RE: Monarch
Chapter 83: Sanctum VIII

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jorra said.

Heatwaves shimmered up from what I can only describe as a desert. The cloud cover was perilously thin, but the heat that gathered at the top created a shimmering distortion, as if the thin patches of cloud were not so much hovering as they were floating, nested upside-down in still, shimmering pools. And this chamber was vast.

“How are we doing on water?” I asked aloud, unable to tear my eyes away from that strange, alien landscape.

“Could be better.” Maya opened a flap on Jorra’s backpack and pulled several overfilled skins. “We are down to half. Decent enough. I would have been more sparing if I knew this was coming.”

“Worst-case scenario, I can supplement if we’re completely out,” Jorra said grimly, “But my magic will be weaker here, I’m not sure how good I’ll be in a fight.”

“Vogrin,” I spoke down into the gap in my shirt, “You said our followers were less than a day away and more or less keeping pace. Any chance they’ve sped up?”

The amulet pulsed once, cold. Uncertain.

“Also, since you have been serving as our navigation, it would have been excellent to know we were walking into the second manifestation of the runic desert.” No response, other than two chill pulses, which I took to mean that Vogrin didn’t know what we’d replace.

“You’re right,” Bell called down from the top of a dune.

“About what?” I yelled up to her.

“Come see!” Bell waved at us.

Navigating the sharp-angle of the shadowed dune was tricky, and I would have fallen if Jorra hadn’t kept a stabilizing hand to my back. I arrived alongside Bell, short of breath. Bell helped us up one by one, biceps stretching beneath her sleeve as she lifted us with little effort.

I stood atop the dune, not entirely sure what I was seeing. The sandy landscape was speckled with ruins. Things that had once been towers had fallen, broken and crumbled, half buried within the sand. On the segments of the constructions that showed, there were engravings I had only seen paintings of.

“See?” Bell said. “It’s like the runic desert.”

“Not like,” I shook my head, “If I didn’t know where we were half a continent away, I’d swear we’d stumbled into it somehow.

Maya looked confused. “I’ve heard something of this. The sanctum is a place heavy with magic, where normal rules do not always apply. There are places down here that have always been here, as ancient as the earth itself. But there are other places that form as sort of reflections, mirrors to various places of power on the surface. Only this isn’t right. This was supposed to be some underground chamber, a testing grounds. This shouldn’t be here.

“I don’t like the look of whatever that is over there.” Jorra pointed slightly behind us and to the side. I turned and looked. At first, it looked like a wall of black, barely visible in the horizon. As my eyes adjusted and gained focus the truth of it became much more apparent. Sandstorm.

“We need to go back,” I said, speaking at the same time as Jorra, who said something about us needing to go forward.

“Guys,” Bell said.

“If we go back,” Jorra said, focused on me, “We risk running into those people following us. They’ll have magicians older than us, Cairn. And there’s a lot of them.

“If we don’t go back, we risk being caught in that. And this chamber is a blank space on the map. Who’s to say we don’t risk being stuck here?” I said, speaking calmly, trying to remain civil. “We can take them.”

“Guys,” Bell said.

“I don’t want to take them,” Jorra said, looking appalled, “Those are my folk, Cairn.”

“They’re hunting us!” I said, exasperated.

Maya stepped between us. “We do not have time for this. We need to make a decision, quickly.”

My amulet burned, suddenly. A warning. I whirled around, looking for the source of danger. It wasn’t what I expected. Bell’s face was slack the skin around her face was pale, rather than red, and she teetered on the edge of the dune. Jorra was closer than I was. He dropped his bag, contents spilling on the sand, but he was just a bit too far away.

I reached out and called to the dry air around me, gathering mana and releasing it in a reflective burst. Jorra was in the way, directly between me and Bellarex. What followed next was almost entirely instinct. As I had when I used the raw, elemental wind to gather and direct the powders in my alchemical pouch, I reached out towards the small, almost invisible burst of wind and attempted to move it.

It curved, circling around Jorra and slamming into the small of Bellarex’s back, knocking her forwards. She still fell, but forwards, into the more gradual decline of the dune. But for some reason, she didn’t catch herself, slamming into the sand with a painful yelp.

Jorra rolled Bell onto her side. I knelt down beside her. Her breaths were short and shallow, indicating a deeper issue than a simple fall.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jorra said.

“I’m fine,” Bell panted.

Maya pressed two glowing fingers to Bell’s neck. “There is no damage or physical ailments other than some scrapes along her hands and knees. It is almost like she is… shit.” Maya looked up at me. “She is acclimating.”

It took a second for me to place the term. When I did, it took me back to the approach to the sanctum. What had Irtek said? You’ll be fine for now, not so fine later? Thoth had interfered and we’d had to leave camp, unable to finish that particular conversation. Bell started to curl up, and Maya and I forced her to stretch out.

“Not fine. I’m not fine.” Bell amended, struggling for breath.

“Deep breaths,” I said, echoing what the conservator had told me. “Relax your muscles and don’t tighten anything necessarily.

Cursing the necessity and the resulting draw to my mana, I summoned Vogrin. He looked between the three of us and out to the sandstorm, his brow furrowing.

“This timing is less than ideal,” Vogrin said.

“Yeah, no surprise there,” I said. “Can you send a construct back towards our pursuers? I need to know if we have time to backtrack to the fork without running into them.”

Vogrin acquiesced without argument—I had to give him credit, despite his habit of questioning me, he had a way of identifying when not to make unnecessary comments. He nodded, and summoned one of the spectral golems. Maya helped Bell up, Bell still sagging, her usual ramrod straight posture somewhat crumpled.

“You can’t do anything for her?” I asked Maya.

Maya adjusted her grip, face drawn tight. “No. It is a natural consequence of the sanctum itself, beyond the scope of life magic.

Vogrin’s posture shifted minutely. He so rarely showed any sign of surprise that it was almost alarming.

“What’s the problem?” I asked him.

“The pursuers have grown in number. And they have closed distance.”

Maya’s head jerked up. I pushed Vogrin for details. “How close? Close enough that we won’t make it back to the split before they do?”

“There is something wrong with them.” Vogrin said. “And they have already passed the split. We are cut off.”

----

Our choice had been made for us. Now, the only way out was through. We took turns supporting Bell, trudging through the endless track of desert, the storm at our back growing larger and more intimidating by the moment. In a decision that I still agonized over, I had Vogrin send out more of the constructs to scout, looking for an exit, leaving my vision gray and my mana practically depleted. Vogrin had returned to the amulet immediately after.

The storm was both a blessing and a curse in that, while we had to deal with it, our pursuers would as well. And from what I’d seen, there wasn’t much in the way of decent shelter.

Now, the most important thing was replaceing a patch of ruins that would offer some menial shelter until the sandstorm passed over. I glanced over at Jorra as the winds picked up. It wasn’t that he had argued so vehemently against me. It was how he had argued. As if he was concerned that as soon as I got my hands on the infernals following us, they were as good as dead.

That was not my intent. Perhaps it was my fault for not making it clear. Anyone following us, even with the intent of killing me, was as much a victim to Thoth as everyone else. I didn’t hold it against them, though some part of me was both surprised and disappointed that it happened so quickly.

If a conflict spiraled out of that, I was not willing to resort to lethal force, unless there was no other solution. What bothered me was Jorra’s assumption that I would. Did Nethtari say something to him? Or was it what she didn’t say. The negative space.

We stopped to rest, though not for long. The billowing beige cloud of the sandstorm was almost on us. Bell looked better, though it had still hit her harder than any of us on the approach.

I drained the last third of water-skin. The contents barely parched my throat, and it took a near insurmountable amount of self-control to leave enough for one last drink.

This was looking grim. If we didn’t replace somewhere to hunker down soon we’d be in a world of hurt. Personally, I didn’t know much about what happened to people caught out in a sandstorm, but none of the images or sensations I was imagining were pleasant.

If it wasn’t for the weird atmosphere that had settled over the group as a result of the previous argument, had I not walked around the outskirts of where we paused, careful to look away, I might have missed it: a small spire, sticking out from within a mountain of sand. Despite being half-buried, compared to everything else it looked largely intact.

“There!” I pointed.

It was halfway to the tower when the sandstorm hit us. We had taken the time to wrap cloth around our heads, covering as much skin as possible. A length of rope was tied in loops around our waists. Jorra’s blue aegis flashed out towards the storm but flickered under the pressure. I slipped my loop and took his place, holding my violet shield out towards the storm, indicating that he cover us from above, one hand on his back. Trying to hold it steady while looking in the opposite direction to protect my eyes from the worst of it was as difficult as it was painful.

We made our way up and around the dunes to the buried tower. Complete with a spire and shingles, it looked strangely ornate, almost civilized, compared to the ancient ruins. Climbing the dune, my foot landed on something solid that did not shift away. A wooden post.

Ignoring it, I pressed on, trying not to ask unnecessary questions. There was a moment of heart-rending hopelessness as the tower came into view. It looked much smaller now, more of a decorative spire than a tower. Maya handed Bell to Jorra and climbed the rest of the way. I waited, my heart racing, fearing the worst as Maya inspected it, arm held up to shield herself from the razor-like wind. It felt like an eternity had passed. Then she reached back and removed her staff, striking at something. Even through the deafening shriek of the wind and the sand I recognized the telltale shatter of glass breaking.

I called the flame, lighting one of wads of parchment soaked in rose-oil I had secured in my belt, and dropped it down. It landed around fifteen feet below and illuminated the interior dimly fixed the rope to a decorative iron fixture on the window-sill.

One by one, we lowered ourselves down into the depths.

“Can you walk on your own?” Maya murmured behind me as she caught Bell.

“I think so,” Bell said, sounding mostly unsure. She took a few steps experimentally, stretching her arms and shoulders, which were likely sore.

Sword in hand, I reached down and picked up the flaming ball of parchment between my fingers, careful to keep it away from my clothes. Jorra moved outward with me, whip held taut, ready to strike. He met my eye and looked away. I didn’t get the sense that he was angry. There was just that weird, awkward air that manifested when things that were once subtext were suddenly and unexpectedly spoken aloud.

Something scurried away in the darkness, and we both tensed. There was no further motion, and so we pressed on, clearing the rest of the building. It was strangely bare. High rafters, but nothing on the floors. My violet light reflected off prismatic stain glass windows. Against the far wall was a stack of barrels, all rotted away. One of them had been repurposed to hold bottles.

I wiped a layer of dust covering the emblem at the center, and smiled.

----

The three infernals watched in muted curiosity as I walked back to the group with a collection of four bottles under my arm.

“What… is it?” Maya asked.

“I’m so glad you asked.” I grinned. “I present to you, a solution to our water shortage.”

Maya rolled her eyes, probably already knowing where this was going, but Bell and Jorra were thoroughly confused.

“They keep water in bottles?” Bell asked.

“It looks more like booze.” Jorra commented.

I pointed at him. “Not exactly, but close. We have our share of legendary distributors in Whitefall. Oteron, god of beers. Kivasir, the patron saint of tobacco.” I shifted the label of one of the bottles towards them, so they could see it. “And then, there is the story of the Naisen monks.”

“And they’re legends?” Jorra asked.

“Don’t worry,” Maya said, “he’ll tell you.”

I pointed at her, unwilling to let my good fortune be spoiled. “That I will. Thousands of years ago, the Naisen monks took up residence in the Runic desert, hundreds of miles away from any vice or pleasure. There are rumors that they’re something other than human, but that’s likely nothing more than rumor and hearsay. Anyway. They lived in a desert. Like most monks, they made most of their money from scribing and other clerical works, but merchants charged exorbitantly for the food, so funding was a recurring issue. One day, a Naisen monk with a particularly green thumb who had, perhaps, not been completely prepared to give up the sins of the flesh, began to attempt cultivating plants with limited resources at his disposal. Nothing grew. Except a particularly hardy strain of grapes.”

I could see eyes glazing over, except for Maya, who suddenly watched with interest.

“Short version, then. A winery was born, and still exists to this day. The wine is delectable, and due to its hardy origin, can be stored in practically any climate.” I finished, passed a bottle to each of them, then yanked the cork from mine. As I hoped, dark red liquid sloshed, some bubbles frothing across the top. It smelled delightful.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Maya said, inspect her bottle. “There are rumors of libraries, and the occasional treasury, but nothing like this.”

“I suspect,” I said, “Based on the way these bottles are sealed and state of the ruins, this version of the runic desert is not actually that old. The Naisen monks started labeling and dating their bottles around a hundred-and-fifty years ago-“

“-He knows way too much about this.” Jorra hid a smirk.

“So you could have in your hands a two-hundred, three-hundred year Naisen red.” I finished. “For context. The last hundred-year-old bottle I heard of went for over fifty gold rods.”

Jorra was about to take a sip when Maya cut in. “We can’t drink this in good conscience then.” Jorra lowered the bottle from his lips.

“Ah, but we can. We are in a survival situation, and there are ten more bottles back there.” I held the bottle high. “Cheers.”

They were hesitant, but I waited, and eventually, everyone but Bell took a drink. That was probably for the best. Without knowing how void magicians acclimatized it was better to play it safe.

The chorus of sputtering and coughing lasted nearly a minute.

“Is this what wine is?” Jorra said, nearly gagging. “It’s awful. Like actually, legitimately awful.

“It’s more sour than anything I’ve ever tasted,” Maya sputtered.

I grimaced, mouth working, trying to get the foul taste out of my mouth. It tasted like the grapes had died in a pile of dirt only to be reanimated in some dark, foul ritual. Some part of my mind was trying to justify the proposed value I had just bragged about with the horrid, curt taste.

Grimly, despite the shouts of alarm from my companions, I lifted it to my mouth and took another sip.

Nope. Still horrible.

“Why would you go back for more?” Maya placed a palm on her forehead.

“Questionable impulse control.”

We talked well-into the night, the winds of the sandstorm roaring around us. The wine, while awful, was not completely unpalatable, and while Maya only took a few more sips of hers, Jorra and Bell had finished their respective bottles and were passed out on the floor. I joined them soon after, my vision hazy, exhausted and spent.

----

Gentle hands shook me awake.

“Maya?” I said, confused. Light was coming in from somewhere, aggravating my hangover. She held a hand over my mouth and I fell silent. Then she pointed upwards towards the window we’d broken to enter through. There was the rhythmic sound of sand being shoveled. Someone had found us.