<=Previous | Contents | Next=>
I had entered the Mortuary, seeking a portal. I was now near the site of my first memories, of awakening on a slab here. There was something about the arch in front of me... something hauntingly familiar. A bone-numbing chill blanketed the air between these two black pillars, as if the arch itself bordered on some other, colder space. For some reason, I KNEW this was the portal to the Fortress of Regrets... now all I needed to do was open it.
I clenched my teeth and dug my fingernails into my left forearm; with a dry, tearing sound, I peeled off a strip of skin. The chill between the pillars became stronger, almost hungering, as if the portal had opened a crack...
I pricked the tip of my index finger; before the wound could heal, I squeezed forth several drops of blood. As I prepared to scrawl my regret, a series of images floated across my mind... I whispered the words to myself, but the regret echoed through my mind.
"I regret the deaths I've caused, here and across the multiverse."
I scrawled the regret onto the scrap of flesh... but my rapid healing forced me to stop often to re-open the cut on my finger and squeeze forth more blood. Several moments later, I had finished, my blood glistening on the scrap of skin... a combination of my flesh, my blood, and my regret.
As I watched the bloody regret dry, a wave of cold washed over me. I looked up; the black pillars to either side of the arch were glowing softly, motes of misty blue light drifting from their sides to form a shimmering curtain between them. Beyond the curtain, I could barely make out a weathered stone causeway leading into darkness. I asked if Nordom was ready to proceed.
"Query: Received. Response: Nordom is readied and waited. Awaiting to profess further directives."
"Actually, it's 'process'... never mind. Fall-From-Grace?"
"I have come this far, and it would be rude of me to retire before the final hour." She smiled slightly. "Even if you were to ask politely, I would not permit it."
"It seems I have no choice, then... Annah?"
"I..." Annah glared at Fall-From-Grace, then turned to me, fires in her eyes. "If *she* goes, I'll go, so I will. I'll not turn stag on yeh here, I won't."
"Very well. Dak'kon? You with me?"
"Your path is mine."
"Morte? You ready?"
"Eh..." Morte hesitated, glanced at the portal, glanced at me, glanced at the portal again, then gave a rattling sigh. "Look, I'm not going to say *too* much here, but uh... well, there's something I need to tell you..."
"What is it, Morte?"
"Well, it's about where we're going... or eh, actually where... we've... *been.*"
"'Where WE'VE been?' What are you talking about?"
It was so subtle, I almost missed it - Dak'kon's blade flickered, the edge dulling. As I glanced at him, his hands dropped to his sides, as if he was preparing for battle.
"This... uh, this isn't the FIRST time we've been through this... you see, we've been to this 'Fortress of Regrets' before... though, we... I... didn't know it then."
"Morte, I expect an explanation... no more lies or deceptions, not now."
"It's hard to explain until you've *been* there... besides, you didn't know the, uh, *other* you -- he wasn't exactly the kind of basher to SHARE the chant with us. I mean, I knew he was looking for SOME place, but I didn't know why, where it was, or WHAT it was, so I couldn't say ANYTHING to you, because I didn't know ANYTHING! I... just know what happened when we GOT there..." I realized Morte was talking about my 'practical' incarnation, the one who had freed him from the pillar of skulls.
"And... what happened?"
"Well, we went to this - this FORTRESS, and even before we land foot in this place, we're all SPLIT up, fighting for our lives..." He shuddered. "So the *first* thing I want to tell you is if you're determined to go through with this, there's a good chance that anybody who goes through that portal is going to end up somewhere *far* away from everybody else. Thing is, even split up, we may be your only hope..."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because whatever was waiting in that Fortress for you, chief, it already defeated you once... to this day, I don't know how you managed to survive, but if you fall again, you're going to need someone there to pull you out of that Fortress..."
"Morte, I need you to tell me everything you can about the Fortress... it's important."
"This 'Fortress of Regrets'... it stretches on for LEAGUES, chief. It's a Fortress, but it feels more like a PLANE in itself, all stone, all darkness, and shadows - everywhere, shadows. You go there, and... you better be prepared."
"What happened when we first went there?"
"Chief, I don't know what happened to YOU, but I know what happened to ME... I spent my time running from vault to vault, those shadows crawling all over me, trying to bring me down... then, I just... suddenly, we were 'out,' like someone had pulled us back..."
"Hold on a moment. When you say 'us,' it doesn't sound like it meant just you and me." Morte fell silent, but Dak'kon answered in his stead.
"*Know* that I have walked your path many times." Dak'kon spoke slowly, as if measuring each word; his blade had become a misty gray, as if Dak'kon's mind had drifted. "A portion of your path is *known* to me. Five walked the path to the Fortress. Each died their own death."
"But... who were they? How did they die?"
"I died the death of faith. The skull died the death of courage. The woman died the death of grief. The blind archer died the final and most merciful death, the death of the body. You... you died the death of memory." I recognized who he had described, the same ones Fell had described to me. The skull was Morte, the woman Deionarra, the archer Xachariah.
"Yeah..." Morte rattled, as if shivering. "Chief, at this Fortress - there's shadows *everywhere*..."
"There was darkness there, and every shadow was Shra'kt'lor." Dak'kon's voice was a whisper, and his dead black eyes seemed to be staring at something just beyond me. "They are tormented creatures. The wounds in your spirit are *known* to them. They will attack you through them."
"They spoke to me like the Pillar of Skulls..." Morte's voice dropped. "They *knew*..."
"All right; look, you two: I need to know all you can tell me about this Fortress..."
"The shadows *suffer.* They *know* of torment. They *know* how to torture you with that which has wounded your heart. When you face them, *know* that you face that which has killed you once."
"Dak'kon... Morte, you, and I survived. What happened to the archer and Deionarra?"
"The archer died the death of the body. The woman died the death of the spirit. I could not save the woman because it was not your WILL that she be saved. Her grave was dry of tears. No one *knew* to mourn her passing."
"But... why did I not want her saved?"
"Your will was *known* only to you," said Dak'kon
"I can't tell you anymore, chief," Morte said, "except we're bound to be divided as soon as we arrive, it's a HUGE place, and it's crawling with shadows... and somewhere in that Fortress is something more powerful than *any* of us. There's nothing more to say..."
"Nothing lives there. The walls are darkness." Dak'kon added.
"All right - before I step through this portal - is there ANYTHING ELSE you feel like sharing that you think might HELP me?"
"Well..." Morte paused. "Yeah, there's one other thing you should know - the YOU I knew before, the YOU that led us here, he wasn't like you. At all."
"What do you mean?"
"The other YOU, he... he didn't care very much for anybody. For anyone. We could have ALL died in the Fortress, and he wouldn't have blinked. So... I just want you to hold on to your differences, because... well, I like this *you* better. A LOT better."
"But that's not all you want to say, is it?"
"No..." Morte paused. "There's one other thing - I may not have liked that *other* you very much, but he was one smart basher - the smartest basher I've ever known; he always had every angle covered. If he died at the Fortress, that means... well..."
"You don't think I can succeed, do you?"
"No..." Morte shook his head. "It's not that, chief. Because it's not always who's smartest, or who's the most powerful, or who's the toughest... sometimes it comes down to who you are and what you *really* want. I mean, once you wanted to become immortal - but in the end, is that *really* what you wanted? Just be sure of what you want this time, is all I'm saying."
"Fair enough. Look, Morte... we haven't really talked about this, but you know you don't have to come with me to this place, right? I'll understand if you don't want to."
"Yeah... I know, chief. And I can't lie to you... I don't want to go... but I will. Just know that once we step through that portal, it isn't going to be just about *you* anymore. This is our lives you're playing with, and we don't get back up when we die."
"Then why are you..."
"It's because of what Ravel said in the maze." Grace's voice was soft, so soft I almost missed it. "Isn't it, Morte?"
"What Ravel said, in the maze - she said you draw people who suffer to you, like a lodestone." Morte shook his head. "Maybe it's because *you've* been suffering all this time. Maybe when you end up settling things... maybe *we'll* know a bit of peace, too. Maybe."
"Maybe so. Then... are you with me, Morte?"
"Why not, chief?" Morte shook his head. "I mean, we've gone to every OTHER horrible plane in the multiverse I can think of. Why not take that extra step over the cliff?" He gave a rattling sigh. "Are YOU ready? Because if you're not..."
I said I was, and together, myself and my companions, my friends,
we entered the portal.
<=Previous | Contents | Next=>