Trias The Betrayer

We entered the administration building, climbing ever higher once inside. We ran into Sohmien, horse-like creatures, looters, and scattered fiends, but nothing that hampered us too much.

On a balcony on the top floor of the building we found Trias, looking out over the city he had doomed. Not even bothering to turn around, his voice drifted back to me.

“What do you hope to accomplish here?” Trias raised his arm, gesturing over the city. “Much good you have done in such a short time, mortal. It shall not be enough to keep these traitors from realizing the depths of their folly.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“You were in need of direction. The price of your need was betrayal. How is that you believe that you have earned the right to any truths in this life or the next? Such arrogance. Indeed, it was your duty as a lesser being to free me. I owe you nothing, and it is what I have given. I gave you more than you deserved. You freed me to help yourself.”

“Then why have you dragged Curst into the Outlands?”

“A city of betrayers have been betrayed and received what they have deserved. There is no ‘why'. It seals my compact with the Lower Planes. The greater good is served.”

“The greater good? What greater good is that?”

“The blood spilled by an army of fiends will be redeemed by the righteous wrath of the Hosts of Heaven. Those who fall do so in the name of a greater good. This town falls in the name of the greater good — the expunging of evil. A small sacrifice, considering those who are to be sacrificed.”

“No good comes of evil roots, I fear.”

“I will not be judged by you, mortal, not when you have lived the lives you have. Let me tell you of betrayal: Betrayal is cowardice, selling weapons to your adversaries out of fear that they might stop killing each other and turn upon you. Betrayal is refusing to lead by example. Betrayal is letting the fiends run rampant through the Planes until evil has corrupted all hearts. Ask not therefore why I scale Mount Celestia and seek to set fire to its slopes with war.”

“You would taint the essence of good with evil incarnate. That sounds like betrayal.”

“There are many definitions of betrayal. One must live long enough to experience them all. Even your life, were it not fraught with forgetfulness, does not have the range of centuries necessary to appreciate them. Such a betrayal is no betrayal at all.”

“What really happened to your wings, Trias?”

“Baator’s fires burn hot indeed, but they are candles compared to a father’s anger.” He fluttered the burnt shreds of his wings. “There is no pain like being cast from Mount Celestia.”

“So you’re fallen, then? Why should I believe any of your words?”

“Speak not to me of treacheries and falling, mortal. I am willing to sacrifice even myself that Good might triumph.”

“That’s noble, Trias, but what gives you the right?”

“I am here. I see the evil. I am willing to act on it. My will gives me the right.”

“One’s will does not give one the right, Trias. Stand down, and we will not come to blows.”

“Is your foolishness so great that you wish to test your pseudo-immortality against a true immortal? Step aside, human, or we shall test this claim of yours.”

“Bring it on, Trias.”

“It has been a long time since I have wielded my blade against another. We shall duel, you and I.”

It was a difficult combat. Not because Trias was so powerful; in fact, he was weak, the work we had done bringing the citizens of Curst together proving effective. But I needed to be sure I did not destroy him, since there was knowledge he had I could get from no other source. Finally, Trias conceded he was beaten.

“I yield to you this hour, mortal. My imprisonment has weakened me… in my state, I am no match for you.”

“I still require knowledge from you, Trias. Tell me how to reach the Fortress of Regrets.” Trias coughed bloody spittle before answering.

“Before I tell you, I must exact a promise from you. You must vow to spare my life.” I didn’t like the thought of leaving Trias free to betray others, but I needed what he knew. I also thought there was still a chance he could redeem himself. Besides, Ravel was already dead. I could not afford to lose any more sources of information in case I forgot again.

“I vow to spare your life if you give me the knowledge I seek.”

“The portal to the place you seek lies within the torus above the spire, in the city of Sigil, the City of Doors. In that city, there is a place where the dead of your kind are taken…”

“You mean the Mortuary?”

“It is where you awoke of late, is it not? The planes seem filled with such ironies of late. So close you were, then…”

“What is the key?”

“The Fortress of Regrets is mortared with tears, and like calls to like. To enter the Fortress, you must contribute something to it. When you pass near the portal, should you carry regret in your mind, you will feel the presence of the portal, like the cold embrace of death.”

“While this chill bathes you, you must tear off a scrap of your own skin, and write a regret upon it with blood from your left index finger. The portal will open, and you can discover the truth behind the Fortress of Regrets — and perhaps meet its keeper.”

“How do you know this?”

“Many alliances have I sought across the Planes. My search brought me to the Fortress, where I spoke to its lord and keeper of its shadowed halls. No doubt you should wish to return to Sigil now. The blood you have on your hands shall act as the key to this portal; simply step through the door by which you entered, and you shall return.”

“What can you tell me of the Fortress?”

“Its halls are dark and seem empty — but like you, it draws tormented souls to it like a lodestone. Like you, it is empty and yet full of time’s cast-offs. Like you, it is a monument to torment. Shall I tell you of these souls, wanderer?” At my nod, he continued, his bloody smile widening.

“They are the souls of those who died in your place. They have become shadows that you may live. They are your shadows, the shades you cast upon existence, and they will find you, wanderer, and they will make you suffer for their torments. You will receive your due at their hands, you and those who are foolish enough to accompany you.” I had already learned this trifle of information from the Pillar of Skulls, as had my companions if he sought to drive a wedge between us.

“I'm sure. What can you tell me of this keeper?”

“Powerful is that one. You shall not best him, and you shall not be able to wrest your mortality from his cold grip. It is lost to you. You have embarked on an errand undertaken only by fools.”

“Foolish I may be, but I will know more about this keeper.”

“A man’s mortality is a compass that points his way in life. If it may be grasped like an object, much can be learned about the nature of the man it was torn from. Your adversary knows more about you than you will ever know. He has watched you and studied you across many of your half-lives. I know his heart. He will not return that which you seek.”

“What will you do when I have left you, Trias?”

“I shall once again attempt to levy a host against the gates of Paradise. They will not have me back, and there is no other purpose to my existence.”

“Trias, have you forgotten the face of your father?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Upper Planes are the home of justice, beauty, and goodness. They are also home to forgiveness. Go home. Admit your error and beg forgiveness.”

He opened his mouth for an angry retort… and paused, reflecting. He bowed his head. “You speak convincing words, mortal, and their wisdom pierces me. I shall seek the forgiveness of my fathers, and accept any retribution they choose. If we meet again, it is my hope that I will be redeemed.”

Trias meant what he said now. Whether he would follow through, or convince himself to betray his word as he had betrayed so many others I did not know. I had a pressing engagement; we returned through the portal to Sigil.

Sigil

We were back in Sigil. There were still tasks I needed to complete before I attempted to reach the Fortress of Regrets.

In particular, I remembered that Ravel had ‘branchings’ here in Sigil, that I had already met. It was possible that she was not actually dead. I hurried to old Mebbeth, in Ragpicker’s Square, who I knew to be a piece of Ravel.

As I entered, Mebbeth looked up, her face ashen… she looked ill. As I watched, creases spread across the folds of her face like cracks, and her gray eyes flickered, as if having trouble focusing on me.

“Mebbeth, are you all right?”

“Aye…” She smiled weakly, and her voice was scratchy, as if trying to force its way past layers of dust. When she spoke, it was like an echo. “I have… a little longer…”

“Mebbeth… did you know you were Ravel?”

She took a deep breath… her words came slowly, her voice rattling in her throat. “Mayhap… Mebbeth has forgotten herself many times over… I have dreamed that I was someone else…” Each word was heavier than the last, as if centuries of weight were pressing down on them. Her body seemed to shift slightly, as if wanting to relax, let go.

“How could you not know who you are?”

“How is it ye do not know yerself?” Mebbeth licked her lips. “Many things… even bits of the self… they fall through memory’s cracks, shadows of things forgotten, these memory thing-pieces, maybe bad… maybe good.”

“But why Mebbeth? Why the disguise when you could have been Ravel again?”

“Here, in this place, all I did was the mendin’ of things and bodies, settin’ bones, deliverin’ babes… in all these things, I was content.” She sighed. “As for being that other, that Ravel…” She licked her lips again. “I think… ye take for granted what a comfort it would be, oft times, to misplace a memory or two.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would be here, Mebbeth, after what happened…”

Mebbeth nodded — every movement was pained. “Aye, my precious one…” She winced as she took a breath. “Seeing ye here… it is like an echo. Little time remains… the threads, these Ravels… they are unraveling as we speak.”

“Are you in pain?”

She nodded. “Yes… yet it is the irony which hurts the most…” She gave a sickly smile. “An act of kindness, thrice repaid… it is the way of the Planes that my few acts of kindness should be the death of me.” She laughed softly. “Yet I have no regrets…”

“I have questions, Mebbeth. Can you t—”

She held up her hand to silence me. “Precious man… I would have ye hear me, this last time…”

“Very well…”

“Precious man…” She sighed. “All’s I wished to do was set the Lady free of her Cage… for ye, all’s I wished for ye was to live… and for me daughter, I…” She sighed. “There is a saying on the Planes… that a hag’s kindness is crueler… than her hate, and poisons all it touches…” I thought to myself, that we had seen the truth of that. But that was only a momentary thought, and unworthy of the Ravel I had come to know. I shared my true thoughts with the sliver of Ravel before me.

“I'm sorry things turned out as it did. If I could have saved you, I —”

“I am dying now…” She blinked her rheumy eyes. “My end… it’s traveling from all of time’s directions, all of Ravel’s threads are unraveling…” She coughed. “Yet…” Her gray eyes locked upon me. “Mayhap not all is lost… one of my black-barbed seeds from the maze… did ye bring one with ye?”

“Yes. Here.”

“Ah…” She took the seed gingerly, and she slipped it into her graying locks. “So the Unity-of-Rings is served…” With a flickering glance, she raised her hand and beckoned me to come closer. I stepped close to her, kneeled down.

She whispered something softly under her breath, then clasped my head in her hands and placed a paper-thin kiss upon my forehead. I closed my eyes as her lips touched my skin…

“May the Planes receive you kindly, Mebbeth.” I murmured.

When I opened my eyes, Mebbeth was gone. The tears I did not know I had when I stood over Ravel’s body flowed freely now, running down my cheeks.

I still had one more errand. I returned to the Clerk’s Ward, to get permission for Iannis the advocate to experience the sensory stone his daughter Deionarra left at the Festhall. When I saw Iannis, to tell him he had permission, we had little to say to one another. I left as quickly as possible.

As I was leaving the advocate’s home, someone I saw standing across the street brought a thought to mind. There wasn’t a lot I could do for Morte, but there was something…

I walked over to the beautiful, seductively attired prostitute, a far cry from those I saw in the Hive. She smelled of expensive perfumes, and the lines of her face were subtly accentuated with lightly painted lines of soft, warm colors. She smiled as I approached her and curtseyed gracefully. “Greetings, good sir. Seeking to quench a lust Mistress Grace’s Brothel cannot satisfy, I hope?”

“I'm not, but I think Morte here might be…”

The young woman examined Morte critically for a time, then nodded.

“Yes… yes, I think I could do that. Well, I could certainly come up with… something. All for the same fee, of course — a petty five hundred commons.”

“Of course. Here you are…”

“All right! Thanks, chief!” Morte turned to follow the woman away.

I led the rest of the group to get rooms at a local inn. Somewhat later, Morte came bobbing dizzily into my room. He was coated with a glossy sheen — as if he had been waxed and buffed — and had a red smudge on his crown in the shape of a pair of lips. Morte seemed only dimly aware of my presence, and alternated between giggling to himself and sighing pleasantly.

The next day, it was time that I faced my enemy, for what I hoped would bring an end, one way or another, to my immortality.