gave, something split, and Jeremiah’s hand came into contact with Monty’s mouth. It was done. He held up Monty’s head, now just a bit heavier, for Nascent to inspect.

  “Perfect, that was perfect Jay of Shabad,” sighed Nascent. His ecstatic quivering had become a languid calmness.

  “Am I done?” asked Jeremiah. He was dizzy, so many horrific sensations were playing out in his mind and hands over and over again.

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  “Yes Jay, you are done,” said Nascent, “you are worthy of true freedom. We are all too pleased to have you. Our leader will receive you, a most auspicious honor.”

  With surprising ease, Nascent rolled the humongous corpse onto its side. It sloshed over like a sack of water, revealing a stairway beneath that led down into darkness.

  “Descend Jay of Shabad,” said Nascent, “descend and discover your birthright.”

  Nascent took Monty’s head from Jeremiah, and Jeremiah began to descend the stairs.

  Jeremiah had traveled fewer than a dozen steps before the light above him was blotted out, plunging him into darkness. Nascent must have rolled the body back over the opening. Jeremiah kept a hand on both walls and felt each step carefully before committing his weight. It was slow going, leaving Jeremiah far too much time with his own thoughts.

  “ Not even the dignity of a burial, ” said Monty. “ Leaving me with that freak .”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  “You murdered Monty because a sadist told you to,” said Delilah. “Because you’re on some sort of mission. Who are you, Jeremiah Thorn? What else are you capable of?”

  He was terrified of himself. He was terrified of how easy it was to convince himself what he did was necessary.

  The air in the stairwell grew chilled and damp.

  Flashes of the murder came to him. They remained murky and indistinct, but insistent, as though some part of him was desperate to cling to the scraps. His mind filled Monty’s last words with limitless possibilities—in some renditions, Monty forgave him, or was proud of him, in others he cursed him, promised he’d have revenge in hell.

  Selfishly, Jeremiah found himself wishing the old dwarf were with him. Monty’s presence had been so reassuring, in its way. He wondered what would happen to the Stonefists now. Was there a succession plan? With a start, Jeremiah realized, that was probably meant to be him. Did anybody else know about Cassidy’s treasure? What would happen to Sweet Melissa, Dronkal, and Shugga?

  “ I would have taken care of you, too ,” said Monty. “ We could have figured it out together .”

  “ You couldn’t risk it ,” said Allison. “ You did what you had to do .”

  He’d tried to fight back, Jeremiah remembered. Monty had understood Jeremiah’s betrayal in an instant and tried to defend himself. Probably would have succeeded if not for the hidden armor, one more secret kept from the man who was laying down his life to project Jeremiah.

  “ Stay focused ,” said Bruno. “ You’re almost there. ”

  But that was impossible. Jeremiah hurried down the pitch-black stairs, faster and faster. Monty giving him power over Cutter. Monty apologizing for Delilah. Monty begging him not to throw away his life in the Golden Vault. Monty telling him something, something Jeremiah would never hear, with his last breath in this world.

  Jeremiah’s foot slipped. He lurched forward and the dark and threw his arms out to catch himself. His palms slammed into the walls on either side, and he held there, half-suspended over empty air. His breathing was ragged, his mouth dry.

  He missed his friends. He missed his cell mates. He missed Monty. Allison had been right, he never should have been out here. He never should have leaped from the shore, unheeding of the tumultuous waters below.

  But he had, and this time nobody was here to pull him out. With shaky breaths, he pushed himself backwards, finding the stone steps with his feet. He took one more step. And one more. One more. Just keep going.

  After an age in darkness, an almost imperceptible brightening began to appear. With each step, Jeremiah became more sure of it, until finally the final landing of the staircase came into view.

  A lantern hung beside a simple iron door. Folded neatly on a stool was a dark red robe, and atop it rested a beautifully carved ivory and gilded gold mask. The mask showed a blank face with only two slots for eyes. It was pristine, as if it had been newly created just for him.

  Jeremiah understood the request. He donned the robe over his clothes, and feeling lost in the billowing fabric. It was unadorned, but of good quality. He slipped the mask over his face and buckled the sturdy leather strap behind his head. Then he turned to the door.

  He smelled the rust, felt the cold, unyielding metal beneath his palm. On the other side of this door was whatever it was that Monty had died for. He touched the door ring. It was strangely warm. He pulled, and the door screeched on its hinges.

  Light flooded into Jeremiah’s world, blinding him. He squinted, and just made out a robed figure waiting on the other side.

  This figure wore the same robes, but his mask was decorated with a mother of pearl luster and a circle of sapphires on the forehead. The figure was slightly smaller than Jeremiah, just as lost in the robes as Jeremiah felt. It stepped forward without hesitation, and threw its arms around Jeremiah in a tight hug.

  “You did it,” said the figure, a male's voice, “you made it. It's all over now. You can finally be free.” He emphasized the last word with a tightening of the hug.

  Jeremiah indulged his feelings of abject isolation and nerve breaking stress by wrapping the man up in his own hug, squeezing just as tight. It felt good. For a moment he forgot all the horror and fully embraced the lie.

  “I know, friend, I know,” said the man. He rubbed Jeremiah's back affectionately. “You've been through a lot to get here.”

  The embrace was everything Jeremiah’s body longed for. The isolation, the horror, for just a moment it was blotted out by the kind gesture of another. Tears leapt to his eyes. He leaned into the hug, feeling weakness flood his body as the stranger supported his weight.

  Jeremiah would have liked to stay in that moment for the rest of his life, to never again need to think about what had gotten him there or face whatever fresh hardship awaited. To let his worries fade into obscurity while someone cared for him.

  But he still had work to do.

  Jeremiah released the embrace and the stranger let him step away. “Thanks.”

  “Not at all, friend, not at all. We all understand the pain of shedding our old lives for a better one. Not to mention you came to us via Nascent, not easy.” His voice was gregarious and charming.

  “You can call me Lyle,” said the man. I know your name is Jay, but if you'd prefer to be called anything else, just let me know.”

  “Jay is fine,” said Jeremiah. This man was, somehow, stranger than anything else thus far. “You’re the leader here?”

  The man shrugged, “I like to think of myself as a guide. But, if there were anything like a true leader here, I suppose it would be me. But come on in, there's lots to show you.”

  Lyle brought Jeremiah to the next door, turned and began fussing with Jeremiah’s robes, straightening and smoothing out rumples. It was strangely similar to something he had seen Delilah do before.

  “You’ve got a sense of propriety,” thought Jeremiah, “or experience and concern with refinement.”

  “Look at him, it’s natural,” said Delilah, “He comes from my circles.”

  “Now don’t be nervous,” said Lyle, “it’s going to be a lot to take in, but I promise most everyone here is very friendly, if not private.”

  The primping complete, Lyle put his hand on the door, “Ready?” he asked. Jeremiah could hear the anticipation and delight in his voice.

  “Ready,” said Jeremiah.

  “Welcome home, Jay,” said Lyle, and threw the door open.

  Jeremiah took in his surroundings. They stood in a subterranean city, similar to the one he had passed through with Monty and his cell mates, but this one was obviously lived in. Great crystal lights, set to glow by magic, adorned huge stone columns. Ancient buildings of crumbling stone had been fitted with warm, homey tapestries. Rather than the cramped ruins of the city Jeremiah had seen, this place enjoyed wide, expansive spaces. He could see other robed figures moving about.

  “We must be beneath the second city,” he thought, “The place nobody goes because it’s overrun by kobolds. Well, I don’t see any kobolds around here.”

  He started forward, and nearly fell. Lyle caught him, a supportive arm under his elbow. His legs were trembling, he realized. In fact, his entire body felt on the verge of collapse.

  Lyle pulled him back to upright. “Yeah, those stairs are awful. May I make an offer? There’s a lovely little inn nearby. Very nice. I’ll cover your stay. We can save your orientation for tomorrow.”

  “Orientation?” asked Jeremiah.

  Lyle laughed with genuine amusement. “I really don't know what else to call it. Initiation sounds far too dire. I just want to give you the tour, help you find your feet. But I suspect I will find you a far more attentive audience if I allow you some time to rest first. You’ve been through a lot today.”

  “That…would be nice,” said Jeremiah.

  “I insist even,” said Lyle, his voice as soothing as aloe. “Take some time to rest. The whole world will be here waiting for you when you get back.”

  The inn was indeed what passed for lovely down here, the crumbling walls updated with fresh plaster and new wood doors. Jeremiah’s room featured heavy curtains over the windows, three locks on the door, and a rug.

  Jeremiah dropped onto the bed. “We’re okay, buddy. We’re okay.” Details of the murder drifted across his mind, sometimes in sharp focus, sometimes barely recognizable. Gus didn’t respond. Tears threatened again, then nausea, but mostly he was overwhelmingly exhausted.

  “We’re okay.”

  Somewhere between blinks, he fell asleep.