His flight had driven him into the mountains. The blood-soaked wood of the haft felt as if it would split under his grasp. Nathan Wyttle's mind raced as his legs carried him out of the forest. He left leaves and tall green grass for brown dust and stone underfoot. It wasn't until he was a mile deep into this rocky place when he reflected on what he had done.
I killed him, he thought as he dropped the woodcutter's ax covered his face with his bloody hands. He couldn't control his wrath. He put the head into the lord of the village's chest, then between his eyes. His wife screamed as she covered herself with the sheets. There was a rumor that the two had met secretly, but he never believed gossip. He trusted his wife and thought she would never hurt him like this. He trusted his wife and thought she would never hurt him like this.
When the weeping had finished, he picked up his weapon and headed deeper into the mountain. I have nothing left, he brooded, if I return, they will take me to the royal courts, and I will hang. He did not know exactly where he was going; just walking, stone walls high around him. Perhaps at the end of this path was an edge. He would pray to the Eternal King above for forgiveness for his violence, fling himself off.
But the path did not end with a cliff.
The sun had set, and the first evening stars were fading in. Outside the mouth of the cave, two rows unlit torches led to its entrance. Standing sentinel were two iron statues in the shape of knights. One's head was that of a roaring lion, and the other's head was that of a raven in the middle of a caw. As he moved closer to examine the guardians, he could hear something coming from inside the cave.
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The faint sound of singing rang from the darkness within. The song was sweet to his ears, though, surely, he had never heard it before. The beauty of it comforted him, but out here, it was far to quiet. He walked in, dropping his ax at the entrance. His eyes got used to the darkness, and as he dove deeper, the song slowly grew louder.
The path curved to the right, and, ahead, he could see light. The source of the illumination was burning torches that hung from the walls of a stone hall; at the end was raised iron gate that opened to the outside. Nathan walked out into the moonlight. Ahead was a castle that sat in the cavity in the mountain: surrounded by a moat of hot coals. On the towers, giant gargoyles wrapped their arms and legs around it, snarling at invisible enemies in the sky.
The music was coming from the castle, Nathan knew. It was strange how the song found him so far from the entrance of the cave; as if it slithered through the air to seek him.
The draw bridge, structure made of wood as black as obsidian, was down. As Nathan walked over it he felt the heat of the coals below. He looked down and saw human faces in the coal; glowing embers forming eyes, noses, and mouths. They all seemed to be crying and calling out. They reminded Nathan of mourners at a funeral. However, only the rumble of fire was all Nathan could hear. The singers, they were not, so the man left them to their bereavement.
Within the castle walls, the yard was empty, but the keep lively; almost every window had a light in them. Inside there was revelry: men and women drank heavily. He couldn't smell alcohol, though. Even though the din of laughter and drunken arguments surrounded him, the song still persisted. He continued through the keep.
No one seemed to be bothered by his presence as an intruder. Even with his hands and face stained with blood, they did not panic or raise alarm. The crowd thickened; it was impossible to get by without pressing against three or four people at once.
The sound of a church bell silenced the celebration for a moment, then the masses moved in his favor, the torrent taking him to the source of the mysterious singing.
It was the throne room they poured into. Where the celebration was chaotic, the gathering in the throne room was quiet and ordered. All in attendance stood in rows. It was more like an unholy cathedral within; stain glass windows depicting demonic figures either locked in battle or praising their dark overlord.450Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQumr841y2N
The song, though loud and clear, did not reveal its singer. He realized the words were of no language that he had known. Yet, he understood it somehow; well enough to recite it. This song, this song...what does it mean? He found himself in bliss, singing along out loud. He was never a good singer, even when drunk, but that didn't matter. The foreign melody that escaped his lips drew attention from the congregation. They turned and looked at him with cold, solemn eyes. He stopped.
"He hears the song." A man with a large pimple on his cheek said.
Several others took up the call.
Soon the whole room rang with news of his awareness of the song. 450Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5UggPP7YmT
He hears the song. He hears the song.450Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGLD9rbpgiS
The crowd parted before him, making a path that led up to the throne. The sacred seat was empty. Men with scarlet robes emerged from the crowd; men he'd hadn't seen before in the halls.
"Azbal..." The voices said. "Azbal. He is the Azbal." 450Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw2iObavwIc
The robes pressed in and silently urged him to the throne; their heads turning towards the grand seat. He ascended the steps and he sat. The congregation prostrated themselves before him. A red-robed man came from behind the throne. He did not appear to be like the others: His clothing seemed more elaborate, and golden wires decorated his headdress. The shape produced a copper dagger. He cut his own hand and let his blood drip into a copper jug.
He handed the dagger to him. Nathan knew what was desired of him. He added his blood to the jug. An assistant went to the high priest and poured a dark fluid into the jug.
Chalices, filled with the mixture, were distributed by servants, and all his subjects drank deep. They all waited, their thirst satisfied. The jug and chalices empty, they stood silently. 450Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1K5ypPnE9k
The silence invited his singing.
As the melody reached their ears, some began to shiver and shout. His voice faltered and he felt like he should stop, but the high priest laid a hand on his shoulder.
He sang louder and with more courage.
The crowd roared as their bodies morphed: bones snapped and new ones grew like horns. They grew in size; almost double what they once were. From their backs sprouted leather wings and their eyes became like that of vicious beasts that hunted in the night.
The scene made him sick. He stopped singing, but the transformations did not stop. Whatever dark force that needed his body and life seemed to release him, giving him a moment of humanity. He stood up and made for the steps. At the bottom of them, he fell to his knees. He felt his heart try to fight his way out of his body. No, he thought with fear, I don't want to change like them. Thousands of paths came to his head; ones that didn't involve the horror. I could find a ship and go far away from here. He would have to move with stealth and in the hours of the night. I change my name, I'd be a new man. But it was too late. Please, great King of the Twelve Heavens, save me from the terror.
Then the fire consumed him. The heat was intense. He looked at his hands; the skin split and the muscle within glowed like an iron bar taken out of a furnace. Is this the King's judgment? Is the fire absolving me of my sins? The flames took his sight, everything becoming too bright to see. His destruction gave him comfort through the pain of burning alive. His mind slipped.450Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu4slactF5q
When he came to, he looked at his body. He was a giant, three times the size of his demonic followers. Three pairs of bat-like wings sprouted from his back. Claws were black, sharp, and cruel. I'm a creature of darkness. He thought. The Great King Above All had abandoned him.
I am the Azbal, he thought, and that is all.
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