Chapter 11: The Nest
This story may depict graphic or violent scenes. Reader discretion is advised.
“Look at the statue to your left, Stride. I call this work ‘The Seventh Door’. It portrays the desire to flee from one’s own body and escape the pain and dread you experience while you are trapped and feasted on from within by the Incubys hatchlings.”
“The Seventh Door is the ultimate level of experienced emotion. To achieve this level of emotion you must experience something as cruel as the Incubys.
“This is what I want to portray in my works as I study the Incubys.”
“Our encounter has given me perspective on the fear that the victims of the Incuby must have felt. That feeling of powerlessness, to surrender to the whims of another.”
“I must say that I was fearful for my life when we first met. But as an artist, I have been reawakened by the fear of Stride the stranger. As I lay on the ground in my broken form, I realised that I should use this lower vantage point of the world more often. Instead of bluntly portraying my works from a high looming perspective. My work should not merely be a display of my skill, but a sense of dread that the Incubys instil upon you as you are at your weakest.”
“Will you shut your mouth for a second. I cannot even hear myself think.” Stride exclaims exasperatedly.
“Mouth?” Mane asks both confused and flattered.
Mane did not stop talking. He continued to speak of his works inspired by the Incubys, and the great masters who lived in residency at the God of Sculpture’s palace.
Truth be told, Mane’s ramblings did not really bother Stride. Travelling with someone he could understand kept him distracted from some of his worries about the people he wishes to rescue. But he knows from experience that it is bad practice to enjoy the company of your prisoner. It is best not to get attached.
Stride interrupts him and asks, “What do you know about the living corpses in the Monarch’s army?”
“Living corpses?” Mane asks flustered. He gathers his thoughts and continues, “There are few that work for the Mountain Monarch out of loyalty. A select chain of command is allowed to think and talk freely within the Monarch’s Domain. The rest of his soldiers are puppets, neither living nor dead, working as commanded without needing to eat or sleep. They follow the Monarch’s every order without question. They still have some of their own instincts, but all their actions are instructed to further advance the Monarch’s desires.” Mane says.
“For instance, they never even admire my works of art, could you believe that?!”
“Interesting.” Stride replies.
“So, you have met the soldiers of the Monarch before?” Mane asks curiously.
“I passed a logging camp on the way here, filled with soldiers of the Monarch. I avoided being seen.” Stride says.
“How did you deduce that they were no longer living, Stride?”
“I can sense whether someone or ‘something’ is alive or dead when I am nearby. It is how I knew you pretended to play dead when we first met.” Stride says.
“That is a wonderful sense to have, Stride.”
“Stride, would you tell me how you ended up in the Monarch’s domain, unannounced?”
I should be cautious with my explanation and leave out the details of my powers.Butmaybe he can give me some answers concerning what I have become. Stride thinks.
“It is quite the story,” Stride responds, as he provides a brief rundown of his journey.
“So you were a Frayling when you entered the shores, and then you were transformed after being eaten by a head…”
“That explains why I assumed you were Frayling!” Mane says contentedly. “And decided to attack me…” Stride adds. “Sorry.” Mane replies.
“No matter, do you know what it means to be eaten by this head?” Stride asks.
“I cannot say that I have heard of anybody having been eaten by any head, whereby the being in question then gained such as you now have. I must admit my knowledge is more focused on the world of arts.”
“So even I am a rarity within this strange land… By the way Mane, what do you call this land?” Stride mutters.
“Uendal, lands of the Undying Lords. This region is known as the Twin Peaks, known for the Mountain Monarch and The Auction, the place your Frayling are heading.” Mane says.
“The Auction?” Stride asks curiously.
“It is a place run by the Monarch to fund his efforts for warfare and Domain expansion. Within The Auction your dear Frayling are being sold to the highest bidder, mostly to those living in Olden.”
“And how soon is there an auction that sells Frayling?”
“It depends on the supply, there is always a demand for fresh blood. Although I would not get your hopes up.”
“Watch your tongue,” Stride threatens.
Tongue? Mane thinks to himself.
“Apologies, Stride.” Mane says.
“What I meant to say is that there is an auction every few days with whatever they can find or sell. Ranging from Feral beast, Dirtborne and Frayling, to weaponry, artefacts and all sorts of goods that may fetch a good price.”
Mane continues, “You have may have noticed that there is little life that remains in the Monarch’s Domain. All who lived within the Twin Peaks and faced the Monarch to claim his crown have perished, and their tribes and factions have died with them. Only the Dirtborne, the ‘grey men’ you encountered, have yielded to the Monarch, and survive as the Monarch’s pathetic gatherers.”
“How do you know all this?” Stride asks. “The soldiers keep quiet, but the auctioneers love talking to a travelling artist of their exploits.” Mane explains.
“In other words, I have a couple of days at best?” Stride asks.
“Not necessarily, the buyers do not just instantaneously kill the Frayling. The buyers are envoys of powerful factions from all over Uendal. You can still save them after they have been sold.”
“Good.” Stride answers.
“However, if I may be so… rude.” Mane says bluntly.
“…” Stride nods.
“The Auction takes place behind the Twin Peaks. If you cannot persuade your way past the Mountain Monarch, there is no way to help your Frayling.”
I cannot tell whether this creature has a vested interest in this place, but I feel like he is telling the truth. Whether I can trust him will depend on our first encounter with the Monarch’s army. Stride thinks
“This valley is known as The Nest, the breeding ground for the Monarch’s army. It is the last place that stands between you and the gates of the Twin Peaks.”
Stride takes a heavy breath.
“Can you see that meditating figure in the distance, Stride?”
“That is one of the Watchers, the all-seeing eyes of the Monarch. It has already seen us, and alerted the Monarch’s army commanders. They are the reason why it is nigh impossible to pass around here without being noticed. Their eyes can spot an Incuby hatchling resting on the peak of a mountain from here. Nothing escapes the trained eye of the Watchers.” Mane explains.
“If these Watchers can see so well, why do they not use them to hunt for Frayling?” Stride asks.
“Their eyes are under tremendous strain whilst they are watching their surroundings. It takes them weeks to settle in to use their abilities. If they move around too much, their eyes could implode from the stress.”
“Guess I got lucky then.” Stride says with a slight grin.
“Stride, it is best if you let me talk to The Nests’ commander. They are not keen on outsiders, even me.”
“Your life is still in my hands, Mane. Remember it with every word you speak.”
“I understand.” Mane replies.
It seems awfully quiet as they enter the valley of pillars. Only Mane’s works of art are at display, giving an eery feel to the place. As they pass each creature that has been plastered upon the surrounding pillars, Stride is unsure whether he should be more fearful of the Monarch’s soldiers or the creature that he carries with him.
He hears movements from within the Pillar-like towers, yet he cannot feel a beating heart. Then he is able to discern two heartbeats, they sound in control and as if the owners expect their arrival: cool, calm and collected.
Two beings make their appearance. The one in front, a frail and brittle figure, clasping its hands together, is dressed in a long robe with a large crest in the middle. Despite its frailty one can sense it is fully aware of its own importance.
This noble being is followed by a soldier the likes of whom Stride has seen before. Stride hid from them in the woods when he was still a human. The soldier is clad in dark armour with a high helmet. He is wearing the same gauntlets as the creatures in the logging camp, gauntlets that are able to transform in any weapon he desires.
The Vocaris looks at them silently. “Artist, how do you dare bring a stranger into our camps without permission?” The soldier demands.
“Is that how you greet your beloved sculptor going on a supply run?”
The soldier sees the remains of Mane’s body.
“I jest of course! I wish to inform you, Vocaris, Voice of the Army, and especially the Monarch of an insurgence within these woods, an especially nasty group has made camp not too far from here.”
“Know your place, artist. The Monarch is not interested in the ramblings of a lunatic like you.” The soldier says as his eyes focus on the one carrying Mane.
“Who is your companion, reeks of Frayling.”
Do humans have such a distinguishable scent or is the sense of smell of all creatures here that remarkable? Stride wonders.
“This? Yes of course, this is Stride, my saviour. A strong one this is. When I was first attacked by the ‘insurgency’, I lay in agony waiting for death… until this brave soul appeared on the stage. He took care of them and I instructed him to bring me to the Monarch to inform him of this dangerous uprise taking place in the woods.” Mane says.
The soldier and the Vocaris gaze at Stride, fairly unimpressed by his stature.
The soldier becomes somewhat curious, “So the insurgents, who were they?”
Mane gestures them to lean in closer as his hand covers the place where his mouth should be for spectacle.
“The Soldiers of the Thorn,” he whispers.
The Vocaris and the soldier take a step back, trying to stay composed. Yet Stride could feel it in their hearts, the pounding of disbelief and anger.
Who are the Soldiers of the Thorn?
“You are telling me that this nobody was responsible for the defeat of the Soldiers of The Thorn. That is rich, even for you Mane.” The Soldier exclaims and asks: “Where lies the proof to your claims?”
“Have you not seen the state of my body?” Mane responds almost insulted.
“There have been no sightings by our Watchers, and you do not carry their banners nor any distinguishable piece of armour with you.”
“And risk us being seen as traitors by carrying their banner?” Mane retorts.
“Enough. I have heard enough of your lies!” The soldier shouts.
The soldier made a good point. We are walking on a thin thread of a lie. Mane’s heart felt distraught. He was unprepared for their questions. At least it showed his honest intent to help me. Or not to get killed. But the trick to a good lie is to make them curious and sprinkle in a little bit of truth. And then wait for them to take the bait.
“There was not much left of them.” Stride said.
“What was that? You dare speak again and I will carve you open.” The soldier threatens.
Stride lowered his head until spoken to. The Vocaris looks at him with piercing eyes.
“There was not much left of them?” The Vocaris asks.
“The soldiers of the Thorn. When I was done with them, there was little to remember them by… the blood covered their banners, and their armour was too damaged to recognise.”
“The artist, Mane, told me to bring him here to inform you.”
The Vocaris inspects Stride.
“Has the Artist told you about me? He must not have if you came here willingly. The artist may understand the risk of seeking audience with the Monarch and must therefore believe in your strength dearly. But I can assure you, you do not.” The Vocaris says as he slowly walks closer to them.
“Stride was it?”
Stride nods.
“Stride, the complete loyalty of a soldier is hard to come by. You cannot guarantee that a soldier would die for your cause if you give them a choice. That is why our ingenious Monarch has decided that freedom of will is controlled by the helmets our soldiers wear. Their helmets drain their life force so that they may serve our gracious Monarch and I.”
“Soldier, cut of your arm.”
The soldiers hand grows into a blade and without question it cut off its right arm. Black sludge seeps from the wound as the soldier stands waiting order without making a sound.
Stride hid his disbelief. He feels a chill in his arm as he remembers the same wound he received from the Giant.
“To believe the words of one you cannot command is foolish, stranger.”
The Vocaris pauses. “Very well, let us test this theory of yours.” The Vocaris said calmly. He continues, “I will grant you an audience with his Excellency- if you are true to your words.”
“Centian!” The Vocaris shouts loudly.
Stride feels a heartbeat with murderous intent nearby.
Shortly after, a massive centipede comes storming out of the pillar like tower behind them.
Stride holds in his anger, his heart aches and writhes again with the sight of this creature. But the next words that the Vocaris speaks will soon relieve him of all his struggle.
“Show me that you are truly capable of defeating the Soldiers of the Thorn, stranger of Frayling blood. Take on the Centian to the death.” The Vocaris says.
The soldier looks at Mane “This is for both of your lives. If he dies, so will you.”
“Finally,” is all that Stride remarks. How long he has waited for this moment, to take full revenge for all the victims of this vile creature.
Stride places his hand on his heart, but this time it is calm.
Does my anger outweigh the blood thirst that controls my heart? Does it know how much I despise this creature? Good. Stride thinks to himself.
The Centipede rushes forward and strikes with its ferocious claws that spring from inside its body. Its large armoured body is incredibly agile as it towers over you, leaving little weak spots.
Stride leaps, and dodges the first blow to his head and abdomen.
Stride’s body feels lighter.
I can really feel its strength now; the blood of The Huntress.
As he sears over the Centipede, the creature strikes after him mid-air. Stride contorts his body to evade the incoming blows beneath him.
His jump gives himself some distance between him and the creature.
“Now that I have a sense of its timing and speed, it is my turn to strike.” Stride thinks confidently.
The Centipede turns and continues to charge towards him with its sharp claws, jabbing at Stride.
Stride moves confidently whilst dodging a barrage of attacks by the Centipede.
“Time to die, vermin.” The Centian says gleefully as its eyes glisten in excitement.
Stride bleeds. Blood seeps from his hands onto the Centipede.
In both hands he holds the creature’s claws. The jagged edges of the claws tear at his flesh.
Stride holds the Centipede in place as the creature tries to free itself from his grasp.
“Let go of me you pest!” The Centian shouts enraged.
Stride clenches his teeth and does not relent. He pulls harder and harder. The Centipede feels Stride’s strength increase.
“Wait, wait, wait, you do not have to do this-” The Centian pleads.
Stride’s muscles bulge, ripping the creature’s claws from its body.
The Centipede lets out a high pitched agonising scream. “Aaaaaaaaargghhh.”
Stride holds the creature’s weaponry in his bloodied hands, as its entrails follow behind him. The blood of his victim flows into his body.
“Is this proof enough?” Stride asks the Vocaris.
Both the Vocaris and the soldier look stunned. The Vocaris notices the blood seeping into Stride’s body.
“The Monarch will be pleased.” The Vocaris answers sternly.
As Stride looks around him, he sees hundreds of the Monarch’s soldiers surrounding him. He has not noticed their presence at all. Their silence is only amplified by their inaction as they watch him.
“The challenger, Stride and Mane The Artist are granted audience with our great Monarch, Auracan. Give them a warm welcome to meet our righteous lord.”
The crowd erupts in howls, screeching and uncoherent cries, their bodies writhing around them as they start walking along with the Vocaris.
Stride almost buckles under the pressure. He keeps his composure as he quickly picks up Mane. “Just keep moving, Stride.” Mane whispers.
“What extraordinary talents you possess, Stride… Perhaps they are powers from the times of the old Lords. Soon enough I shall know of its origin.” The Vocaris says.
The Nest was far behind them, yet he could feel the soldiers’ lifeless eyes linger on his back. Their screams and calls still echo through his head.
Could I have fought my way through that… He wonders.
“I should have asked for the Centian’s body to use as material, especially the face.” Mane says.
Stride gives him a cold glance.
“Regardless, that was some clever thinking, Stride.” Mane said with relief. “Perhaps I should have warned you that this was the only way. To be granted audience with the Mountain Monarch, one must be strong enough. That is the rule of The Twin Peaks. But I had faith in you since the moment we met.”
“It was for the best to release this world of that foul creature.”
The Twin Peak looms over them as Stride enters the foot of the Mountain. A gate is carved into the mountain.
“Lower me, Stride.” Mane says as he points towards a nearby rock.
“The gates of the mountain are the only way to pass through this place. Auracan the Mountain Monarch’s grace is all that will allow us to pass this mountain. Stand before the gates and the Monarch will answer us.” Mane says.
“Whilst you wait here and claim innocence?” Stride asks.
“The Monarch is informed of our relation. If your audience with the Monarch turns sour, it is best to move freely.” Mane says.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Stride asks.
“Do not fret. It is time!”
Stride stands confidently in front of the massive gate. Yet the longer he waits, the more uneasy he becomes. Stride’s confident posture lowers as his hands begin to shake.
What could this Mountain Monarch be like.
“What is taking him so long-”
The doors creak open creating a loud roar akin to the rumbling of a storm. The gates of hell slither across the ground, crackling the earth beneath it. The open doors reveal only darkness.
Stride stares into the dark barely able to contain his nerves. He cannot calm himself no matter what he told himself before this moment. As best he can he tries to hide his emotions.
I cannot show weakness. No matter my fears.
*Tuduuumm* *Tuduuummm*
Stride hears what sounds like a slow drum beating in the dark hallway, signifying the arrival of the Monarch. The rhythm reminds him of the drums he heard back when he was a rowing slave.
*Tuduuumm* *Tuduuummm*
The thunderous drums move with an unchanging pace.
*Tuduuumm* *Tuduuummm*
The drums become louder, “The heartbeat of the Monarch.” Stride says incredulously.
The Mountain Monarch’s face reveals itself from the darkness as he looks at Stride.
“Who dares seek audience?”
End of chapter 11.