James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"As I said, things are moving swiftly."

"And the other families?" she pressed, laying a soft-gloved hand on his shoulder.

"The other families have their parts to play as well," he replied, glancing sidelong at her and enjoying the desperate excitement in her eyes. "And at least one shall have their final rewards."

He removed her hand and left her speechless on the doorstep, striding confidently through the garden on his way back to Tallus's tower. His errands finished, he quietly wished good hunting to the circle of skulls and looked forward to a long and bloody night.

NIGHTAL 21, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

What little sense of direction Jinn had, he quickly lost as Quessahn wound their path through the sewers of Waterdeep, a dank and cold road that stretched for miles beneath the city's wards. They kept quiet and wary, though Quessahn occasionally whispered curses when a path seemed unsuitable for one reason or another, making their trek ever more labyrinthine. Several times Jinn eyed patches of light where hidden accesses to the surface called for him to abandon the eladrin's wild chase, but every time, he passed them by, holding on a bit longer.

He had heard rumors of the things that slithered in the lower tunnels, had seen one or two in the final days of his hunting of the Vigilant Order, but

Quessahn seemed to know what signs to look for. Most often she took the faintly glowing paths of the muckers, those people considered among the lowest castes of society, sifting through the refuse of the sewers for lost treasures; trinkets; old clothing; or, for the worst off, food. They held crude candles in broken pots or mugs, continually hunched over the edges of the sewage flow, raking the muck with their bare hands, searching for the glint of something worth keeping. The muckers would barely glance at Quessahn and him as they passed, their blank, deathly stares beyond caring who visited the city's stinking underworld.

At one time Jinn would not have thought such an existence possible, a torment more fit for the Nine Hells or the Abyss, but enough time among mortals had shown him otherwise. Any degradation imaginable existed somewhere in the world, staining all else that might have seemed brighter to him, like the barest shadow on a blooming flower. Considering the plight of the muckers only made his impatience grow and the oft-seen exits shining down side tunnels more inviting.

At length Quessahn's step slowed, and a soft rumble echoed through the tunnels like crashing thunder. The walls vibrated with the noise, and he drew his sword. The eladrin turned at the sound, her eyes shining in the glow of her dagger.

"It's the ocean," she explained in a whisper. "Still far away but the sound of the tide reaches through to these tunnels."

Jinn relaxed only slightly, something else teasing at his senses that had naught to do with tides. The realization that something stank in the sewers struck him as odd, but a new scent slowly began to change the aroma to which he had grown accustomed. Death wafted toward them on the air and clung to their skin as it rode with the steamy mist. Quessahn raised a hand behind her, the light of her dagger fading to less than a candle's worth of glow as she stopped and crouched, resting a moment and placing a finger to her lips.

Though Jinn said nothing, something else spoke, a sibilant, echoing sound that sent chills down his spine.

It came and went like the distant sighing of the tide, an unintelligible whispering that seemed to border on true speech, the sounds approaching something like words before disappearing again. He caught Quessahn's eye, gesturing to his sword questioningly, curious as to whether or not a threat lingered nearby. She gently pressed his blade down, shaking her head even as the whispers grew louder.

There is a place without truth, where the bodies lie…

Jinn stiffened at the ghostly voice's words, searching for their source and finding nothing. Despite the eladrin's protestations, he kept his sword on guard as the spectral susurrus surrounded them, washing through the tunnel with biting cold, speaking nonsense in womanly voices.

Hold the blade firmly, else the bone may not break…

The mask he wears is for the children, and your laughter shall make them sicker…

Nine times folded upon nine is the sum, for the path is long and treacherous…

Jinn spun in slow circles, staring into the dark as the whispers rose in a crescendo of crowded words then descended into the barest hint of distant voices, joining the deep background noise of the ceaseless tide.

"The whisperers of Seawind Alley," Quessahn said at length and pointed to the ceiling. "A more recent haunt than the circle of skulls, but no less mysterious."

"What does it mean?" Jinn asked, turning the last few phrases over in his mind but finding no specific relevance in them.

"Usually nothing," she answered as a shuffling sound reached them from the far end of the tunnel. "But this time it means that we've arrived."

The faint scent of death rose, and a dry sliding noise, like bare feet on a sandy floor, turned them both toward a glimmer of tiny lights. They appeared in pairs, moving little but seeming fixed on the glow of Quessahn's dagger. Jinn eased forward, trying to make out details of the watchers, but the eladrin laid a hand on his arm and leaned close to his ear.

"Say nothing," she whispered. "Sheathe your sword and walk very slowly."

Jinn eyed her warily, hesitating. For all the sound he could hear in the tunnel, it was the lack of a sound, of breathing, that concerned him the most. Reluctantly he complied, sliding the stolen blade in its scabbard as he followed at Quessahn's side. The dim glow of her dagger reached the nearest pairs of eyes lining the side of the tunnel, illuminating slack-jawed faces eaten away with damp rot and the ravages of death. Old scars marked skin stretched taut over bones and compacted flesh. Strange tissue damage affected their arms and legs, indicating precise, clean slices as if cuts of flesh had been excised after their deaths.

Roughly a dozen of the standing corpses lined either side of the passage, their dull eyes registering nothing as he and Quessahn walked between them. A faint shaft of light revealed yet another surface exit, but the undead stood well away from the light.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Jinn asked quietly.

All at once the zombies twitched to life, shuffling toward him with blind, grim purpose. Sharp bones protruded from the thin, clawlike hands that reached for him as he drew his sword, cursing and pressing his back to that of the eladrin.

"I told you to be quiet!" she growled at him, her dagger brightening like a shard of starlight. "Briar!"

Her voice echoed but still the undead came, shuffling to within a sword's reach. Jinn raised his blade, ready to sever the hands that sought his throat, when the zombies suddenly stopped. Their heads shook, tilting as if confused, before they each turned away, returning to their places along the wall as if nothing had happened.

Quess? Is that you I hear?

A voice quite unlike the whisperers spoke in Jinn's mind, the words resonating deeply and thrumming with power. Something squished through the darkness to Jinn's left, and Quessahn strode toward it, her dagger dimming again as tiny, candlelike lights flared to life in a semicircle at the tunnel's end. Beyond them, in an archway of darkness, he caught a glimpse of yellow, membranous flesh glistening in the light, a form little more than a silhouette twisting beyond the orange glow of a dry chamber. Through the archway came a yellow, multifaceted eye, turning slowly on a pale ochre stalk like a tentacle. It regarded them for a breath before retreating, the twisting figure collapsing in on itself and becoming lost in the shadows.