Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Fourteen

The realm the Horseman had chosen was the antithesis of the Woodlands.  Where the previous realm had been vibrant and fertile, this one was harsh and barren with forests of endless stone.  The mountain ranges were squat and ugly, the sky the same dull grey as the granite surface below.  Cracks in the ground would randomly widen from the constant shifting of tectonic plates, creating new valleys and even new chasms with scarcely any warning.  Sometimes the tectonic shifts would slam the opposing cliff faces into each other, and with such abruptness that anyone standing between the cliffs would have no hope of escaping the canyon.

It was foolish to try and navigate the terrain, even with a local guide.  Visitors would often ignore the warnings of this world's indigenous race—a steel-skinned people whose sustenance came from the minerals they mined—and just as often would never be heard from again.  To survive here, to live here, one either had to learn the tectonic patterns from birth, or spend decades studying the patterns and the miners' navigation techniques.

War had done the latter eons ago, for this was where the Horseman had chosen to build his home.

Entirely granite, the stout exterior was large and ordinary with a few crystal windows and a single doorway made from a thinner slate of rock.  The inside was surprisingly spacious, lit by a white, luminescent crystal embedded in each wall, with three rooms.  The largest, to the right of the main, was an armory stocked with weapons and trophies that the Horseman had acquired over the eons; an extra level had been burrowed underneath to give each prize a space.  The main room was empty but for a stone slab that probably served as a bed.  And the third and smallest, opposite the structure's only door, was fitted with piping that, when the lever was adjusted properly, became a rudimentary shower.  (Even War occasionally needed to wash away the stains of battle.)

The structure stood on an open field a good distance away from most fissures and chasms.  This had strategic advantages.  Without local knowledge of the realm, the Rider's enemies would find themselves crushed or swallowed by the earth, especially those who couldn't materialize at the door.  Those who could teleport, or fly, would instead fall to Chaoseater.  And War certainly wasn't one to hide from his enemies; he much preferred open confrontation.

If Faith hadn't been asleep when they arrived, she would have thought it suited the Horseman very, very well.

When she awoke, however, she wasn't in his home.  She wasn't on the stone slab, though she knew that War had laid her there, nor was he standing guard anywhere within sight of her.  It took her a moment to realize that Fenrir wasn't with her, either.  Surprisingly, abnormally, she was completely alone.

Frowning, she sat up and stood, ignoring the protests of her ailing body.  Her mind was hazy and she stumbled into a wall.  She squinted, trying to make sense of her surroundings.  All she could tell was that it was dark.

There was something about that darkness that she couldn't quite place.  It billowed through the air like mist and seemed to possess some form of sentience.  It retreated from her hand when she reached for it and flew into her nostrils of its own accord when she inhaled.  It didn't choke her, nor did it bear any scent, but she could feel it enveloping her brain, literally clouding her already clouded mind.

Alarmed, Faith shook her head to try and clear some of the haze.  She was always at her most vulnerable when she was sick.  The illness made it hard to think and interfered with her knowledge.  It also meant that she would have a much harder time protecting that knowledge.  What happened to her wasn't important, so long as the secrets were safe.  She had to focus . . . had to think . . .