by S D Simper
Red and silver blended into an unholy culmination, the trees catching fire around them. Lara stood as a small figure to the ancient god, yet suddenly silver flame overtook the red—
Soliel couldn’t even scream, hardly a shadow within the mass of silver. When it faded, he knelt, hardly moving, yet Flowridia saw him shine from within.
Lara suddenly appeared beside Flowridia in a blink of glitter and twisting power. Sallow and grey, she immediately fell into Flowridia’s outstretched arms. “I have to . . .” Her heavy breaths overtook her words. “Have to touch him. I can absorb his soul; this might all be over. Or I could . . . I could banish him.”
“How can I help?”
“Stay out of sight. He’ll kill you in an instant; he won’t be so lucky with me.”
When Lara tried to stand, Flowridia steadied her, sparing a glance for the god who righted himself. “Forgive me, but you look—”
“I’ll be fine. There’s something odd here. I simply have to grasp it.”
Flowridia had felt it too. “It’s the wards. There are layers and layers of my mother’s work the deeper we go into the swamp.”
“So you were telling the truth about that?”
The words shouldn’t have cut quite so deep, but Flowridia felt guilt well at the reminder. “I didn’t lie about my mother,” she admitted. But then a thought struck her. “Lara, her wards are powerful. Absorb them—”
“To fuel me. Oh, you are wise.”
From her bag, Flowridia withdrew the blue orb. The glow illuminated Lara’s grey aura. “And this.”
“So you do have an orb. I’d berate you for stealing, but you might’ve just saved our lives.”
Lara took the orb. An immediate glow filled her countenance—her body shone as the orb dimmed, the absorption of power enough to lift her, it seemed. She touched Flowridia—
Again came that sickening lurch in her stomach. Flowridia realized they had teleported once again, but not so far away—deeper into the swamp. “Lara—”
“The wards are as strong as you say; this is as far as I can take you. Stay hidden. Don’t engage him. I know you want to help, but I can’t be worrying about you.”
“Lara—”
“Flowridia, I have to—”
The world quieted when Flowridia touched Lara’s cheek. “Why? I meant to kill you.”
Lara’s lip trembled, her smile sincere and soft. “You didn’t. And so you must know why.”
In a gesture welling from a place beyond reason, beyond thought and order, Flowridia leaned forward and gently placed a tender kiss upon her lips.
And it felt beautiful.
Beyond came a glow of rapidly approaching light. Flowridia and Lara parted, the smile they shared more precious than gold.
Then, Lara ran. At the perimeter of the first ward, she reached her hand out and physically gripped it. Flowridia watched, her view perfect, and marveled at Lara’s control. She herself could pluck out a small string of magic and hold it with acute precision, but Lara gripped a heavy chain, bending it with her tremendous power and glowing as she absorbed the ancient protection.
From one hand blasted a small bit of flame. The approaching titan easily brushed aside. But Flowridia watched her other hand as it tore a line in space.
She blasted flame through the portal—it shot down as a vortex directly above Soliel’s head.
Flowridia could not even hear him scream, so great and magnificent was the display. She watched as Lara reached out again, gripping whatever warded bits of energy she could to fuel her magic.
It wasn’t until she dulled, both in color and in aura, that the flame relented. Flowridia saw a sizzling supplicant sway as he rose to his feet. The burns upon his body were not charred but colorful, like oil and metal, coating the raw, flayed skin of his face. His armor was not ruined, no, but strips fell to the ground.
Then, he glowed once more from divine light.
Lara glanced to Flowridia; she felt it from afar. Hair disheveled, clothing ruined, the small sorceress ran, silver flame at her feet, as she lured Soliel away.
Flashes of light continuously lit up the swamp, illuminating the dark night for miles. But more than sight, Flowridia felt unease as that sixth sense—her talent of plucking on the strings of magic—rang like a deafening bell in her ears. Her head swam at the concentration of energy. Lara and Soliel fought, and the very fabric of the world bent as they harnessed unfathomable amounts of energy.
Flowridia could only see the lights. Fear led to panic as she realized what she had suggested to Lara—harnessing the wards would lead them closer to Odessa’s house.
Unprotected, what of Ayla’s body? All might be lost.
Flowridia pulled the maldectine arrowhead from the bag. She frowned, intrigued by how it radiated. If non-sentient objects could have emotion, the crystal seemed enraged.
But she concentrated her energy and allowed the crystal’s aura to expand and surround her. Protected by that invisible barrier, Flowridia ran forward, careful to keep a close watch for Soliel and Lara.
Flashes of light and her own intuition told her the correct path. But no magic protected it. Where once there had been wards of fear and nausea, there was only an empty path.
Closer she ran, darting behind trees whenever she feared she had come too close. The crystal protected her, but she could visibly see the leaves of the trees vibrate, the water in the marshes sloshing as though some ancient being disturbed it from beneath.
She wondered what Ayla would have done, shadow dancing from tree to tree, fully hidden by the darkness. Flowridia, instead, darted back and forth, catching her breath and praying she wasn’t spotted.
As she neared, she realized she might be the farthest thing from their minds. She stopped at a low-hanging branch and climbed, pulling with all her strength to bring herself higher and higher into the tree.
Not a moment too soon. A blast of silver light decimated the area she had just stood. Flowridia cowered closer to the trunk of the tree, watching two silhouetted figures conduct a magical dance through the swampy grove. Red and silver fire blended with moonlight to backdrop the duet, their disjointed steps resulting in a beautiful calamity.
Flowridia watched as Soliel held his hand to the sky, only to bring it down in tandem with a lightning bolt. Lara already glowed to a dangerous, blinding degree. It bombarded her, and Flowridia feared she had witnessed the killing blow. First she absorbed it, then it swallowed past her, her body engulfed in the orb’s power.
When the light faded, Lara lay on the ground. Soliel approached; Lara barely breathed. Flowridia’s heart clenched as he turned his attention away, eyes darting through the trees. She sat far away, yet he stared directly at her.“You’re a clever girl,” he said, his deep voice carrying all through the swamp. “Using your crystal to hide the orb. I understand now.”
Flowridia slid down the tree, eyes darting back to Soliel every few moments as he walked toward Lara and the orb lying beside her.
She twitched. Flowridia’s heart soared when she saw Lara stumble into standing, orb in hand, the marshy ground rippling with every motion. Soliel faced her—both were flagging. Silence reigned.
The orb glowed. Lara vanished.
Soliel looked to Flowridia, the orbs at his back casting his sneer in shadow.
A figure appeared in the distance, brighter than a star.
Beneath him, the ground glowed. A perfect sphere steadily expanded. Across the winds came a voice: “Flowridia, run!”
She obeyed, though she saw a portal to hell.
She ran, yet some force dragged her back, all of gravity in flux as the light became the center of the world, pulling all into its clutch. Soliel yelled in pain as he slowly sunk into the void, his movements labored. Trees ripped from their roots; animals shrieked—the portal sucked the very air, leaving a void of nothing. It glowed, yet Lara shone brighter.
Flowridia lost her footing, slipping in the dirt as the portal dragged her back. Squeezing tight, she c
oncentrated on the maldectine, willing its aura to expand even wider—
She stopped, perfectly safe in her bubble.
She saw Soliel flailing, the orbs glowing wildly at his back. The sky rumbled; lightning struck the portal, upon Soliel directly, the very power of the sky absorbed into the void’s light. The portal glowed—the orb faded—Lara ignited—
The sky exploded in a flash of silver light. The entire world stripped raw as layers upon layers of magical energy twisted and snapped. Lara’s body shone like a newborn star, radiating light until it imploded, ricocheting back into her body and bursting out, engulfing the swamp and sky in blinding, silver light. Flowridia cowered behind her crystal shield, bracing herself as the explosion expanded to entrap her, too.
She watched the whole world disappear in silver. Behind her shield, she alone lay spared.
When the light faded, the world had become quiet. No portal or void, merely a black pit of glass where it had once swirled.
A sickening splash and crunch broke the taut string of silence. Lara lay face down in the water. Flowridia dashed forward, fear driving her. Her crystal’s aura faded.
But she stopped when a decrepit figure emerged from the pit of black glass.
Soliel’s armor had nigh incinerated, ruined and charred and hanging in sheets, but divine light shone from within, the lacerations and burns upon his skin steadily fading. When Flowridia tried to run past him, he grabbed her collar and shoved her to the ground.
On her hands and knees, she watched Soliel approach the fallen monarch. Flowridia stood as he lifted Lara by her hair, revealing gaping holes in her velvet, glittering dress. Her entire chest had blown open from within. Grated and gashed, holes had been torn from her center to the outside.
The faintest of moans escaped her throat. Her eyes fluttered open, visibly pained. By every god—she still lived.
Flowridia stepped slowly, unsure of this God and his wicked intentions.
He withdrew a knife.
Flowridia screamed as she ran forward—
Soliel stabbed the knife into the side of Lara’s throat, then tore it forward, nearly beheading her. Her gasping cut off. The light faded from her silver eyes.
Flowridia fell to her knees, losing her strength as Soliel dropped Lara’s body back into the murky water. Shock stilled her tongue; she could not even weep.
“You’d best hurry,” he said, yet she could not face him, “lest her blood be wasted.” She didn’t move when he stooped down and stole the orb from the murky ground, the cyan blue illuminating his face.
Flowridia’s hands shook as they covered her mouth; she could not tear her gaze away from the corpse.
“This is what you wanted. Face it. But soothe yourself by saying it was not your fault—that the blood of the moon is not on your hands.”
No matter how desperately she wanted to block out his hateful words, they were all that rang in her head.
Soliel lingered as he waited for an answer. Flowridia merely stared, shock stilling her tongue. “This is my aid to you, but I will not do the rest. Get up. Move forward.”
She heard his footsteps fade.
As though a ghost possessed her form, Flowridia shuffled into standing, watching her own body perform though her will stayed behind. She knelt before the disfigured corpse, the empty vessel of a woman too kind for the world. Soaking wet, she was a heavy weight, but Flowridia cradled Lara all the same.
She gently shut those beautiful eyes, dull in death. Her tears fell like rain.
Flowridia leaned down and placed a lingering kiss upon Lara’s forehead, pausing a breath away as her hold tightened. With Lara’s head against her breast, an old prayer fell from her lips, one she’d once heard Etolié hum.
Mother Staella, carry me
Into your arms where I may be
Safe and sleep upon your breast
and take my final rest
She knew not the rest of the words. They drifted off into the silent night, leaving Flowridia alone to weep.
* * *
Countless hours’ worth of screams. Etolié sang to distract from the weighted mood, her attention free to cast glowing illusions to entertain the children. Not one of them was older than eight, and she learned their names, told them tales of gods and dragons, illustrating them all with glowing, ethereal pictures.
The distractions were enough to tear her own attention away from the continuous screams. Even Ceile smiled in her arms, the endearing nugget having to be shushed to tamper her enthusiasm—Etolié could dampen sound, but she daren’t risk too much.
Hours passed. Etolié told the tale of the Bringer of War and her aid in destroying slave camps, reveling in their giggles as the illusionary slavers exploded into glitter, when cloven footsteps stole her voice. She shushed her wards, looking to Sora who grabbed the knife at her hilt. Lunestra stood up, her pristine clothes now marred with dust and dirt.
Etolié tried to set Ceile down, but the kid had a grip like a snake. Instead, she shielded the girl with her body, even as she stood between the fallen wall and the children.
The wall shook. Dust rose. A vicious claw burst through the stone and pulled debris from the cavern. Etolié met the Bringer of War’s glowing eye and nearly sobbed—but for relief or fear, she couldn’t yet say.
When a path had been carved, Etolié saw the monstrous woman glance beyond the cavern, then beckon with her clawed hand. The single word she uttered sounded pained and forced—Etolié had only ever heard the Bringer of War cry Demoni phrases.
The monster said, “Quickly.” Guttural and clumsy, but unmistakable.
Etolié gathered her quarry, the children who followed like ducklings to their mother, and watched as the Bringer of War changed, shrinking before their very eyes, her armor shifting in mechanical deviations to accommodate her smaller size.
Not a monster; merely Khastra, her blue skin and armor coated in ash and gore, her hair matted and caked in blood. “Come,” came her dearest demon’s voice, exhausted and faint. Despite their dire circumstances, the horror they had survived, Khastra’s voice settled Etolié’s agitated soul. “I will sneak you out. Be silent.”
No one said a word or questioned their savior. Etolié led behind Khastra, and Sora and Lunestra rounded the back, watching the row of children.
The path was clear, but the scent was enough to sicken Etolié’s stomach. Not a single corpse, she realized, but evidence of blood stained the walls and the staircase, emulsified meat too destroyed to be deemed useful by the imperator. She covered Ceile’s eyes, wishing she could do as much for the rest, and heard Lunestra whispering words of comfort.
Night had fallen. Khastra’s hammer waited at the entrance. Her glowing eyes studied the abandoned street, and Etolié’s soul lurched at the bloodbath spraying the road before them. It stained the walls and streets, bits of shattered bones shifting beneath her boots as she stepped onto the path.
An entire city—annihilated. Slaughtered. Thousands of screams suddenly silenced in a night.
Shock prevented her tears. When Khastra beckoned, she followed, grasping the hand of the child behind her as she did.
Even now, Etolié would hear a distant scream, only for it to be cut off. Another soldier for the army. When they passed an envoy of ghouls, they growled—only for Khastra to step forward and growl much louder.
The freshly dead stumbled back, their hungry gazes as pitiful as dogs denied meat. Khastra beckoned and they followed, though she kept her watchful eye on the undead, baring her teeth when they stumbled forward.
Through the backstreets, they crept. Khastra was hardly silent in her armor, but she scarcely made a dent in the night; the eerie quiet was punctuated too often by screams and howling cries.
“Once we reach the canals,” Khastra said softly, her gaze constantly shifting across the scene and Etolié’s companions, “there is a boat waiting, large enough for you and yours. You will escape down the river. There are no undead beyond the walls, and Imperator Casvir ha
s no plans to march forward yet. You have time to set sail to Staelash.”
Breathless, Etolié nodded, glancing back to the rest to see if they had heard. “Isn’t this treason?”
“He does not know you are here. Cannot be treason if the imperator did not command against it.”
Nothing humorous in the phrase; were Etolié not holding one child and grasping the hand of another, she would have stolen Khastra’s, desperate to comfort the half-demon. “Khastra—”
She cut herself off, too enthralled when the half-demon finally turned her glistening gaze to Etolié. “Do not worry for me, Etolié.”
There was so much more to say, for Khastra’s eyes shone in the full moon’s light and Etolié’s very soul rejoiced to be near her again. But the canals approached, and this was hardly the goodbye she craved.
Instead, as they approached the distant, single boat, Etolié whispered, “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, ya big lug.”
“I cannot say I am happy for the circumstances.”
“Agreed.” Etolié watched Sora run forward to where the boat was docked. The half-elf gathered the rope, pulling it to shore. Etolié released the little boy who walked beside her, letting him join Sora. “Guess you can’t help but see me, though. That wall was rock-solid.”
“Not solid and certainly not enough to shield your scent. The Bringer of War knows you well, Etolié.” There was no teasing or happiness in the words; merely truth.
“Khastra, tell me honestly—what do you want me to say to Solvira? I know you had no choice in this. If you’d resisted, the imperator would have broken your mind. If you hadn’t told him everything . . .”
Her voice trailed off at Khastra’s smile, soft and joyless, but it was one Etolié knew.
“You’ll be condemned, unless I tell them the truth.”
Khastra shook her head. “Should word reach the imperator that I helped Archbishop Lunestra escape, my life would be pain beyond what I have ever known. I beg of you—say nothing. And have them swear to say nothing as well.”
