Sulyvahn stood perched on the jutting cliff. Below him he could see the rippling foothills of the low, blunted mountains demarcating the northern border of Duke Wain's demesne. On the other side of that range was a land familiar to him. It was a land of flat plains and frost-marked tundra. Oh, yes, he remembered his first journey across that cold stretch. And beyond that were the grand peaks and massifs of the Boreal Mountains.
He scowled at those far-away slopes. They were many, many days' journey away. Their blue-black silhouettes were barely a rim against the flat horizon. They were distant.
But not as distant as they had been years ago.
He heard the crunching of footsteps on the gravelly dirt and a faint smell that reminded him of rotting fish. McDonnell spoke.
"'Lo, the end of ages approaches with speed. And there shall be the curdling of mountains and the wilting of forests and all shall gaze fearfully at the land's undoing. The world writhes, and the end arrives not with shouts of pain and thunderous voice, but with soft groan and sigh.'"
"The Final Fading, by Lord Arvonius," Sulyvahn replied. "Act II, scene 1."
"A fine play. Most engrossing."
"I found it tedious and long-winded."
"A shame. It is a most instructive work, even after two hundred years. It is not mere entertainment for the masses. It is inspired by ancient texts. Prophecies."
"Of the world's end?"
"Of the world's rebirth, Sulyvahn," the archdeacon corrected him.
He pointed to the Boreal Mountains. "You see? Lands once far away draw near. The whole world collapses in on itself as the First Flame weakens. So it has been predicted. The records were suppressed, of course, and hidden away, but clever people always rediscover them. And it is as has been written. We witness the fading of the Flame."
Sulyvahn said nothing.
"Have you ever seen a balloon, Sulyvahn? They have them in Vinheim. Great big elastic spheres inflated by hot air from an open flame. Some are large enough to carry a full-grown man in a basket. They stay aloft as long as the heated flame is held under a funnel. But if the flame is removed …"
"The balloon crumples? Is that what I see before me now? The world crumpling, lands shifting closer to each other as the sphere implodes?"
McDonell shrugged. "Who can say how deep the influence of the First Flame runs? Without its power, the world reforms itself into what it once was."
"There will be destruction."
"All births involve pain."
There was a moment more of silence, then Sulyvahn turned around and walked back to his small travelling party. Himself, McDonnell, Loyce and two other deacons. They were all that had survived the Darkmoons' scouring. When the gods' assassins had struck the cathedral, the deacons held them off longer than the duke's forces had been able. The Darkmoons broke through, eventually, but not without great difficulty. When they entered the cathedral, they released an orgy of slaughter, the deacons said.
Many priests and cathedral knights died defending their holy place. Others fled. Most were hunted down and killed in the forest. McDonell, Loyce and the two others hid themselves in a midden outside the cathedral walls. They stayed buried under filth for two days until the Darkmoons were satisfied with their work and departed.
Sulyvahn glanced at the fat priests. Two days without food in a trash pile? How had such gluttons staved off their ever-present hunger? No. He did not want to dwell on it.
"We have dallied long enough," he said. "Let us move on."
As they descended the foothills, he recalled the first time he crossed the plains. It was so long ago. He was young and naïve. He was a man drunk on dreams, lured in by rumors of wealth and power. He had eagerly anticipated his success and a life of fame and respect based on the treasures drawn from the depths of the Profaned Capital.
Now, all he could anticipate in his immediate future was Aldrich.
The land was not only shrinking, but its features were changing. The tundra had gained hills and ravines where once there were none. They were not steep nor numerous, but their presence was notable to Sulyvahn, who knew this land well enough. When they reached the Boreal Mountains, he discovered also that the range had twisted like clay in the hands of an incompetent sculptor. The mountain passes were warped into strange loops and inscrutable paths. The mountain gullies and crevasses were even more a labyrinth than they had been before.
Sulyvahn's memory was useless. The party was forced to explore the passages for nearly two days before finding a trail that definitively led north. It was a narrow fissure carved between mountains. The sharp edges of the cliffs above hung over them like birds of prey. There was the faint skittering of feet against stone. Sulyvahn knew they were being followed and watched.
The path dipped into a steep incline and deposited them in a vaguely bowl-shaped depression. Another steep trail on the other side would lead them upwards and, if he was gauging the distance correctly, would carry over the final stretch into the Boreal Valley. He looked about him and above, then gestured to his companions to halt. He waited.
After a few moments, figures appeared on the ledges above. They held bows and arrows pointed at the travelers.
"I am Sulyvahn, servant of Aldrich," the sorcerer proclaimed. He waited.
"You are expected," a voice replied from the sentinels.
"Why, then, do you treat us as enemies?"
"We, too, serve the Prophet of the Deep. And such has he commanded."
Inwardly, Sulyvahn unleashed a thousand curses. Outwardly, he gave a confident smile. "If such is his command, then we shall submit to his wisdom. Are we to be welcomed into the valley?"
The figures descended the cliffs with apelike agility. They surrounded the travelers. One of them gestured forward.
"The prophet shall see you, Sulyvahn. But he does not welcome you."
It was a city. There was no other word for it. When he had left the valley, it contained a settlement. A bustling settlement, to be sure, but one of tents, shacks and walls of stacked rubble. But now it was grown beyond the hill it once lay upon and matured into a bustling town of finely carved houses, paved roads and lively markets. When had this transformation taken place? And how? Was this Aldrich's work? Was the cannibal seer capable of such competent administration?
Behind him, he heard an amused snicker.
"It is magnificent, is it not, Master Sulyvahn?"
Sulyvahn turned his face to McDonell. "You knew of this?"
"Yes."
"And you did not inform me of the prosperity of our brothers in the north?"
"There are few things in life, I find, that are more a blessing than a good surprise. Wouldn't you agree?"
McDonnell bared his teeth in a ferocious grin. Sulyvahn quickly looked away to disguise his disgust. Aldrich had kept secrets from him. He had schemed even as Sulyvahn had, and the sorcerer now saw proof with his own eyes that the contest had been unequal.
The prophet had his very own city. A populous, wealthy one, by all appearances. They crossed a bridge over the cold river and met an escort of warriors armed with glistening scimitars. They stood tall and proud in their silver armor.
The foremost among them knelt before Sulyvahn.
"Welcome to Irithyll," the man said. "The Prophet has sent us to guide you to his abode."
And to keep an eye on him, no doubt. To measure his reactions and his mien and report at a later date. Sulyvahn nodded gravely. It was vital he maintain his semblance of authority.
"Rise, good sir. What is your name?"
"Milvayne, my lord."
"Very good, Milvayne. Take me to the Prophet."
To Sulyvahn's slight surprise, Aldrich's home was no larger nor any more extravagant than the buildings around it. Its only true mark of significance was that it was built on the summit of the hill where once stood the surface ruins of the Profaned Capital. Two more guards stood outside its door. At a gesture from Milvayne, they parted and allowed Sulyvahn to enter.
Milvayne bowed and waved his hand to the door. "Enter, Master Sulyvahn. May the blessing of the Deep go with you."
"And with you, Milvayne. McDonell, Loyce, come with me."
"Only you, Master Sulyvahn," the guardsman said.
"Ah, I see. Of course."
Sulyvahn stepped over the threshold and entered Aldrich's lair.
The stench was nauseating. Rotting meat, filth, vomit … and something else, something he couldn't quite define. An overpowering odor even more repulsive than the others.
He walked down a short hallway littered with empty plates and bowls stained red. He parted a thick curtain and stood in the presence of the Prophet of the Deep.
His guts curled in on themselves at the sight he beheld.
Aldrich sat on a throne of sorts set atop a dais. The throne was covered in gore, blood and Aldrich's own bodily fluids. The rest of the room was more abattoir than living quarters. A forest of meat hooks hung from the ceiling, and sides of meat of various origins were stacked against the walls. The stench was almost physically overpowering, and Sulyvahn, even with his inhuman resilience, took care as he walked forward not to buckle at the knees for want of air.
Aldrich reclined on his couch like a sated lion. He had grown immense since the last time he and Sulyvahn had spoken. His neck had vanished beneath rolls of limp fat, and his arms were nothing more than trunks sticking out of his bulbous body. Grease and blood smeared what was left of his robes. Every movement made his grotesque body jiggle. No, Sulyvahn corrected himself, ripple. His flesh quavered liquidly, and something squirmed underneath it. Something writhed within the prophet's body. Maggots were brought to Sulyvahn's mind. If one looked closely at a maggot, they could see the body of the fly inside gestating beneath the pale flesh …
But it was Aldrich's face that was most appalling of all. His eyes were black orbs, and from them leaked a black pus that trailed down his cheeks. The same pus oozed from his nostrils and the stumps of his rotten teeth. This pus, Sulyvahn quickly discerned, was the source of that vile smell that rose above the other odors of this depraved slaughterhouse. With a mixture of alarm, fascination, and no small amount of fear, Sulyvahn realized that Aldrich was becoming something less – and perhaps more – than mortal.
The prophet did not show signs of noticing him at first. He reached into a large bowl at his side and picked up a chunk of meat. Sulyvahn dared look at the bowl. Yes, he had expected to see human parts in it, in keeping with the seer's vicious doctrines. The pieces were too fine and too delicate, he thought, to belong to an adult.
Aldrich swallowed the chunk whole, then looked up at Sulyvahn. His face showed no emotion. The blank, black eyes stared at him.
Sulyvahn bowed, regretting that the motion brought him nearer to the grimy floor.
"And so the servant returns to his master, chastised," Aldrich said.
Where his face was emotionless, his voice was saturated with malice.
"I have returned to you, my master," Sulyvahn said slowly. He must pick his words very carefully. "I return a humbled servant of the Deep. In pride, I sought to elevate myself above my station. Now I return to grow in your presence and wisdom."
Sulyvahn heard a wet, gurgling sound emerge from Aldrich's throat. Laughter, or at least as close to it as the corpulent creature could manage.
"Do you think me a simpleton?" Aldrich sneered. "Do you think me a deaf and blind fool?"
Sulyvahn hesitated. "I seek only your guidance, master. I seek the strength that only the Deep can provide."
Aldrich leaned forward, his bulk drawing closer to Sulyvahn. The sorcerer suddenly felt very small. A growing dread filled him.
"Voice of the Deep," Aldrich said. He lingered on each word. "This is the title you gave yourself. When did I instruct you in this thing?"
"To bring the people into our fold, I took an identity comforting to them. Your word remained supreme, and I acted as but a proxy for your teachings."
Aldrich acted with such speed that Sulyvahn barely understood what had happened until he found himself pinned against the wall with a massive hand. The prophet lashed out like a viper, his immense body moving with unnatural speed. The hand crushed around his throat, choking the air out of him as Aldrich growled his words.
"A kingdom unto yourself! A budding empire in the name of Sulyvahn! My words buried beneath your sermons and your self-serving statutes!"
"I – I did what – was needed …" Sulyvahn wheezed. His head was spinning. The stench hit him like a physical blow, weakening him as much as Aldrich's tight grip.
"You are a deceitful candle flickering in the dark. You lead my people astray. You have led them to death at the hands of the enemy! And now," Aldrich smiled, and more black ooze spilled from his lips. "Now you come like a beaten dog, still vicious, still hungry, eager to lick your master's fingers and find forgiveness until you regain enough strength to rip out his throat."
Sulyvahn couldn't think. His words came desperately, out of pure instinct.
"Never! I am – loyal!"
"Little liar. I have ears and eyes everywhere. Your words dilute the truth of the Deep. You seek only your own elevation. You are a faithless servant."
"I can – serve you still!"
"No. You will die."
The hand squeezed even harder. Pinpricks of light dotted Sulyvahn's vision. He was no mere human. Age and illness couldn't touch him. But he was mortal. He could die. He felt the life ebbing from him.
Not like this. He was meant for more.
"Gwy – gwyn …" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
He exerted himself, exhausting all his breath in one desperate cry.
"Gwyndolin!"
Aldrich snorted, but his face creased. The slightest traces of curiosity crossed it.
"I'll give … "
And that was all the strength Sulyvahn could muster. His vision blurred. His body went limp.
At that moment, Aldrich relaxed his grip. Fresh air – as fresh as it was in this wretched place – filled Sulyvahn's lungs. He coughed weakly.
"Give what?" Aldrich asked suspiciously.
"Gwyndolin," Sulyvahn said in a low voice. "I'll give you the Dark Sun."
Aldrich betrayed no more emotion. But he released his grasp around Sulyvahn's throat. The sorcerer leaned back unsteadily against the wall, all pretenses of confidence abandoned.
"Why?"
Sulyvahn acted on pure improvisation. The desire to continue living motivated him to furiously concoct an impromptu scheme that would appease Aldrich.
"The Deep will consume all. And you are its Prophet, its champion. The false gods fight against you. You consume human flesh in accordance with the Deep's way. What better means of ushering in the new age, then to consume the flesh of gods?"
"Devour the gods?" Another gurgling laugh. "Such has been my intention all along. I dream, Sulyvahn. I dream of gods. I dream of their end."
"Let me pave the way for that victory, master."
"How?"
"It is as you have said. I am a deceiver, a wretch who speaks only lies. Let my faults become your instruments."
"Poor, deluded fool. Still you cling to your lust for power."
Sulyvahn was tempted to spit out a retort on how similar they were in that respect. Instead, he said, "I can open the gates of Anor Londo to you. You will stride in, the Deep at your back, and flood the city of Fire. Gwyndolin will be yours to consume. And the Flame. The First Flame will be yours to snuff out. The Age of the Deep will begin!"
Aldrich was silent. He turned away and paced the floor back to his throne. He heaved his body onto it and sat down to face Sulyvahn.
"When?" he asked simply.
"I will need time," Sulyvahn admitted. "It will take planning. And resources."
"More lies to rebuild your kingdom."
"No, master. But I have seen the enemy's strength. I have some understanding of them now. And I have … projects I have worked on. Magicks that can strengthen your followers."
Aldrich thoughtfully stroked the lump of fat where his chin should be. "A test. That is what you require. Truth and revelation."
Sulyvahn bowed again. "Yes, master."
"Stop groveling like a sycophant. You know nothing of what I mean. Indeed," he leaned forward with an eager look in his expression. "You know nothing at all. Time, I think, for your proper education to begin at last. Leave this place, and speak to Milvayne. He awaits you outside. Tell him that the Prophet commands you be taken to the Chasm. You shall enter it, sorcerer, and you shall descend into the dark. There, you shall meet the Preachers. Listen to their wisdom. And you shall find there the pool of black waters.
Once, I told you that I received two revelations. The revelation of survival, when I first tasted the flesh of man. And the revelation of ashes, when I gazed into dying embers and saw the fate of the world. Now, I shall share with you my third revelation. The revelation of deep waters. Look into the pool, Sulyvahn. The same waters I gazed into long ago, from which the Deep gazed back and showed me its true nature."
Sulyvahn assented. He could do nothing else.
"And what will happen when I see these things, master?"
"As I said, little sorcerer. Truth and revelation."
Milvayne and two others guided Sulyvahn out of the Boreal Valley and into the mountains. They crossed over an ice-encrusted ridge until they came to the base of a high peak. Twin fangs of stone jutted out of the ground. Between them was a narrow path down into the rock.
Sulyvhan paused and looked out at the land unfolded before him. He saw it here, too. He saw the folding in of the land upon itself. The mountains were not as large as they once had been. The plains beyond were smaller. He fancied he could see the faint outline of the hills of what had been Duke Wain's realm.
If Milvayne and his companions noticed this as well, they said nothing. They stood behind Sulyvahn in silence.
He turned to them. "Where is this chasm the prophet spoke of?"
Milvayne pointed to the tunnel. "Through there."
"And what awaits me?"
"Only the Prophet knows. Only he has made pilgrimage to the Chasm and returned."
Which meant Aldrich likely expected Sulyvahn to perish and trouble him no more. The sorcerer walked on, as he knew he must. Whether or not death awaited him, he must play the madman's game.
He gripped the scimitar hooked to his belt. Milvayne had given it to him without issue. Whatever lurked inside the mountain, even the servants of Aldrich sought to give him a fighting chance against it. Whether it was true aid or a mocking gesture, he could not determine.
He slipped into the crevice and stepped into darkness. The tunnel opened up into a wide tunnel that wound deeper and deeper into the mountain. The tunnel was steep, and Sulyvahn found himself stepping lightly on small ledges plummeting into the black throat of the underground. It was silent, save for his steps and the crumbling of rock beneath his feet. He paused a moment and listened. Silent, but not empty. There was a heavy presence all around him. It was the sensation of being watched from behind.
He jumped off a ledge and landed on solid rock. He was at the bottom of the shaft. He peered into the inky black ahead of him. Strange, he thought, that even his keen night eyes were having difficulty seeing in this darkness.
He chuckled. How absurd this task was, to wander through a cavern seeking visions or revelations or whatever it was that Aldrich had found here. The Prophet was deranged. Who knows what the cannibal had seen that reinforced his grotesque fantasies?
Or was it merely fantasy? Was there real power here? An artifact? A weapon? Some relic left behind by the people of the Profaned Capital, or even more ancient forebears? Was that the secret of Aldrich's ascent to power? Sulyvahn had profited from ancient wisdom. Who he was he to presume that Aldrich could not?
He should have asked the question much, much earlier. Only now, stripped of power, did he perceive how little he had truly understood the seer and his Deep. Knowledge was power, too, and he required more of it if he was to transcend his dire circumstances.
The way forward was now easy and smooth. He felt the sides of the tunnel. They were cold to the touch, and this soothed him. He missed the cold. The Boreal Valley was calming, but this icy chill of the underground that would set the teeth of humans chattering suited him best. It reminded him of home.
He paused at the thought. Home. The Painted World. Why now did he think of that pathetic place? He tried always to banish memories of his wretched past. He had made his own home in a castle as a ruler of men. It had been taken from him. And he would have revenge on the presumptuous gods who defied him. All in good time. He had but to endure this trial.
Patience was his greatest weapon. It was always his indomitable patience that granted him victory.
The darkness grew thicker. It covered him like a cloak. He could see but a few feet in front of him, even with his nocturnal vision. And then he took a step and nearly fell into oblivion.
He sensed rather than saw the emptiness where the ground should have been. As he felt himself fall forward, he twisted his body around and grabbed at the ledge. His fingers dug into the rock, and his feet flailed over nothingness. After pulling himself back up, he glanced back. The path ended here, and all he could see – or not, as it were – was an abyss of a depth he could not guess at.
He cursed. Where was he to go now? He traced the perimeter of the ledge and eventually found a new path. It was a bridge spanning over the pit. It was a very broad and thick rock formation that could easily support his weight. He walked along it until he reached a rock pinnacle with a flat top rising out the dark. Here, too, was a second rock bridge leading forward.
"Where are we going, I wonder," he said to himself. The silence demanded to be filled. It was a silence so thick he felt deaf, otherwise. "To the other side of the world? To a treasure hidden long ago?"
And then the silence answered back.
"Fear not the Dark."
Sulyvahn twirled around to where the voice had come from. He was on another pinnacle, a broad and large space he could only see a portion of. Somewhere on the other side of it … Yes, that was where the words came from.
"Fear not the Dark," the voice repeated. "And let the feast begin."
"Who are you?" Sulyvahn inquired. He slowly, cautiously, approached the voice. His hand lay on his sword hilt.
"They were kings, blessed by gods and rulers of men. But they found no satisfaction in their docile existence, and descended into the Abyss."
"Who are you?" Sulyvahn repeated.
The voice did not stop. "They were granted new power, and led their people into glorious shadow. When their kingdom drowned, they found solace in the Dark. Fear not the Dark, my friend, and let the feast begin."
A drowned kingdom? A feast? What was the meaning of these riddles?
Sulyvahn approached near enough to see the speaker. He halted, unsure whether to draw his sword at once and kill the abomination that stood before him.
It had the rough shape of a man, though to call it one would be a tasteless jest. Its face was as pale as fish-meat and gaunt, with white hair falling around it in greasy clumps. Its eyes were blank, black orbs, and its lipless mouth was drawn in a tight line. Long, segmented arms hung from its torso. It had the bloated abdomen of some great insect, with long, spined legs folded beneath its large frame.
The creature stood hunched over, rubbing its hands together and looking at Sulyvahn. Its expression was inscrutable, but it seemed to be watching the sorcerer intently.
"What are you?" Sulyvahn asked.
The locust-man's head twitched to the side, as if listening to something only it could hear. Its head rotated back towards Sulyvahn, and it began speaking again.
"Crawling out of mist, he came. He found the small soul left behind by great lords, and greater than them became. For is not the Dark that from which we arise, you and I? Kindred, are we, and fellow travelers."
"Are we now?"
The locust-man did not appear able to understand him or react to his words. Its own words were little more than a recital, like a lesson taught to an uncomprehending child.
Sulyvahn recalled Aldrich's words. He claimed that he would meet "Preachers" here. Was this creature what the seer had referred to?
The locust-man appeared to lose interest in Sulyvahn and slowly lurched away to the edge of the pinnacle. It leaned over to stare into the darkness, then leapt off the edge. Wings spread out from its back, and it vanished from sight.
There was little more that Sulyvahn could do, so he continued forward. Another bridge connected to the far wall of the cavern. He walked through another tunnel and entered a broad chamber that glowed with a green luminescence. He inspected the glow on the surfaces of the rocks. It was nothing special, merely a subterranean fungus.
Stalactites drooped low enough to connect with the ground and create a forest of stony pillars. Sulyvahn navigated the rocks and came to a concave dip in the cave floor. It was filled with still water.
He was about to approach the pool, when he noticed another locust-man on the opposite bank. This one faced away from him and knelt over something. He heard a crunching sound coming from it.
It halted, twitched, and turned around. Its mouth continued its chewing motion as it consumed the grey meat in its hands. Behind him, Sulyvahn saw what it had been consuming. Another of its kind.
The locust-man swallowed, then slowly stalked toward Sulyvahn. It began speaking in its vexingly calm voice.
"By Fire forsaken, Humanity stirs and rises. The Abyss beckons, and from it come blessings uncounted. Fear not the Dark, my friend, and let the feast begin."
"No, I do not fancy your friendship." Sulyvahn drew his sword.
The locust stopped, its mouth working strange syllables but uttering no sound now. Its empty eyes fixed on the blade.
It rubbed its face with its hands in a jerking manner. "I – I –" it stammered.
It shuddered, then pounced.
"I shall partake!"
Its wings fanned open as it rose into the air above Sulyvahn. It reached out its hands toward him as it descended.
It landed in empty space. Sulyvahn kept his distance as the locust-man's head jerked around searching for its prey. He lunged and caught the creature in the joint of its arm. It screeched and slashed at him with clawed hands. Sulyvahn defended himself against the flurry, then spied an opening in the creature's clumsy attacks and struck again. The creature backed away and looked down confusedly at the ichor oozing from its body. It grimaced and turned around to raise its abdomen at Sulyvahn.
White pus spewed forth from its body at Sulyvahn. He was caught unawares by the spray and caught it on his chest and arms. He cried out in pain. The pus burned like acid and ate through his clothing. He was too distracted by the pain to prepare himself for when the locust-man leapt forward and slammed down on him with its powerful legs.
Sulyvahn's inhuman constitution was the only reason he survived. His sword arm was caught under a clawed foot. The locust-man took his neck in both hands and opened its maw wide. It was surprised when Sulyvahn's free hand shot out and gripped its upper jaw. He pushed the creature away from his face with as much strength as he could muster, pushing upward and inward until he heard something crack and the creature's face collapsed inwards. It stumbled off of him, hands covering its broken face. Sulyvahn slashed upward with his freed sword arm. More ichor poured out of the beast as it groaned and chittered, then slumped onto the ground and lay still.
The acid continued to do its work. Sulyvahn felt agony as it reached his flesh and chewed through his skin. He rose, eyes wide with pain, and made for the pool. It was water. He needed water to wash away this filth. He tore off a clean section of his cloak and soaked it in the water, then scrubbed as much of the pus off himself as he could.
When he was satisfied that he was no longer in peril, he sunk down by the pool and regarded the corpse.
"What are you?" he muttered. "Servant of the Deep? Of the Dark?" His eyes narrowed. "But then, they're one and the same, aren't they?"
Aldrich rarely referred to the Dark as the same thing as the Deep. In his view, the Deep was a greater power under which the Dark was but a small aspect. It was soemthing other, something greater than Fire or Dark. But Sulyvahn, unblinded by fanaticism, had always wondered.
The Dark. He knew well what the old texts spoke of regarding this ancient power, and always they contradicted. Followers of Gwyn claimed that it was a malevolent force held back by the First Flame. Heretics claimed it was the first great force of the cosmos, and it was Fire that corrupted the world that was. Still others stated that both were of equal importance and worthy of reverence.
Aldrich taught that embracing the Dark was but a first step toward understanding the Deep. And yet, Aldrich claimed to have made pilgrimage to this place, and he spoke of Preachers. These locusts that walked like men? These who spoke nothing of the Deep and only of the Dark?
What did the seer hope for Sulyvahn to learn here? If this was a game he played with Sulyvahn, what was the winning move?
He gazed into the black water of the pool. He saw only his own face reflected back. His illusionary face, the one he had worn for countless years. It rippled and warped as something stirred beneath the surface. For a brief moment, Sulyvahn could have sworn that his reflection changed – that it became his true face, the one he inherited from his Corvian and Witch Tree heritage. But the image flickered, and he saw only his human countenance again.
The waters, so deep and pure. He looked harder, and saw pinpricks of black in the water. A glowing black, an anti-light, like millions of darkened stars obscuring the light of night. They were enthralling, and Sulyvahn carelessly reached a hand into the water to touch them. His senses were enraptured by the deep waters. He felt the vague sensation of falling, of waters closing over him, and then there was blackness.
When he regained consciousness, he thought he was blind at first. Then he looked down at his own hands clear as daylight. But all else was pitch blackness.
He stood up with some difficulty. There was no surface nor horizon by which he could gauge his own position. He felt rather than saw up and down. He took a step, and his foot landed on a hard, unseen surface.
He vaguely sensed that there was water nearby. He could smell it, and hear the very faint swishing of lapping currents. No doubt it was connected to the pool he had fallen into and would lead him back. He took another step, trying to determine where it was located.
He heard the rustling of something moving behind him.
He spun around and drew his scimitar. He stood face to face with a creature unlike any he had ever before seen. It was a long, serpentine monstrosity with scaled black skin and a hideous face with a pronounced, broad nose and massive flat teeth that jutted out like a rat's. Long tendrils hung from its snout like a parody of a moustache, and two yellow eyes looked down at him.
"Greetings."
Its voice was surprisingly smooth and cordial for so hideous a creature. Sulyvahn said nothing in response.
"Have you come to learn the truth of Fire and Dark, and to learn the way to free your kind from the shackles of the First Flame?"
"I have come on pilgrimage," Sulyvhan replied cautiously. "I come seeking knowledge of the Dark."
"Then well met, O seeker of the Dark. I am the Primordial Serpent called Darkstalker Kaathe. I am your guide and illuminator. I shall reveal to you the truth of our world's existence."
Sulyvahn lowered his sword and bowed his head. "I am honored."
The serpent's head bobbed around Sulyvahn as it spoke, inspecting him from every angle.
"Long have I waited in the Abyss for the one destined to become the Lord of Hollows. Not a Lord only of Dark, but of Humanity as well. For Humanity is the opposite of Gwyn's Flame, and it shall inherit the world when the Flame is extinguished. You, perhaps, are the one."
"And if I am not?"
"My servants range far and wide in search of the Lord of Hollows. For Fire dies, and Gwyn's scheme will at last be foiled. The truth I share without sentiment: When Fire was born, three great souls were found in the Flame. The ancient lords of Anor Londo claimed these souls and became as gods. They shared portions with their followers and so built their great kingdom. Fire reigned, and Dark was cast out.
But the ancestor of men claimed the Dark Soul and waited for the day that Fire would fade. This soul is the very source of your Humanity. All men share a piece of the Dark Soul, and so are to Dark its rightful heirs. But Gwyn feared your power, and offered himself as fuel to keep the Flame alive. And the cycle continues even now. When the Fire fades, a sacrifice is made, a new Lord of Cinder feeds the Flame, and nature is not allowed to take its proper course.
Gwyn and his children perverted history to conceal this truth. But Dark must emerge victorious. Long have I striven to return power into the rightful hands of Man. None, thus far, has proven worthy of the mantle of Lord. Alas, I cannot wait forever. My end draws nigh, and I fear I will not see my mission completed."
The serpent peered closely at Sulyvahn. "If you are the one who shall become Lord of Hollows, then draw near, and I shall grant you my power. The power of the Dark."
Sulyvhan hesitated. "Am I the first you have given power to?"
"No. Many have come before you. Some are my servants now. Some are dead."
A thought occurred to the sorcerer. "Do you know the name of Aldrich?"
"Ha! A deluded man, a would-be usurper. He gazed into the Abyss and saw reflected back his own insatiate nature. His delusions misguide him and lead him to worship falsehoods. He delves into the depths of the Abyss to glut his appetites. He is no fit Lord."
"You told him this?"
"I have met him not. My servants watch from the shadows and tell me of the deeds of men, wise and foolish both."
Sulyvahn listened and nodded gravely. Inside, he was laughing.
Aldrich had not met this monster. He did not know he lurked here, even if this Kaathe knew of him. Else, he would never have allowed Sulyvahn to enter the cave. By some fluke of fate, Sulyvahn had been allowed to hear Kaathe's secrets.
Aldrich was a madman, nothing more. He had miscalculated, and inadvertently given Sulyvahn a weapon more precious than any sword or sorcery.
"But enough of this one." Kaathe circled around Sulyvahn. "If you have come to seek the path of the Hollow Lord, then I shall bestow upon you my power, and you shall go forth to overcome the Flame. Take it for yourself, for only then can it be taken from the children of Gwyn and put into the hands of men. Only then can the cycle finally end."
"I am willing to undertake this quest. I have long desired to undo the tyranny of the gods, and to see men prosper as the rightful rulers of this world."
Kaathe drew close. So close Sulyvahn could feel the rank breath blowing on his face. The yellow eyes looked at him with a piercing gaze.
The serpent drew back suddenly. A wracking gurgle sounded from its throat.
"You are no man."
Sulyvahn stood up proudly. "I am more than a man. I am fit to rule."
"No," Kaathe replied in a low, threatening rumble. "You are a pretender. The Dark Soul does not dwell in you. You have no part in it."
"I have come far in power and prestige. And I desire the end of the gods. Is that not enough?"
"No."
Sulyvahn held his sword up again and pointed it at Kaathe. "Give me your power, beast, or I will take it from you."
The serpent laughed. The sound was like a punctuated screech that rattled against Sulyvahn's skull.
"You cannot defy nature!" the serpent declared. "You are not of Flame or Dark. I am no ignoramus, little one. You are of the Painted World! You do not belong here!"
Sulyvhan shouted in rage and charged Kaathe. He swung at the serpent. His blow struck true, but the blade bounced off the serpent's thick skin.
The serpent laughed again. "Enough! You cannot defeat a peer of the Everlasting Dragons, one who existed before the Flame. Back to your land of ice and snow. Back to a land where nature runs its proper course. You will find nothing in this world that can please you."
With that, the serpent descended into the darkness and vanished. Sulyvahn angrily stood over the spot where Kaathe disappeared. He stomped the ground twice, then shook his head.
"Foolish animal," he hissed.
He turned, letting his senses guide him back to the deep waters. He felt the wetness around his feet, and walked in deeper until he was submerged.
He swam through the water until he reached the surface of the pool. He left the cave and emerged into twilight.
Milvayne was still there with his men. He nodded noncommittally at Sulyvahn when he exited the cave.
"Master Sulyvahn."
"I have seen what I needed to see. I understand that which I did not before comprehend. Take me back to the Prophet. I shall serve him rightfully now, with all the loyalty and deference that he deserves."
As they returned back to Irithyll, a plan formed in Sulyvahn's mind.
Kaathe. Was it a truly chance that he had been there? Had Aldrich thought the serpent dead or missing? Did he even know of its existence at all? It did not matter. What Kaathe had told Sulyvahn – and Sulyvahn suspected it held at least some piece of truth – was enough to convince him that his way had always been the right one.
Aldrich was like the Preachers. He spoke much of seeming profundity, but always hunger overcame his reason. He could never rise above it.
Sulyvahn now saw the means to his final end. Kaathe's words had inspired him. And Aldrich's preachings now took on a hysterical new relevance to his own desires.
Life was conflict. Prey and predator. One or the other must die. It was the same with Fire and Dark. It was the same with all things.
For one to live, the other must die. Sulyvahn would see that it was so.