Until This World Ends

Ch11: Catacombs

"Well, I'll be cursed..." The old man shouldered past him to get a better look at Th'Thee. "Is this a demon?"

Regis responded numbly. "It's what we've called them in every life. The particular species is a Grifter or Rider, depending on how the front line felt about them after fighting them for the first time. Some years, they were very tricky to defeat. Others, we were more powerful, one-on-one. They would ride on the backs of other demons, anything from the size of a warhorse to an elephant. I did not see them on dragons, though."

The older man shook his head. "One demon where it shouldn't be isn't proof of thousands or of war."

Valentine turned to his former friend. "Aye, but it's enough to tell you something happened, back there in the brothel. There's no way I should know about this thing."

"You have that right," the old priest grumbled. "Why show this to me, then?"

"I need support to change our world." Regis thought this was a useless fight, but it was the weight of lifetimes that spoke out. "No one is going to trust a child..."

He paused, distracted by his own choice of words. He couldn't afford an emotional outburst, not right now. "None will trust in me when I have done nothing with my life. I need those who have enough experience to be believed to be taking a look at the past."

"Whatever I did to be cursed by you, son, I beg forgiveness." The priest said it dryly, not in sheer terror. Any ending Valentine had, he wouldn't wish that on another. But Gareth was not one who made it to the end that often, and he was always taken, not left behind to mourn in confusion. But still, another life where he had to face demons like Th'Thee? There was a comfort in ignorance, and the old man acknowledged that, at least in jest. He sighed before continuing. "Let's get this creature up to the old altar. Then you can answer a few questions for me before I follow whatever madness you've set out on."

Gareth, ever pragmatic, placed the torch in an old, rusted sconce. He directed Regis on how to unroll the stretcher and respectfully move the ancient lizard woman and her egg. Once settled, the old man set a leather strap across his upper shoulder and placed the base of the wooden torch in it. That device was new to Valentine. He had often placed the dead on their rack and dragged it behind himself while carrying the torch.

In this moment, Regis was relieved. They were too soft to carry the dead alone. The young man found himself grimacing about the level of practice he'd need to endure to be the knight he once was. Would he have enough time to catch up with the fighter he had been?

Still, it was Valentine, facing the dark, carrying the dead behind him, this time in a double grip. There was no rush in him—not to pass the foul dead, not to get back to the entrance. Certainly not to place the old gurney on the most ancient of altars, just outside the catacomb's door.

Gareth chose a seat nearby, sinking into it with an emotional weight that made him look older. "Why do you need me out of all the people who once lived? I'm a simple priest and much too old for a fight."

"In some lives, I was in my 7th century, battling death." Valentine leaned against the altar, half-resting his weight on it's cold surface. "But I'm not of any particular talent, that I could have led men."

"That's why you hate this life." The old man muttered before speaking up. "Then how did I lead?"

Regis resented that observation, but it was true. Perhaps that's why his father pushed him aside. He didn't think his son could rule. He certainly wouldn't, with the upbringing he was given. But as Valentine, he could see what a useless baboon his father was, so the disappointment was quite mutual.

"You had a talent that stayed with you in each life." Regis smiled at how stern and depressed his old friend looked.

"Well, spill it." Gareth's hand slashed through the air. That gesture was, too, an accumulation of lifetimes. Amazing to see it when the man still didn't believe him.

"You knew when they would breach this world. In some lives, you knew it down to the second. In others, it was a daily feeling. I need you to know your past so that way I know how much time we have." Regis rushed through this part. "If we have days, we're screwed. But if it's years, I can find those who have the talent to fight. We might make this the first time man wins against the demon invasion."

"You have a lot of hope?"

"No, I have a lot of rage because we've been doing this without using accumulated knowledge for perhaps several hundred-millions of years."

The old man bit his lip at the thought of that much time. "How can so many millennia pass like that?"

"She starts us over, before history was written, and we have to re-learn everything. Loyalty, family, and the unity of humanity. I'm sure some turns we slip into writing early on, but others? You know the history of written wars. We kill each other before we rise up and take on these brutes."

Gareth stood up, shaking his head. "Well, I'm curious enough to take the risk on what you're telling me, young prince. But you were passed out, and I've no intention of laying on the altar next to that thing."

Th'Thee. Valentine protested treating her irreverently, although Regis was by his nature wholly irreverent. Instead, he nodded at the high priest and followed him to a more restful chamber.

Younger priests and pages fluttered around his holiness as he barked out commands. Some were sent to scour the archives for the older tomes that no one could read, others to preserve the demoness at the edge of the catacombs. Still more were told to damn well get out of his way and leave them be. It was a chaotic swarm all the way to the high priest's chambers.

The old man tossed himself grumpily on a long, padded chair that was too lumpy for rest before barking at Regis. "Get it over with."

After some thought, Valentine leaned over his friend, ruffled his hair, and kissed his forehead. He often did before he buried the man he most respected at the end of the world. The power leeched out of him, fogging his own mind. Regis found himself slumping on the floor next to his elder. There they stayed for a time, one who looked dead and the other who looked to be in mourning.