Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Six

Thaddeus found himself in the ruins of a city. Based on what he could see, the city had once been magnificent, with many buildings that, when new, would have rivaled, and, perhaps, even surpassed, the Royal Palace of Voranar. Now, though, most of those buildings had been reduced to crumbling shadows of their former glory, with gaping, empty maws where doors and windows should have been. No wind whistled through the ruined city's streets – the silence, in fact, was so absolute that Thaddeus found he could hear the sound of his own heart beating in his chest – and there were no discernible scents of any kind in the air.

Looking up, Thaddeus saw nothing but gray, and somehow understood that, once he left the ruined city, that gray would be all he saw, stretching away from him endlessly in every direction. Gray nothingness was the natural state of the Abyss – which, it seemed, wasn't really an abyss, at all, and not just because it contained the ruins of a city – and, unless Thaddeus wanted to stay where he was, he would have to come to terms with that. Of course, Thaddeus couldn't stay where he was – he had to find Zoe and Aylander, provided they were still alive – so coming to terms with the grayness of Abyss was something there was no question about doing. But what about the feeling of wrongness he now sensed, radiating off of everything – including the empty grayness above – like some rank miasma? Because of where he was, that feeling would never get any better, and Thaddeus knew that prolonged exposure to it could have a serious impact on his sanity, and on many other things besides. There's power in that feeling. A very attractive kind of power.

“Hello, Thaddeus.”

Startled, Thaddeus turned in the direction the voice had come from, raising his hand to draw his sword. When he saw who had spoken, however – a man of about his own age, with a head of sandy, receding hair, and dressed in traveler's clothes that immediately reminded him of what Zoe had left the abby wearing – Thaddeus brought his hand back down to his side and relaxed. This man was obviously one of the Catharzen monks, and, though there was no good reason for him to be here, he posed no threat. In fact, didn't he even seem a little familiar, somehow? And then the man smiled.

The last time Thaddeus had seen that smile, it had been on a face so wizened with age that most of its distinguishing features had been lost. To see it, now, on a face that had either been spared the ravages of time, or had yet to face them, struck Thaddeus like a physical blow. Could the man who stood before him now actually be the Abbot? Thaddeus didn't see how any other explanation was possible. “Father Alvarem?” he asked.

The man's smile broadened, and he chuckled. “Yes, Thaddeus,” he said, “though that title doesn't fit me, any longer. Here, you may simply call me Horace.”

Horace. Thaddeus wasn't sure he'd ever be able to address the man who stood before him so informally. For sixteen years, he'd called him nothing but Father Alvarem, and addressing him in any other way just didn't seem appropriate. However, dealing with the proper way to address Horace Alvarem was, right now, hardly the most pressing thing on Thaddeus's mind. “Zoe said you were dead,” he said. “How is it you come to be here?”

“Oh, I am dead, Thaddeus. Zoe wouldn't have gained the powers she did if I weren't. However, when I died, my spirit didn't pass on in the same manner as others normally do. I can't explain how, or why, but I no longer seem to be tied to a single plane of existence. And that's not all. I've gained abilities, Thaddeus. Abilities I never had while I was alive. I can see things no one – not even someone with the gift of prescience, of which there has only ever been a very few – can see. Whole realms have been opened to me I never even knew existed. And, though I no longer have physical form, I can manipulate things, Thaddeus. Change them into something new, or unmake them entirely.” He paused. “I don't know what to make of any of it, but I can say discovering these things has been a truly exhilarating experience. And also a bit of a frightening one, as well.”

Thaddeus reached out with his magic – the power of which, he found, seemed to have been amplified by the nature of the Abyss – and wasn't as surprised as he felt he should have been about what it told him about Horace Alvarem. He'd become what the Eltarans called a Sprite – the magically charged spirit essences of their deceased ancestors. How he'd become such a creature – something that shouldn't have been possible for pure-blood human – was a question not even Thaddeus's magic could answer, though Thaddeus suspected it had something to do with his having been the Abbot, and with his passing having been mediated by the Touch of a cleric.

“What does your magic tell you about me, Thaddeus? Does it reveal to you what I've become?”

“I think so,” Thaddeus said. “The Eltarans would have called you a Sprite.”

“A Sprite? But I have no Eltaran blood!”

“I know. I think Zoe Touching you when you died may have had something to do with it.” Thaddeus paused. “You're aware of what she's become?”

“You mean the first Sorceress since Mother Catharzen?” Horace smiled. “Yes. I always knew she was destined for greatness. I'm glad that greatness has extended beyond being my successor.”

“You say you can see things, Father? Can you tell me if Zoe and Aylander are still alive?”

Horace's eyes unfocused for a moment. “They are,” he said at last. He looked at Thaddeus. “But I'm afraid all is not well with them. Aylander is in danger of succumbing to the temptations of this place. And something is hunting them.”

“What?” Thaddeus asked.

“Only one of the foulest, and most powerful, of the creatures that call this place their home.”

“A dragon?”

“Yes.”

“How far away are they?”

“I'm sorry, Thaddeus, but distance has no meaning, here. Not even for a being like me. All I can say is that they aren't far away, but they also aren't very near.”

Reaching out with his magic, Thaddeus tried to see if he could detect them. He sensed nothing, however – nothing except a slight pulse from the Abyss, itself, like a sympathetic echo of his own power. That pulse confused him for a moment, and then he remembered – the use of magic was like a beacon for Creatures of the Abyss. By using his magic, Thaddeus had done more than simply announce his presence in this place – he'd marked himself, which meant that any drake, wyvern, or dragon in the immediate vicinity would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Thaddeus looked at Horace, and was surprised to see a sheepish expression on his face. “You forgot, too, didn't you?”

“No,” Horace said, the sheepish expression deepening. “At least, not about what using your magic would cause. I did forget, however, that, because you still have physical form, and because you don't have the same abilities that I now do, you are still vulnerable to the creatures that live here. Forgive me, Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus glowered, but, before he could say anything, a chorus of shrieks filled the air. It was a pack of drakes, and they were coming. Thaddeus ran.