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The Black-Feathered Monk

Chapter 6

By Draconicon

The dark prison beneath the temple stretched on further than the raven could have imagined, and in the darkness, it was impossible to miss the scurrying, skittering sounds of things moving around. Things, because they were not people. People could not live down here, not for long.

And that included him.

Satres looked at his hand as he traversed yet another tunnel, pulling at the chi deep inside of him. His arm glowed once more, but the light was fading. Not greatly, not dangerously, but it was less brilliant than it had been when he had first left the ladder, than when he had first entered this underground hellscape. If he was right, then this place was not meant for mortals, and it would eventually drain him until he died. Or worse.

He clenched his hand, extinguishing the light. The raven leaned back, resting his back against the stone behind him, then slowly leaning his head back. He closed his eyes, relying on his ears as he waited for his vision to adjust to the darkness once more.

How long? he wondered. How long have I been down here?

Time had never been a strong suit of the raven's. While he could count out the heartbeats of a patient with ease, while he could measure the time of day by seeing the sun, he did not have much of an internal clock. Keeping track of how much time had passed was not something that came naturally to him, and considering that he had a starkly limited time until he ran out of life, that was a problem.

If he could just tell how long he had been down here already and compare it to how much chi had been taken thus far, he might have a chance, but...well, that wasn't going to happen easily, was it?

He still had to find the scroll, and he still had to climb back out of the underground. Those two tasks were going to take more time than he might have left, but if he didn't do it this time, he might not have another chance. Time was not on his side, and the demons would eventually return to the Temple of Talon and Quill. They would come back, and if he hadn't found the scroll...

Satres slowly pressed one hand to his head, clicking his beak impatiently at himself.

Calm down. Calm. Down. You have time. You are still alive, so you still have time.

The panic started to fall away, but not fast enough. Something came out of the darkness, and he sensed it just before it lunged for him.

He went limp, letting his legs drop out from under him at the sudden attack, and something hit the stone where his neck had been. A split second slower, and he would have been killed. Satres opened his eyes, seeing something glinting in the tiny bit of hell-light that filled the dungeon, and then it disappeared into the darkness once more.

Disappeared, but didn't leave. He could feel it out there, waiting, watching. The raven slowly pulled himself to his feet, shaking his head.

"I am not here to punish you."

There was no immediate answer from the darkness, but the shifting feeling through his chi stopped. Whatever was hiding had stopped moving around, stopped trying to dig up some place to hide. It was listening, perhaps, or at least paying attention if it wasn't capable of actually listening.

Either way, it was something.

Satres kept his arms at his sides, refusing to take on a more defensive posture. He had already seen some things that he hadn't expected in the underground. A demon that had deliberately chosen not to be greedy. An ogre that had decided not to kill him on sight. Neither of them were impossible, but at the same time, they were so far removed from what he had seen on the surface that it felt that way. He honestly wondered if he was seeing reality or some hallucination brought on from being so far from the sunlight.

In either case, however, he needed to continue. The raven shook his head.

"I did not know this place was here. However, I have not come as the monks might have in the past. I am here for a scroll, something that may have been hidden here in the past. I am not here to steal it, either. I am here...to make a deal."

There was a hissing at the word 'deal,' and he knew that he had their attention now. He waited, his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to pull them up in defense. The minute that he showed any form of aggression, his ability to deal with those in the dark would be taken from him. They'd refuse to trust him, refuse to believe him.

He had to be something different. More than that, he had to be something valuable.

Finally, something slithered out of the dark. It loomed upwards at first, a great hood along a long neck telling him what it was. A cobra, one that had come from the depths of the underworld, one that had the shimmering patterns along the neck and hood that were meant to entice others, to pull them into the demon's gentle stare.

Great arms rose from the darkness with the demon's head and hood, muscles that were unbroken by the prison around it. A muscular torso faded into a long, slender body that showed off many jewel-like scales, each one glimmering in the hell-light, each one red, or black, or a faint yellow.

The snake came to him, slowly slithering around his legs, showing more and more of a tail in the process. The very tip was capped with something metallic, and he imagined that had been the thing that had hit the wall when he ducked. The great serpent had been ready to take him down rather than try and feed on him.

Satres did not allow fear to show, even as he felt some of his mobility stripped from him as his legs were wrapped up. The great snake rested its hands against his shoulders as it took position behind him, almost perching there. It hissed softly in his ear, but spoke with the eloquence of a learned man.

"Tell me, little monk. What makes you think that you will be allowed to leave this dark place?"

"I do not wish to fight my way out, but if I must, I must."

"There are hundreds of demons in here. Lords and peasants, soldiers and knights. There are many that would see a living being dead..."

"And yet, you were willing to talk."

"I am always willing to deal."

The cobra pressed down on his shoulders, his fingers digging in just enough to be too unpleasant to want to endure it for long. The snake chuckled, rubbing his hands outwards, then inwards, almost like a massage.

"It has been too long since I have felt pain like this, little monk..." the snake whispered. "What have you lost? What have you given up? What has been done to you to leave you so...delicious..."

"You ask for payment in advance, then."

"Hmm-hmm..."

The snake pulled his hands back, going back to slithering, instead, coiling, pulling, tightening around the bird. Satres lifted his arms at the last second, allowing them to rest on the rising coils rather than being trapped against his waist. It did not concern the snake, who continued to chortle as he went up the raven's body.

"You know some little bit of us, it seems..."

"I have learned."

"Then tell me, little monk...why shouldn't I create more pain, hmmm?"

"Because then the others will come."

"...My, my, we have someone who's done more than read his books."

It was the best that Satres had been able to guess. The ogre had been willing to kill the little demons, but hadn't tried to kill him. He had guessed that maybe it was weaker than the other ogres that he had seen, but that didn't fit with the demon's choice to keep itself under control.

Then the snake had tried to kill him, whereas any demon in the upper world would have tried to grab him, to torture him before finally consuming him. Now, however...

It was the only solution that fit. They wanted the pain, to feast on it, but to create more would draw in the other demons, other hungry beings that all wanted the same thing. They all wanted pain, and if they could get it without getting into a fight with another demon, someone that could fight back, then it was worth getting by giving favors. It meant that they got a genuine profit on the effort that they put out.

I am special...for now. If they feed on too much pain, however...

He didn't want to think about that. Not for right now, at least. Not until he got what he wanted and was able to get back out again.

Satres followed the coiling snake, making sure to keep his eyes on the serpent's snout. The eyes were too dangerous, but the snout was just about possible. He could track the head that way, ensure that he never was in a position to be bitten.

"I am willing to give you some of my pain...if you can give me knowledge of what I seek."

"This dungeon goes on for miles, little monk. There are many places that your scroll might be."

"Then perhaps I need not pay you for the information, if it's so difficult."

"Ah, ah, that's not what I said..."

The snake pulled his coils tight, tight to the point of discomfort, right up to the line of pain. The serpent smiled once more, perching himself on his own coils as he peered down at the raven.

"Tell me what you seek. Then, perhaps, I can tell you if it is worth my price to tell you where it is."

"You believe you'd know where it is?"

"I believe that there is a very good chance. I know much. Much more than most."

"It is no cost?"

"There is no cost to a question, merely to an answer."

"Ah, then your question must cost you something if I am to answer it."

"...A mind, and ears. Truly, you are a gifted mortal."

There was more frustration this time, more of an annoyance to the serpent's tone, and that encouraged him. It meant that he was listening, not merely hearing things. He smiled as much as a beak might smile, and nodded.

"You wish to make a deal...perhaps more than I do."

"I could leave you to die down here."

"And if you leave me, you leave your food."

"..."

"I will die quickly, when the time comes. I have my ways, and I have no difficulty in finishing the job myself. An anguish of failure will not be yours to feast on if my blood runs down my neck before it can be felt properly."

The cobra hissed over him, darting forward and flicking its tongue across his beak. The demon opened its mouth wider, wider...and then stopped, hissing in a different tone as it turned its great head, covering its face, holding its jaws together again. It mumbled through the grip, and the tail tightened ever so slightly, just enough to create a little more tension.

Despite himself, Satres could hardly believe that had worked. The demon had turned away from him, had decided not to kill him at that moment. That...that should not have happened without bindings like he had placed on Silra. It was impossible for a demon to control itself and its urges; that was what made it a demon.

And yet, this one had. That was three, now, three that had developed some sort of partial control over their hungers and desires.

Prince Chiang-Shol. What did you do to make this possible?

There was no answer, of course, but the question remained, and he wondered if there was a possibility of finding the answer down here.

But not today. Not when he was already close to dying. He could feel the energy of his chi rolling out of him in waves. It always stretched back, but there was always less than there was when it had been pulled out the last time. Bit by bit, he was losing himself, and he needed to make a deal, even if he was trying to knock down the prince.

Finally, the serpent let go of its mouth, turning to him once more.

"What is your price?"

"My price is a smaller one for my question."

"...I should guard my tongue more thoroughly, if the mortals have become so wise to the tricks of my kind. Agreed."

Agreed. A small feast for a piece of information. Satres merely hoped that it would be enough to get him to the scroll, and then out of the dungeon again. The cobra leaned in, still balancing on his tail.

"Tell me what you are searching for, mortal, and I will tell you where to find it."

A hole in the ground, deeper than the rest of the dungeon. Beneath a fallen arch, buried beneath the stone of a once-temple, lay the domain of the skitter-folk, the hoarders, the collectors...

The net-weavers.

More than in any other place in the dungeon, Satres felt that he had an understanding of what was around him. Brick-stone walls, half-crumbled and laying in pieces that were barely able to support their own weight, let alone the rubble that was above him, were all around him. They continued to dust the ground, and him, staining what little blackness he had left on his feathers into gray. Underfoot, his talons slid on dust, only to stick on the occasional bit of web that he ran into. Not once was he able to get a good grip on the ground, and more than once he had to allow himself to just fall. Gripping the wall, even leaning on it, could end up killing him by bringing the whole thing down.

The further down the raven went, the harder it was to breathe. Though he had been relieved of an ache in his heart by the payment to the cobra demon, there was nothing to help him breathe the stone dust in the air. He had to hold his robe over his mouth, coughing as he went, and hoping that the sound would serve as an announcement of him coming.

According to the cobra, this was where the scroll had been taken, pulled from the once-temple and into the dens of the net-weavers. He took a deep breath through his robe, hoping it was still there as he continued his descent.

The walls were closing in the further he went, pressing down until they were scant inches away from him, making him feel as if he was squirming through a tiny crack in the side of a mountain. One wrong move could bring the whole thing down on him, instantly killing him, and it was only his long training that kept him from making a fearful mistake.

Yet, the fear was still there, and it drew the attention of the net-weavers.

Skitter-skitter.

He paused as he felt the itching touch of something almost too light to really feel across the scales of his outstretched hand. It passed again, a tickle, almost like the cobwebs of the older libraries, except with something else. A hint of something...hard. Sharp.

Satres flicked his hand over, and his chi glowed over the palm of his hand. And in front of him, staring him right in the eye, were eight glinting eyes.

The light spread further over the beast, where brown fibers that passed as fur sprouted around the eyes, over a dome of a head that had two long fangs poking out of the bottom, as well as wiggling little helper 'limbs' that gathered dust and more towards the mouth. The fangs, he realized, had just brushed the back of his hand, and he could have easily impaled his hand on the fangs as he flipped his hand over.

The net-weaver, the demonic spider, was perhaps the size of a small pony, big enough to reach a little past his knees if it was on the ground, with legs that were longer than his own. Two of the forelegs raised up around the torso as the spider skittered backwards, holding them up almost defensively, all while showing off those fangs, those dripping, deadly fangs.

Confirming that he hadn't been bitten, the raven lowered his hand, then bowed his head.

"I apologize for the light," he said. "I could not find someone to ask permission to enter above, but I had need to seek entry anyway. Please, forgive the intrusion."

The spider hissed softly at him, and Satres chose to take that as a warning not to come any closer. He remained where he was, as still as possible, trying to ignore the sound of further skittering down the passage. Was that just his imagination, he wondered, or had he really felt something dragging across the back of his neck, or along his forearm, or down by his ankle? There was every possibility that the spiders were all there, all around him.

Slowly, he lowered his hand. The chi continued to glow, but faintly, and he tried to pretend that it was merely his consideration for the spiders rather than further weakening of his energy. The raven could feel his fear climbing, and he knew that the spiders likely felt it, as well.

"I come to...to bargain," he managed to say.

The skittering stopped.

"I know you keep many things, old things, new things, live things, dead things. I come for a scroll, if you will let me have it."

"..."

None of them spoke, but he heard movement, movement below. A few moments passed, and a web was raised. Old letters, fancy letters, letters that nobody would write with anymore adorned the web, but they were still legible.

What do you want? What do you like?

Satres smiled. It seemed that there was always a way to bargain, at least with demons that had learned this hint of control.

"I am searching for a scroll. Simple looking. Bound in wood, with a talon-mark at the binding lock."

Another hint of skitter and movement, and another web was raised.

We know it. What do you offer?

"What will it take?"

...We choose?

"You are scavengers, are you not? You take what falls, what others don't want. What about this time? What would you say you deserve for it?"

The question seemed to throw the spiders into a sort of shock. The one that hovered just before him lowered its defensive limbs, and its fangs no longer gnashed against one another in perpetual gnawing. Instead, it lowered itself to its brethren at the floor, and Satres could feel them creeping by him in their disheartening may or may not be there way.

They spoke, or so it seemed, as they moved their forelimbs and shifted their eyes, blinking and then holding some open and some closed in patterns that meant something to them and nothing to him. They spoke in motion and in sound that was almost too high to hear, and some that was.

Time passed, time that he could scarcely afford to spend. He was beginning to wobble, his body hardly keeping its balance in the rubble, when another web was lifted. Using his chi, he illuminated it.

An egg above.

Satres blinked.

"Do you mean an egg from above, or..."

One of ours, a web said, before being tossed away. Take it with you.

"...I don't know if I can. The door said that one cannot pass without learning control."

The egg cannot hatch without the hatchling choosing to emerge. It has learned to control itself, so it does not starve the rest. To refuse birth to save other lives; is that not control?

"...It might be. I cannot promise that it will pass the door, but I can promise to take it to the top of the ladder."

That will suffice.

It was a trade of favors rather than a trade of pain. It was...fascinating, in a way. Perhaps this prison truly could change the demons.

As some of the spiders left, hopefully to fetch the scroll, he looked at the rest. They ranged from one the size of a historical tome to one that was nearly up to his waist, from as healthy as one could imagine to wizened to nearly nothing. All their eyes were fixed on him, staring in hunger, in utter starvation in many cases...

And he realized, of all the demons that he had seen, they were holding back the most. Their bites could paralyze him, harm him, keep him close to the edge of death longer even than the cobra. They could wrap him up in bondage, keep him in their webs, feast on his pain for as long as they wished before he died.

Yet, they chose not to. They put enough value on this that they could restrain themselves.

"How long have you been here?" Satres asked.

The webs came in bundles and bunches, each one slower than the unified writings, and he realized that they were telling him individually.

_300 years.

500 years.

340 years.

1,000 years.

800 years._

More and more came to his attention, and his eyes repeatedly tried to bug out of their sockets. To know that they had lived down here for so long, that they had learned this method of self-control...and to know that it had taken them hundreds of years to get this far...

How long has the one on the ladder been there? How long has this dungeon been here...

Satres stumbled, and he fell forward. The spiders cleared out of the way, some of them slapping at him with their front pairs of legs, but he could only shake his head in apology. The world spun, and not from mere shock.

I'm dying, aren't I?

The monk forced his eyes closed, taking several deep breaths. His arms were shaking, and his heart was faster than it should have been. It was running hard, and he was not breathing so evenly as he liked.

Yes...I'm definitely...dying...

It was time to get out of here. Fast.

The spiders returned with the scroll and egg - the latter of which was no bigger than the palm of his hand - and he took them both. He gave the spiders naught but a nod of thanks, and hoped that it would suffice. He had no time for more.

Satres ran, retracing his steps of chi. They were faded, but they glowed just enough for him to trace, running through the darkened hallways of the spinning dungeon. Spinning only in his mind, perhaps, but spinning nonetheless. He stumbled repeatedly, almost falling to his knees, but he would catch himself by his shoulder on the wall, or he would kick the ground and throw himself forward into another run, and he would keep going.

Eventually, he reached the ladder, and he started to climb. His talons slipped repeatedly, and more than once, he fell, dropping several rungs before he could catch himself.

"Nnngh..."

The raven groaned, looking up. There was a light at the end of the ladder, but it was bleary, almost non-existent. He could not see it clearly, only knew it was there, and he wondered if he was merely seeing his memory of it rather than the light itself.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to pull himself up another rung, and then another. He might have needed to force his talons to grip each individual rung as he went up, then gradually unclench to keep from falling, but he kept moving. The light of his chi had long since gone out, and it was only the ladder again. He shook his head and kept climbing.

Eventually, he reached the demon that let him in. He paused when he felt the tingling sensation from before, and shook his head.

"I don't...I don't know if I have more to give."

"Then you may die here."

"You'd kill me?"

"I am a demon...I...need...pain."

"I have so little left. Will it be enough?"

"Let me taste."

And then the pressure came again, the invading, pulsing, needling, pulling pressure that felt like it was compacting his skin against his bones while trying to draw his insides out through his feathers at the same time. He hung from the rungs desperately, losing his grip with one hand and almost becoming a bat before he strengthened the grip of the other one. He panted for breath, shaking his head.

He was drained. He was drained of almost everything, to the point where he wasn't sure if he even cared about getting to the surface anymore. He had his reasons, yes...intellectual reasons...

But the fear, the anger? The hurt? It was gone. All of it. Gone.

"It isn't the price for entry," the voice said. "It is less than that."

"Will I die here, then?"

"...You should."

"Mmph. Why?"

"They are...the rules. My rules. How I...keep control. How any of us keep control. Rules that keep us alive. Our own rules..."

"Rules don't mean control. Rules...are not controlling yourself. Rules..." Satres panted softly. "Rules are there...for the people that can't think. For those that won't choose to do better. They...do not give control. They give...safety..."

He was going to die. He had nothing left. The raven looked up one more time, saw the light of the doorway, and then felt it fade. His fingers slipped, and then his talons...

And he fell...

Up...

Thump!

Satres groaned as he landed on a stone floor, and as he opened his eyes, he was almost blinded. The weak light of a torch was like the sun after being down there, and the way that it bounced off of Silra's feathers was like looking into a mirror. He rolled his head to the side as she dragged him to his feet.

"What...in the hell...happened to you?" she muttered.

"I almost died."

"Yes, I felt that! You - wait..."

She leaned in, pressing her hands to his face.

"What...you were filled with pain when you went down there. Where is it?"

The raven shook his head, nodding over his shoulder. She looked down, and then back at him.

"You let them have it?"

He nodded, and she shoved him right off his feet.

"DAMMIT! That should have been mine! I helped cultivate most of that!"

"Well...sorry...but I managed..."

He pulled the scroll from his robe, smiling slightly as he saw it in light. It was marked with the same symbol as the last one, and he sighed as he tucked it away again.

"I got it. I got it."

And now, it was time to sleep. Hard. The raven dropped down again, and in moments, was off to dreamland.

The End