The Spire

Alrin looked up towards where the glaring desert sun sat in its celestial throne. The sun looked back at him with its own mocking gaze. He pushed back a long lock of dark, sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and cursed at the sun, then resumed trudging onward; vast, unchanging, blindingly radiant desert sprawling as far as his dry bloodshot eyes could see. Even though he had known his platoon was underprepared for this expedition, he was still in shock from the extent of his failure. His men, soldiers under his command, all perished in last night’s attack on their caravans. With all two hundred of his soldiers gone, the expedition, their mission, was now doomed. There was, however, another failure of much greater magnitude. He had survived. Lying well hidden beneath the body of one of his subordinates and another belonging to one of those black-carapaced things, he watched the blue streaks and swirls filling the night sky while his men were getting brutally slaughtered. Alrin now trudged onward through the endless ocean of sand, only left with his tattered breeches along with a nigh empty water canteen. In his thoughts swam the din and shouting of last night’s combat echoing in the vastness of the desert, the growling of the swarm that was rushing at them from every direction, screaming in their filthy, blasphemous tongue, listening to their high screeches when slain by arrow or sword, tumbling onto the hot sands, only for more to take their place. And their savage eyes on their almost-human heads, bright blue and swirling with the light of what appeared to be trapped lightning. In the end his people had no chance against the overwhelming tides washing over them like a furious storm.

Alrin walked directionless. There was a part of him that asked how the creatures knew they were coming, why there had been so many, how had they not seen any signs of their presence, but that logical side was completely drowned out by another part of him, a much more resigned one, which cared for none of that. All that mattered now was this - his punishment from the Gods, his own personal hell that he had to walk through in his final moments, traversing this forsaken wasteland with only himself in tow. Yet another part of him refused to stop and surrender to the reality of his situation. That primal instinct that held on to life till the very last drop of it was gone.

His vision was getting blurrier, the dryness in his throat burning him from the inside. Torment that this was, it was also the prelude to the respite from all this, and he was grateful for it. At long last, his feet no longer wished to continue and his face violently met with the burning desert sand. As seconds, minutes, perhaps hours passed, Alrin did not bother opening his eyes.

“You seem to be in quite the predicament, friend.”

Alrin stirred slightly. A voice? Impossible. He was hallucinating. Yes, it was not uncommon for men to see or heard delusions in their final moments.

“I believe you might be a bit thirsty. Care for a drink? Or shall I leave you be, friend?”

He rose as much as possible, barely lifting his head enough to see the bearded man in a black flowing robe looking at him from under a wide, triangular hood. Both his skin and beard were marble white, eyes of piercing blue. He crouched down and held a waterskin towards him. Alrin could also see something very tall behind the robed figure, a large body held up in the air by four thin, elongated legs.

“If you do not wish me to disturb you, I shall go.”

Alrin spat out a mouthful of sand, managing only a stifled moan. Gods, his body felt like it was made of melting iron.

“There is, however, a price. Are you willing to pay it, friend?”

Alrin gave a slightly louder moan. The man smiled wider and put the mouth of the waterskin to Alrin’s mouth.

************************************************************

The wobbling motions of the creature beneath Alrin awoke him. The first thing he noticed was that he was propped up and strapped onto a saddle seat. The second thing he noticed was that he and the triangle-hooded man were riding a creature as high as a siege tower, with spindly legs sluggishly propelling it forward. The third, and for some reason most concerning to him in that moment – he was wearing a smooth silvery bracer around his left wrist. Had the robed individual put it on him?

“What is this thing?” he asked with a still raspy and weak voice.

“I will assume you’re talking about my erkhal” his supposed savior answered. He spoke slowly, with a strange intonation Alrin couldn’t quite place. It reminded him of the strange inflection of an actor in a travelling play he had once seen as a child.

“I’ve never seen something so...”

“Tall?”

“Yeah. Tall.”

“They are excellent creatures, irreplaceable when traversing the desert.”

The two fell silent. Alrin had survived – he wasn’t immediately sure how to feel about that. The resigned Alrin in his mind cursed the desert for failing to take him, but Alrin the survivor figuratively punched the other in the gut, silencing him.

“Thank you. For saving me.” The robed man didn’t answer. “Where are you taking us?” Alrin continued.

“Why, we are going home, friend.”

“Home?”

“Yes, your new home to be exact.”

Alrin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’ve already got a home, a town on the other side of the Drift. I came here… we were on a military expedition, hoping to stop the raids. To keep us from starving and dying to the drought. That’s what we were hoping for…”

“And you failed. You barely held on to your life. It is a very good thing that I was where I was, at that particular time and place. My tower is your new home now, friend.

“And If I wished to leave…”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I told you there would be a price, and you agreed to paying it.”

“Look, I can pay you, we don’t need to resort to this…”

“No, no, friend. I do not need what you have, I need you. You are one excellently suited for what I require. There is an edifice of vital importance that needs to be completed.”

Despite the blistering heat of the desert, cold dread crept its way along Alrin’s back.

“So, I am to be your slave then?” he meant to sound angry, indignant, but in his state, the words reeked more of despair than anything.

“Not slave, friend. Consider yourself a… debtor, if you will. I save you, so now you pay me back for your life. It is simply the natural order of things.”

“So when… when do I return to my home? When will you consider this “debt” paid?”

“Do not worry about that, friend. Once the time is right, I will allow you to roam the earth once more.”

The robed figure – his new Master, apparently – did not elaborate more. What constituted “the right time?” For all he knew, he was this man’s servant for life. Alrin sat back, his resolute self now struggling to hold its ground against the self-reproaching wretch in his mind. “This is your punishment for your sins! You were the one who suggested striking at the things first and your men paid for your hubris with their blood. You deserve no less than this.” And Alrin was starting to believe those thoughts.

The sun was about to set as a black mass appeared on the horizon, a dark, towering spire. It’s top was irregular and jagged, like a broken tree branch. The outlines of ragged tents and squat sandstone buildings were sprawled around its base. Entering the encampment, Alrin also saw other erkhal - long, hooved legs stepping among the structures below as a fisherman would step among river stones. As their own erkhal lumbered on, he noticed figures walking about – mostly men, looking much like him - shirtless, ragged and unshaven, with shining silvery bracers strapped to their wrists. There were also other figures, large and muscular, wearing red masks. They looked like they were overseeing groups of slaves as they worked.

Alrin did not want to have his freedom taken so effortlessly. His rage towards the man was now steadily growing - he wanted to jump out at him, strangle him and make his escape, but before he even reached to unbuckle his strap, he was frozen still in pain which washed over his body. The man half-turned with a smile.

“As you can see, it won’t be possible for you to break your contract.”

He slumped back into his seat a few moments later, when the pain drained away. That spark of insurrection faded as the reality of his situation hit him - his life as a slave was just beginning.

************************************************************

Each day, he and the other slaves worked in the camp below the imposing structure, mostly delivering large stones taken from a rock quarry in the east back to where it could be reduced to smaller pieces, which were then taken on a long, arduous trip to the top of the spire. There, they were used to build higher and higher sections of it, one atop the other. During the nights, Alrin slept in one of the large tents in the camp along with a dozen others. The braces, he found out, were what made sure they could not attack their masters. They detected intention somehow, and paralyzed long before you could take any action. Despite this, Alrin kept with him a sharp shard of stone, accidentally produced while he was chipping away at a particularly large boulder. First, he tried using it on his own arm, with no success. The braces kept him from harming anyone, even himself. That meant the slaves were also defenseless, not that any of the others expressed desire for mutiny. It kept them from harming each other as well - another slave had tried to pick a fight with him during lunch once, and as he was about to strike, he immediately fell to the ground in agony. Those who tried to escape had it much worse, their pain was prolonged by multiple minutes, even hours in some cases. Those he came to know were a resigned, placid lot, having been here for years, survivors from other towns and cities that fell victim to the raids. They all had similar stories to his own. They had met the hooded man when they had been in a moment of desperate need, always received the same offer, and always the price for saving their life had been their freedom. Unlike him, however they had faith that the hooded man would grant them their freedom back once his edifice was fully complete. Some thought they should be thankful for being given a second chance; some were simply resigned to whatever fate had in store for them. Many were complacent with their current situation, comfortable with their new master.

Soon after his enslavement, Alrin finally found out the purpose of the spire. He had heard of the recurring event from some of the other slaves. Storms occasionally raged in the sky over the spire. The clouds moved unnaturally, swirling and spiraling around its top, and the hooded, pale-as-marble master was at the top each time. There was always a group of slaves there, as he did this, more numerous the higher the tower became. Those men and women were never seen again. The more naïve in the camp believed that their fellow slaves were being set free after this, thus they did not return to the camp. Supposedly, the spire went not only up into the air, but also went down beneath the sands, into an intricate web of tunnels with an unknown length.

Alrin was not among one of those and eventually, when the time came for him to be one of those that had to ascend the tower, he was apprehensive. He and the group of slaves were taken by the man personally, with an escort of multiple overseers.

“Rejoice, my friends. After this day, you will be able to roam the world again” The eyes of some lit up with hope, they cheered and thanked the Master, but Alrin only gave him a suspicious look, checking his pocket to see if his shard was still with him. The climb up was long and strained, storm clouds rolling in, blackening the sky as they ascended the spiraling outer stairs. The ascending group of slaves had to walk slowly and tightly grip the railing, unless they wanted to meet an untimely end just before supposedly being set free, splattered on the sands below.

At the top, the men and women were arranged in a circle, as the Master pulled down his hood, and looked towards the now raging sky. Moments passed, the confused slaves holding their breaths in anticipation. Static was in the air. In a flash, a bolt of lightning slammed into the Master. To the awed gasps of the crowd of slaves, he only started to tremble, as if entranced by the bolt’s power.

“COME!”

Another slammed into him. And another. Soon, the stream of electricity was constant, the crackling power starting to leak from the Master’s eyes, its sound drowning out the exclamations of the slaves. A bolt of lightning branched out and hit one of them. The man screamed, falling down and writhing on the ground in pain. A few moments later he began to change. Alrin watched in horror as the poor man’s body started to shift into something all too familiar. Blackening to the color of char, veins bulging, large scales making their way our from under his skin. His eyes glowed with an unnatural, swirling storm pulses. He was transforming into one of the creatures. Another slave, horrified at the sight, screamed and tried to run towards the edge of the tower, but only took a step before falling down, paralyzed by her bracelet.

Alrin now knew. He understood what had been going on all this time. He realized the source of his suffering, of his people’s suffering, and he could do nothing about it. They were all to become part of the Master’s army of fiends. He had to do something, anything, but the bracer… his choice of actions was severely limited. If he could, he would pull out the shard, stab the Master while he was feeding on the lightning. If only he could take the bracer off…

At that moment he saw his former comrade, now transfigured into one of the freakish creatures, preparing to attack him with a maw of sharp teeth. It was at that point that Alrin saw what had to be done. He would no longer be a coward; he would no longer feel the shame of hiding. There was a way to get rid of the brace. As the creature charged him he did not run back, instead holding his left arm – his braced arm – toward the creature’s maw. The thing did not behave like the ones he had to repel during the raids. While those were somewhat focused in their viciousness, this one was truly like a feral anima, as if the recent transformation had frenzied it. It immediately went for the hand. It bit down and Alrin felt his whole arm burn with pain. He screamed in agony, but instead of retreating, he slammed his hand into the lower jaw of the creature, making it bite down harder. That act made the brace activate its effect, sending a jolt of pain along his body, but it was too late – a few agonizing seconds later, his hand, along with the brace, was completely severed. The creature took his arm in its maw and started chewing on it.

Alrin fell back, a mix of shock from the severing of his limb and the pain of the brace. He had to stay conscious, he had to finish this while he had the chance. Managing to stand on unsteady feet, he reached into his pocket with his right and scrambled to pull out the stone shard. His vision was swimming, whole body in agony. It was now or never. Lightning bolts arced from the Master again, beginning the transformation process for other slaves, who were now in a panicking disarray.

Alrin ran with whatever strength he had left at the Master and slammed the shard into his back. The master screamed, turning with a grimace of shocked disbelief, as Alrin pushed the shard further into his flesh.

“HOW?” The Master screamed in despair. Looking down, he saw the bloodied stub where his assailant’s left arm used to be seconds ago. Alrin felt the force of the storm, radiating out of the Master in bursts. He could no longer control he power, physical body dying, both of them edging near death.

As the two fell to the stone floor, the air stilled. The slaves, those remaining unchanged, looked around, disoriented and dismayed. The changed ones were now dormant, their feral demeanor completely gone. Both man and creature were looking at where their former master laid next to his killer, two bodies on the cold stone. A few tense seconds passed as the slaves started to give each other apprehensive looks, murmurings rose in the air. Suddenly, one pointed towards the two:

“Look!”

As one of them stirred, a pair of eyes opened, blue and shining, electric and crackling with power. A pair of eyes belonging to a man who was no longer a slave.