Chapter XVII - Pilgrimage of Sins

Ul’am’ajaki still crept in Zykon’s mind, even if Master Delemon had been forthcoming in his desire for them to allow that memory to fade. He instructed them to at all times focus on the journey, yet it wasn’t as easy as the master made it seem. Those last few nights it had become increasingly more challenging for him to overlook the horrors of that village. Kaluh’a’jul was the beginning; the invasion sparked in Zykon the desire to bring them to justice. Ul’am’ajaki on the other hand, proved to him that Famagh’ugh is not someone with whom you can coexist. No amount of praying made him feel less troubled, and he tried. He did try. It was strangely silent in regards to this. Or perhaps his prayers were wrong all along. In truth, asking It to punish someone was not in accordance with what It stood for. But he tried. If he isn’t able to step up, there is no stopping It from doing so. Yet he doesn’t intervene, nor has he ever.

Such evil is permitted and no one does anything. Not even them, as the covenant of Kaluh’a’jul. This decision to not intervene, only when provoked or the situation demanding it… this decision was not something that could bring justice. Real justice. One that is delivered with the intention of eradicating such evil. One that changes things. Famagh’ugh knows only blood and destruction, and if Ul’am’ajaki is anything to go by, they won’t stop. They were bold enough to attack Kaluh’a’jul—a city with which they fully knew shared a history, one of continuous bloodshed—what could stop them from doing this to everyone else? Nothing. Because Master Delemon and Primal Zehn chose not to intervene, but to only spread the word of It through helping those in need. Through love.

He sighed and bowed his head. Currently, they were walking down a cliff, on a pathway carved on the outskirts. To the right side, a smoothened wall kept them safe from the abyss that awaited on the other side. The precision with which the stairs were carved intrigued him, for they were even enough to be useful, yet retained the same rugged look a natural rock would have. Up top, a sloping roof shaded them from the sun, and he understood now why it was dimmer in comparison to past days. While some of his brothers walked close to the edge, dangerously absorbed by how tall they stood from the sands, he had no interest in joining them. The wall was much safer; while still in peril from their height, at least this way he couldn’t fall. Outwards, towering mesas watched over the sands below like a father would a child, which gave the image unfolding in his eyes an… eerie look. The more he gazed at them, the more the mesas gazed back with an uncanny intent. He shivered and shifted his eyes towards the wall next to him.

“What’s wrong, Zykon?” asked Vo’kryon from behind, his childish voice catching him by surprise every time.

“Nothing. I’m… alright.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Silence settled between them. Eventually Vo’kryon advanced next to him and sighed. “When will we reach the city? It feels like it’s taking a lot of time.”

Brimion yawned loudly. “We’ll be there eventually. No need to complain.”

Master Delemon raised a palm. “I understand you may be tired. But it’s not far from here. Raja’num is a well hidden place.”

“It’s also massive. Densely populated. A great place for those looking to trade all sorts of things. In those parts, many villages are about the size of Ul’ama’jaki, if not smaller. Cities like Raja’num… they are sought after for their sheer potential of trading opportunities.” Myhrr said, glancing behind to Zykon and the rest with a smile.

“Well said, Myhrr,” said Master Delemon.

While the city didn’t sound as bad as Zykon initially believed, he couldn’t ignore that Vumu Kuun—its outline noticeable in the distance, even if shrouded by sand—loomed in the distance as a grave reminder. Beyond it laid dangerous territory. San’themonio territory to be more precise. Master Delemon knew about it, but didn’t bother himself with considering that they could be in danger. At least, he didn’t seem to. That looming wall of a mountain separated them from San’themonio, indeed, yet Zykon wasn’t too sure he could be fully relieved by its presence. Who knows what San’themonio and Famagh’ugh are up to? Who knows if they’re walking into a trap or not? Too many things to consider if their journey is to advance smoothly. With so much at stake, they ought to be more on guard, for threats may come from any direction.

Descending for what felt like eternity, Zykon frowned as he watched the stairs still going down in a spiral. They were high above; the sands below still seemed out of touch, yet their distance greatly decreased. Eventually, the staircase stopped in front of a crevasse and one by one, his brothers squeezed inside. He, on the other hand, examined the slim opening, the horrifyingly thin pathway they had at their disposal and halted, fidgeting. As some of them disappeared further into the crevasse, their bodies looked even more constricted, on the verge of being squashed completely. The image was something he had no intention of experiencing for himself.

Taking a few steps backwards, he bumped into a sturdy body, much taller than himself. Turning, his eyes met Rozykon, a weightier brother who looked at him with a grin.

“Do you need help, brother? Is the crevasse troubling you?”

He distanced himself from Rozykon and adjusted his voice. “Not… necessarily.”

“It does look rather narrow. But it’s alright,” he said, pacing beyond Zykon. “Master Delemon won’t make us do what he cannot do himself.”

Zykon nodded and forced a smile, but his mind already searched for alternatives to the obvious path he was supposed to traverse. Could he probably climb the crevasse? No, that would be even more dangerous, the walls had no real ledges on which he could hang. He twirled, looking back the way they came. Would there be a different option upstairs? Maybe he missed something as they descended?

Rozykon chuckled. “Come, brother. Follow me and stay close,” he said, one foot already inside the crevasse.

Hesitating, Zykon watched him for a couple more moments and then bowed his head and followed. As he squeezed through the tight passage, rocks scraped his leg and arms, pulling at his garments. He grimaced, the sharp cuts received most likely already bleeding by now. Trying to look up, Zykon noticed his head was constricted, the walls too narrow for such movements to be allowed. He had only one option; emerge on the other side. He closed his eyes and prayed to It, prayed so he won’t give up, prayed so he won’t get stuck in those haunting rocks. Prayed so he won’t disappoint Master Delemon. And pushed forward, his hands pulling him, the rocks tugging at him, desperately trying to consume him. His eyes widened as he grew weary and forced himself further, praying to It. With intensified breathing, Zykon made out the edges of the crevasse and he hurried until eventually, he reached his hand on a sharper rock and pulled, exiting the crevasse and falling onto the ground. He… made it. Somehow. He actually survived that perilous crevasse. Praised be… It. Zykon rose back to his feet, sighing deeply in relief, shaking the dust and sand off his garments.

“See? You did it,” said Rozykon, patting him on the shoulder. The others already advanced down a sloping plateau.

Zykon nodded and smiled, still shaken from the experience he’d just been through. He glanced back from where they came, the rocks inside looking back at him as if reaching for him, trying to pull him back inside. Shivering, he continued forward, congratulating himself for surpassing such an obstacle. Nothing could keep him from his mission; no cliff, animal or sandstorm. He will do what he set out to do. He will impress Master Delemon and rain down justice on Famagh’ugh. Or at least he hoped to.

Crossing the plateau, and then jumping across a few buttes, they eventually reached a vantage point from where they could gaze at an open valley below. Placed at the foot of a mesa, was a massive city, its walls reaching high enough to obstruct the buildings inside.

“There it is,” Master Delemon said. “Raja’num.”

Myhrr smiled and pointed a finger towards the city. “I remember those walls fairly well. It feels like only yes-”

“I’m glad you do, Myhrr,” interrupted Master Delemon, his voice a little intimidating.

Zykon perked up as he noticed the exchange and watched them. Myhrr forced a smile and bowed to show his respect, before abolishing any further interaction. Odd. Master Delemon was not the type to silence people like that.

He turned sluggishly. “Raja’num is not a dangerous place—not as far as I remember it. Although I advise you to keep away from the marketplace, or otherwise you’ll be sucked into an infinite loop of being convinced of buying something.”

“They won’t convince me, master, “said Akel’on, a blonde, handsome brother. “Nobody forces Akel’on to do something he doesn’t wish to.”

“Well, I warned you. Stick close to one another and follow behind me.”

And with that, Master Delemon gestured for them to descend down a few more plateaus, until eventually they touched sand. The interaction between Myhrr and the master still echoed in his mind. There was a certain… familiarity in Myhrr’s voice as he spoke about Raja’num. True, he’s one of the oldest members still active in the covenant; which meant he and the master had history—there were many missions and pilgrimages they shared in the years that came and went. Already he acknowledged Raja’num was a place which he visited in the past. A simple visit seemed unlikely from the master's reaction. Clearly, there was more to the story. Perhaps Myhrr did something to upset the master and that is why he stopped him from continuing. That seems plausible.

His thoughts were interrupted by increasing chatter, voices ruthlessly penetrating the stillness they’ve grown accustomed to at this point. A double arching gateway met them; one arch acted—from what Zykon could tell—as a bridge, while the other held the portcullis. Spread evenly atop the walls were towers, shaped like two bowls pressed together, in which sat archers. Unlike Ul’am’ajaki, they had defenses set in place. Yet none of the archers paid too much attention to them; some noticed their arrival, but quickly shifted their gazes, as if suddenly preoccupied by something else. As they entered, Zykon saw buildings stretching upwards like squashed pillars. Unusual. A stark contrast to Kaluh’a’jul’s more elegant and far better maintained homes, but he figured that was the point. These buildings clearly housed tons of people, rows upon rows of rounded windows stretching alongside them like tiny holes. Beauty was sacrificed for practicality.

As Master Delemon warned them, traders eventually started coming to them, holding all sorts of items and animals, trying to persuade them to buy. Zykon ignored them and paced faster, but they kept up with him, coming closer and closer to his face, telling him again and again that he should buy. At first, he was steady in his decision to ignore them, but the more they persisted, the more he felt willing to give into their wish and please them so they’ll give him peace. Could Master Delemon spare some lazugs?

Suddenly, Brimion approached him and pushed aside the traders, allowing Zykon time to escape and stick as close as possible to the covenant. At last, he was free. People from all corners of Bahar walked in this city; from people dressed in ancient garments to others wearing as little clothing as possible. Many made way for them to advance; Zykon attributed this to the Guardians, for they were quite obvious. His wandering eyes met all sorts of looks; some of reverence, others of pure indifference and others… cold. Disgusted even. As if their presence was a stain on this city. Truthfully, the covenant was known outside the boundaries of Kaluh’a’jul, but to this extent? This wasn’t something Zykon had anticipated. Occasionally, Master Delemon hinted at other missions the covenant undertook since its inception, however he never delved into the specifics, mentioning only that such information is reserved only for the ones that were present in those periods. The hostility in some of those they passed made Zykon think perhaps some of these missions required them to do some less popular things. Still, the treatment they were receiving felt a little… unjustified.

As they made their way through crowds of people, they eventually arrived at a square and immediately the structures surrounding them gathered his attention due to their… strangeness. Above them stood bridges bonded in between homes, placed atop one another, swinging in the wind like garments left outside to dry. Whoever dared walk on them had to be among the boldest of people, for some of the bridges were barely recognizable. What even was the point to the bridges? Why this need for connecting the homes together? Bizarre.

The more they left the marketplace behind, the more… chaotic everything seemed to get. Houses were missing chunks of wood, exposing what took place inside and how residents… lived—if you could call that living, dirty people begged for lazugs from anyone walking by and the ground was littered with all sorts of junk; broken glass crunched under Zykon’s feet as he walked, making it difficult for his mind to focus on anything else but what was around him. Some buildings echoed… certain feminine sounds, which nudged him to pray to It for the sounds to vanish. Why… do such a thing and allow everyone to hear you? He shivered and hurried, the sins lurking around at any corner making him wish to leave this place behind for good. What… happened to these people? Why is there such a strong source of… sin over here?

“I wasn’t… expecting this,” said Kyzan. “What is wrong with these people?”

“These people need help,” said Master Delemon. “They are misguided, they had no one to teach them about It and His love. But they do now.”

“Master, do you honestly think we can teach them in such a short time about It?” asked Brimion with a frown.

“Have you forgotten that nothing is impossible to It, Brimion? I would advise against saying such things. Be mindful of your words.” he replied sternly.

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“I… am not questioning It, I’m simply pointing out th-”

“I know what you meant. But please, mind your tongue. Our place is not to judge these people for their choices, but to help them. Remember that.”

A scream came from nearby, alerting them all. A feminine one. A powerful one, out of sheer desperation. Zykon turned to look down a narrow opening from where a woman emerged with two men trailing behind her, her eyes filled with dread. The moment she noticed them she yelled for help in a cracking voice. Master Delemon advanced, this time not in his usual composed manner, but rapidly. He pointed a finger behind him, signaling for the woman to go to Myhrr and as she reached him, she fell in his arms, her breathing intense.

“Give us the woman!” commanded one of those trailing her, his face telling Zykon everything he needed to know about what cruelty laid in him.

“First tell us what you need from her,” said Master Delemon.

“None of your damn concern, pilgrim!”

They tried advancing past Master Delemon, but his sturdy arm blocked them both. “It is my concern, man of It. That woman is terrified because of you. So, please, explain to us what happened.”

The one who just spoke gazed at Master Delemon with a growl. “I give you… one more chance to give us the woman.”

As they once again tried advancing, forcing master’s arm in the process, they were tossed backwards. “I am sorry, men of It, but I am unable to do that. As long as your attitude stays like this, the woman will not be joining you. Please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be and return to your homes.”

The attackers lingered for a little while, their gazes shifting from Master Delemon to the woman. The amount of evil these men possessed made Zykon watch with widened eyes, fearing what could eventually happen. The moment one of them locked gazes with him, he immediately shifted his on the ground. Such a powerful amount of… evil. What was wrong with these men to act in such a way? How could It not… care for these people?

“Now,” said Master Delemon, taking a few steps forward.

They lingered a little while longer, until finally giving in and turning to leave the way they came, still brewing with rage. Myhrr raised the woman up to her feet, who was now crying ceaselessly, her eyes still terrified. Master Delemon joined them and placed a reassuring palm atop her shoulder.

“It’s alright. They won’t bother you anymore,” he said, smiling.

The woman shook her head violently. “No… no… they… they will come back. They will… catch me.”

“Nobody is going to catch you. We will see to that.”

“You… you don’t… understand… what they can do.”

“I understand that you have nothing more to fear,” he said, hugging her. “Please, rest now. You’re safe.”

The woman kept silent and succumbed to crying, her body jolting wildly with each new sob, the powerlessness in her cracking voice echoing through the nearby alleyways. These men that followed her only looked like such; beneath that skin laid something insidious. Something akin to what Famagh’ugh is capable of. Terrible amounts of rage brewed in them, their eyes craved violence and their arms… tensed as if they were anticipating the next moment when they’ll be used to hurt someone. If Master Delemon hadn’t intervened, they would have received that someone. He closed his eyes and prayed, demanding an answer from It in regards to how such evilness dwelled on these deserts. How could something like this be allowed? Already his mind was filled with questions after Ul’am’ajaki, but now… it was overwhelming him. And yet, through all of his prayers, no answer came. Not even one.

Footsteps sounded nearby. The clang of armor moving towards them with anticipation. One by one they turned, and from a slim archway arose a man accompanied by a few soldiers. The moment he saw them, he smiled and opened his arms wide.

“It has blessed me today. If it isn’t the covenant of Kaluh’a’jul with…” he squinted his wrinkly eyes, “none other than Master Delemon leading them.”

Master Delemon caressed the woman’s hair and gestured for both Kyzan and Myhrr to take care of her, before pacing in between them to meet the recently arrived man. “Lord Ni’shki. You’ve been getting older,” he said with a grin.

“Bah! As if It has been any kinder to you, Delemon.”

They joined for a handshake accompanied by three kisses on the cheeks.

“What brings you back into my city?” he asked, folding his arms behind his back, still keeping a forced, yet warm smile across his face.

“Duty. We’re here on a mission, Ni’shki.”

“I see…” he said, nodding slowly. “Well, It couldn’t have blessed me more than it already did with your arrival. Come, join me for a nice medicinal tea. You know what the plants in Raja’num can do to your body,” he said with a laugh.

Master Delemon nodded. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said, gesturing for everyone to follow behind him. The woman was taken by a few soldiers and led to a local healer to tend to a few wounds across her face. That look of horror on her face still remained as she was being taken away, and Zykon couldn’t let himself watch her go. It felt like she was finally given actual help, before being stripped of it. There was no greater consolation he could give himself, beside thinking that perhaps those soldiers will guard her. Master Delemon had been straightforward about his desire for the woman to be protected, and seeing how the lord and him were close friends, hopefully she would be kept safe.

They paced from pathway to pathway, the city around them getting even stranger, looking almost like it was stitched together by a child who had no knowledge about sewing. They eventually arrived on a paved passage which led straight towards a prominent structure; from the extravagance of it, it was obvious to whom it belonged. While most of the homes passed were made out of wood, this one was made out of stone, smoothened to reflect the sun in a spectacle of lights. There was no doubt about it; Lord Ni’shki built it to impress those in Raja’num and show everyone where the wealth was. And indeed, the man was wealthy. Zykon stared at his long cape, examining the masterful sewing, taking in the shining stars embroidered on it. His slicked back, ashen hair was kept tidy, two massive golden earrings making it seem smaller than it actually was. Focusing so much on displaying everything he had, while those around suffered in poverty. He grimaced and shifted his gaze. This day was too much to comprehend for him, so he chose not to dwell on who this lord was and what he represented.

An imposing door met them as they arrived at the entrance, which opened with a thunderous groan, powerful enough to make him squint his eyes and hope to finish its movement. Inside stood tall ceilings, which housed open rooms, filled with sophisticated furniture; while everything was tidy and clean, there was a certain desperation in which everything was placed, which distracted Zykon and allowed him to notice that nothing was truly as it seemed. Finally, they reached an elongated chamber which ended in a curvature, where a broad desk stood alongside three high stained glass windows.

“Vri’san, bring our guests chairs to sit.”

In a nearby room, movement distracted his gaze and from behind a wall emerged a few figures, dressed elegantly, who carried the mentioned chairs and brought them to the desk, and left the chamber immediately.

“Gentlemen, please sit,” Lord Ni’shki said with a gesture.

Soon after they took their spots, another door opened, this time on the opposite side, from which another group of servants emerged with the tea. As they were preparing it, Zykon noticed their movements; graceful, but forced. They were not accustomed to serve, even if their main duty—as far as he could tell—was to serve the lord. Possibly due to the fact that they were taken from the streets and made into what they are. There was a severe lack of education from the people living here; obvious without even engaging in conversations with them. This lord—while incredibly wealthy—was far from an actual, proper lord. No amount of trying to make everything look perfect can conceal that this city was filled with sin and this palace of his was no different. He could smell something horrible occurring in these walls. Something that bothered him. And perhaps… it had to do with the fact that most servants were women. Master Delemon’s friendship with this man was questionable to say the least.

“So… tell me more about this mission of yours, Delemon. If It wills it, perhaps I can help.”

“Our mission is a secret, Ni’shki. Unfortunately, I’m unable to discuss those matters with you or anyone else outside my covenant or rulership. Please, do understand,” he said, waving his palm and smiling.

“Of course, of course,” Lord Ni’shki said, shaking his hand, “I wouldn’t want to upset It. Or the Primal.”

Zykon caught a glimpse of scorn in the man’s eyes as he mentioned the Primal. He glanced at his brothers, and noticed Brimion with his arms folded, Vo’kryon still examining the chamber around and Kyzan’s usual frowned face ever present. Only Myhrr acknowledged him and smiled, nodding for him to listen. Were they oblivious to the man’s reaction? Or was Zykon imagining things he shouldn’t?

“Actually,” Lord Ni’shki said, adjusting his voice, “I’m glad you’re here. I may need some help from an old friend.”

“Whatever you need, I believe it can wait. Our mission comes first.”

“I believe it may be related to your mission.”

Master Delemon perked up. “How so?”

Lord Ni’shki stood and began pacing back and forth from his desk. “Well… lately we’ve been encountering certain… trouble. The kind of trouble which doesn’t simply go away by using an army. Not to mention how expensive that would be. No, this kind of trouble… is of the religious sort.”

Master Delemon frowned and rested his arms on the desk. “Which one?” he asked, sour in his voice.

“We believe it’s… Famagh’ugh, but don’t have an official confirmation.”

Everyone perked up, Zykon included, but Master Delemon raised his palm for them to remain silent. “We’re not going to hunt them down, Ni’shki.”

Lord Ni’shki halted and turned sluggishly. “Friend… would you rather have them hunt my people? Turn them into livestock? Steal food and resources from my… city?”

He raised an arm. “I didn’t propose such a thing, I simply told you we’re not going to run through your city like a bunch of inquisitors.”

“Delemon, you can’t honestly say that,” he replied, growing more impatient. “They’ve been terrorizing my people for nights at this point. We need help.”

“Why not use your own army then?” asked Brimion. “I see you have a ton of resources sitting here, guarding you, the city. Why ask us for help?”

Lord Ni’shki eyed Brimion in a stunned manner. “You… are the covenant of Kaluh’a’jul. You can’t possibly ask me such a question.”

“Ni’shki…” began Master Delemon with a sigh, “We cannot go and hunt them. We don’t operate like that.”

“You don’t?”

“We don’t.”

Both of them remained still and gazed at one another, tension readable on their faces. “The only way for us to help you is if they are the first to attack,” said Master Delemon.

“I see… so now you’re more… reactive?”

“Do you need us?”

“I do.”

“Then these are our conditions,” he said and stood, gesturing for the rest of the covenant to follow his command. “We’ll make sure no more people have to suffer, only if they are the ones to attack and not us.”

“Well,” Lord Ni’shki said, rubbing his chin, “you won’t have to wait too long for that, old friend. They will attack again. I assure you of that.”

“We’ll position ourselves on the walls and look for incoming threats.”

“Good. I’ll tell my men to show you the way to the barracks. If any of you grow weary, you’ll be able to rest there.”

Master Delemon bowed and they all advanced outside his mansion, being guided by a handful of soldiers instructed by him. The whole situation felt wrong. Firstly, the way they engaged one another told Zykon there was a long history between them, one that most likely didn’t end well. Even if they acted like friends, there was a clear tension between them. Prying about this won’t get him anywhere, and it wasn’t Zykon’s place to know what sorts of friendships Master Delemon gathered along his years. More intriguing than this, was the way Lord Ni’shki spoke about the covenant. There were certain allusions made in regards to them, allusions that told Zykon he met a different face of the covenant than the current one. In his eyes, it was perfectly normal for them to hunt down Famagh’ugh like a predator would its prey. And to some extent, Zykon couldn’t help himself but agree, yet he at least understood that this was not their way of doing things. Not Lord Ni’shki. He found it interesting when he learned they weren’t going to do what he asked them. But why? Is Master Delemon hiding something? Maybe at one point they attacked someone out of the necessity of staying alive and he believes that all of the covenant is prone to violence. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, but that would at least explain why he seemed so casual when speaking about hunting down the Famagh’ugh infiltrators. Either way, the moment he anticipated was finally here. At last.

As they walked down a narrowed pathway, through the same decrepit homes which stretched into the mesa itself, everything looking like an overly complicated puzzle, they passed through what he assumed were slums. Everyone eyed them with suspicion and he couldn’t shake the feeling that if Famagh’ugh was actually here, they most likely dwelled among these people. The moment he saw two familiar shadows under a shaded stairway he stopped, squinting. Two men stood in the shadows, leaning down a splintered wall, watching him. Familiarity struck him instantly, even if he couldn’t fully make out their faces, but the wickedness they emitted was enough to understand who they were. His eyes widened. They were the same two men who previously chased the woman they saved. One of them juggled a blade in his hand menacingly, as if provoking Zykon to engage him, while the other was sharpening a thick knife. He reached a shaking hand to his Guardian’s hilt, not losing sight of them, swallowing in dryly.

“Zykon,” said Brimion. “Follow behind us, please.”

His hand retreated fastly and he glanced at Brimion, meeting his numb face. He hesitated at first, then nodded aggressively and his brother resumed his walk, leaving Zykon to glance back at the men from before. They were no more. Yet they left something to remember them—a knife dug in the sands. He looked around, trying to determine where they went but his attempts were futile. Closing his eyes, Zykon tried pushing back against the fear which was beginning to overwhelm him, praying to It for guidance and strength. He took one deep breath in and exhaled, opening his eyes with newfound determination. If these men were actually part of Famagh’ugh, then they have no idea what awaits them. Burrowing a knife in the sand could mean a multitude of things, but Zykon was no fool. This was a statement. A statement that their covenant was not welcomed in this city. He advanced forward, his pace steadier than in most circumstances. Threatening Kaluh’a’jul—not once, but twice—was the worst thing they could have possibly done. And it was going to cost them dearly.