“These are not dire wolves!” protested Liani who nearly stood up.
“And who exactly are you? I do not remember your inclusion into our family, girl,” said their mother harshly.
“Mother, Liani has every right to speak and be included. She has earned that,” said Rony as he looked tenderly toward her drawing a returned smile from the small woman, “and so much more.”
“Well, my little boy, it seems someone other than this abomination of evil has captured your affections more than I. You say she is to be included in our family? Then answer me this, little boy: what has she earned? Or is her inclusion into your affections merely a condition of having your senses dulled by the close bond with this beast?” she said in a very mocking tone.
Before Rony could respond, it was Liani who stood up and addressed her, “What have I earned you ask? I have stood with them when you did not. I was there when your son started undergoing a change you cannot possibly understand. I watched as it took from him in excess of what it gave, and while he did save my life, I saw the horrible price he paid as a result. You cannot possibly understand the pain he feels every day. He might not have been born into it, but he has been chosen for a purpose of deep necessity. And I have chosen to follow him until the end, no matter what end that might be. So you tell me what I have earned. And if your son and daughter find me lacking, then I will leave. But I will not succumb to the judgement of a hate-filled mother who cannot bear the reality that it is time for her to let her children go!” When she finished, she turned and walked briskly out of the door that had been a threshold of joy only a few short moments ago. Ronialdin hesitated only long enough to give his mother a very discouraging look, after which, he too walked out of the door. Both Xunmerco and the small gray followed, but not before issuing a warning contained growl.
“Mother!” exclaimed Zyndalia after both her bother and Liani has vacated the house. “What was that all about?” Inglorca lazily flicked her tail.
“It is called a mother’s love, Zyndalia,” she said as she stood up.
“I do not think it wise to follow them outside. Better leave them alone for a while, I think. Liani seemed pretty hurt, mother,” said Zyn.
“Oh, so now you presume to give me instructions on parenting? Is that it now? This bond with that awful creature has infected even my own daughter’s mind and turned it against me?” she said as she walked to the door.
“Mother!” said Zyndalia, but her mother did not acknowledge her daughter’s implied request. Instead, the elder woman pushed the door open defiantly and crossed what had now become a much different threshold altogether leaving her daughter and Inglorca to wonder what had just happened.
Zyndalia never remembered her mother this temperamental. In fact, she had always been the presence of calm security upon which Zyndalia could lean upon. During her herbal and healing lessons, regardless of the amount of times Zyndalia needed to perfect a debridement technique or a specific mixing technique for a particularly sensitive tonic, her mother had always maintained her silent patience speaking only words of affirmation. So, to see her mother so far out of the persona Zyndalia remembered gave her reason to pause before she ventured outside with the three of them. She instinctively stroked Inglorca’s neck and sensed she wolf remained on guard.
“What is it, Glory?” she called her by her nickname. “What has you on edge?”
But the only thing the wolf returned was a diffuse and unsolidified warning accompanied by an audible grunt of disapproval.
“What? You do not like my mother? Are you jealous that she may interfere with you and I? Rest your concerns. There is nothing that can come between us,” she said as she increased her petting by using both hands more firmly. Inglorca responded by standing up and sticking her impressively large snout up to Zyndalia’s planting a large lick across the whole of her face.
“Stop that!” said Zyndalia playfully and affectionately. “You know I do not like that!” Again, Inglorca licked the whole of her face. “Ok, I know. Let us go outside and see how they are doing.”
Both of their heads were snapped toward the door by a terrifically loud, male scream before they could stand. Not a second later, Rony came crashing through it as if he had been thrown. He landed against the opposite wall and fell unconscious to the floor. Inglorca bounded outside faster than the deadliest of snakes. Zyndalia rushed over to her brother to find that he was breathing strongly, but unresponsive to her attempts to wake him. She heard another scream, clearly Liani. But it was not the same type of scream as Rony’s. His was filled with pain whereas the scream she just heard was filled with rage and promised vengeance. She took one last look to her bother making sure he was ok, and then dashed out of the door to join the others.
As soon as she crossed yet a different threshold, one that had changed so many times in the last few hours, she was stricken by the what she saw. Holding Xunmerco by the throat no less than five feet of the ground, was a hideous beast. She scanned the scene for Liani and her mother but did not see either of them. She did see Inglorca and the small gray crouched low, teeth bared and growls threatening. She looked back to the beast. And then horror struck her more deeply than it had ever struck her before. She saw that the beast holding her brother’s wolf was the twisted and grossly demonic body of her mother. She saw the demon toss aside the large wolf as easily as time tosses away a second. The wolf crashed against the side of the house, limp and unmoving.
Inglorca lunged, but something must have distracted her because her normally razor-sharp timing was ill executed and she missed. Instead of biting deeply into the demon, she bit only the misty residue from one of the demon’s appendages as it skillfully evaded her attack. She landed and turned right around, lightning fast. But she was too slow. The demon had already begun its counter attack and plunged a second large appendage into her side. She went reeling and was stunned. The small gray was more cautious than the other two wolves. She hunched lower still, and when the air grew electric with their confrontation, she darted to the left aiming for one of the demon’s multiple supporting appendages. But just like Inglorca, she missed.
The demon lashed out with an appendage, thinking to strike the small gray with a similar counter attack, the way it had just done with Inglorca. But the small grey was quick. She dodged the demon’s attack drawing a piercing shriek from the beast. She lunged right again, but just when the demon expected her to finish her attack, she changed her direction slightly. She caught the demon unbalanced. Teeth met hell substance and the demon writhed in pain. But as hard as she held, she could not maintain her crushing grip. The demon’s strength was too great and she was flung away.
Landing deftly on her feet, the small gray was determined and relentless with her attack. She instantly flung herself at the demon’s throat believing she had wounded it enough to go in for the kill. Perhaps it was her youth and inexperience that caused her bravado to out measure her caution. Or perhaps it was her over confidence in her speed that provoked her ill-timed pressure. Regardless of the reason, however, she was unsuccessful. Her attack was easily parried and she was struck with not one, but two massive blows from the demon’s whip like appendages. She landed twenty feet away from the demon, and like her packmates, she was unmoving. The demon howled in triumph. As it turned, it found Zyndalia still standing near the house. She had both of her blades drawn and was holding them tightly.
“Come demon!” she yelled, “Come, you hell beast!”
It did not hesitate against the invitation for more blood. Three of its deadly whips streaked toward Zyndalia, two of which she was able to evade. But the third connected with its mark and pierced her shoulder. She screamed in pain as the demon lifted her off the ground. But before it could unleash more damage, something severed the appendage holding Zyndalia. She dropped to her knees instinctively grasping her wound. Before she knew it, Liani was by her side and whispering into her ear.
“Are you ok?” she calmly asked.
“Yes,” said
Zyndalia gasping for air. “I will be alright.”
“This ends now,” said Liani as she stood up.
“No! It is too strong,” winced Zyndalia again.
The small woman looked down to Zyndalia who looked up to her. When their eyes met, Zyndalia did not see the woman whom she had seen before. Instead she saw a force of light. The ‘white rage’ had taken her much the same way it had taken Ronialdin. But there was a difference between Liani’s and Rony’s separate manifestations. While Rony appeared feral and drew his strength from a primal wildness, Liani was contained and controlled, but at the same time projected the same lethality she had witnessed in her brother. Liani turned her focus to the demon and drew her second blade.
The shape of the demon was more abstract, if a shape was even appropriate as a reference for the mutated mass of appendages. There was a centralized body that served as a foundation for the rest of the demon, but there were no definable traits of mortality beyond that. Its skin was a fluid swirl of tangled knots and emitted a horrible odor that stank of rotten flesh and eggs; which in this case, was probably appropriate because its skin was colored the deep purples and yellows of a bruise late in its healing. The other demons they had battled had at least some resemblance to humanity, but this one was so beyond anything they had encountered; they could not begin to understand how to battle it.
Warriors, people of all the races including those not confined to bipedal locomotion, were built upon the commonalities of all life. Muscles connected to bones which were held together by ligaments and tendons all directed by a center of communication located within the head. Life was directed to move by the same exact systems regardless of the forms that life resembled. But that was the thing, life was similar; however, the beast in front of Liani, this demon of hell, was not a replication of life and creation. It was a representation of death, and all such patterns of locomotion related to life and Liani’s experiences were obsolete rendering its patterns of combat unknown and, therefore, unpredictable. Yet, predictability did not concern the small woman in this moment. In fact, there was nothing concerning her. Nothing, that is, except vanquishing the foul representation of evil that had just rendered her companions unconscious.
Pause.
As she squared her shoulders, the mass of hell-flesh seemed to settle for a moment. The wind lost its electricity, and the ground lost its feel. Indeed, time itself seemed drawn out the way a single and final lingering note from a masterfully played concerto suspends the ears and souls of its listeners on its eventual and sadness inducing end. Neither moved, for in this confrontation, death was eminent; and neither wanted to die. However, each was propelled to action by a greater compulsion than the preservation of their individual lives; the elimination of the others. Because there was no victory until the other was ended. So, when the fighting did commence, it was furious.
The white rage infused Liani was a nightmare to witness. She struck without inhibitions. Violently attacking the shapeless demon with all her speed now unhindered by mortality. Spinning, darting, slashing, striking, dodging; she was indeed a superior harkening of a greater existence. But, as lethal as she was, and horrible as she was, the demon matched her fluidly. Perhaps because of its unique and limitless shape, it was able to utilize its various appendages to nullify her initial onslaught. But more, it was able to connect and draw first blood. The shallow cut that opened under her right eye dripped of red, loose blood. But while it wounded her body, it did nothing to wound her soul. Rather, it fueled her rage. She steeled herself, and then she, moved.
The dwarven lands are largely barren of crops so much so that they need to trade with the neighboring lands to procure enough food to last the winter. Much of what the dwarves eat is from livestock instead of the garden or grain fields. It has always been this way and always will be this way. They have also taken to building their cities and outlying houses under the ground. Their lifestyle did arise from choice, but not from preference. There is not a dwarf in all of Avendia who would not rather live in the sun instead of their mountainside cities. But to do so would expose them to the several great migrations of locust that have plagued their lands since the dawn of memory. The insects are so consuming they eat everything in their path. It is said that not even the greatest of armies would be able to withstand their deadly, hunger driven onslaught. Such was the all-consuming nature of Liani’s, white rage driven attack. And yet, the demon held. It held and opened up another small wound on the upper part of her right arm. More blood began to leak. And the rage grew again. A third time she whirled with her blades, now undistinguishable as separate entities from her body. Yet, as powerful as she became, the demon held again. It was not until Liani was joined by her small gray wolf that they would penetrate the demon’s defenses.
The two of them, wolf and human, danced more fluidly than two mating dragonflies on the warm currents of a late spring wind. They embodied physical harmony using their battle to express that which was inexpressible by mortality: perfection. If the demon was able to make sound, it would have. It would have howled and screamed in a mix of anger, hate, pain, and desperation. The tide had been turned, and the combined essence of wolf and woman gained supremacy. As Zyndalia watched, she saw the two of them submerged in the throes of joy as they became one force on the battlefield. Her bond with Inglorca was strong, and growing stronger every day, but it had not reached the completed blending she saw before her. Accessing the pack mind, she could not distinguish any separation between the two females as they battled the demon.
It did not take much time for it to be subdued and pinned to the ground by the strong jaws and powerful body of the gray wolf. Liani walked to the demon and knelt down beside it. As it continued to struggle, the small gray tightened its grip and used all of its force to keep it under its control. As the small woman knelt next to the very large demon, she looked nothing of her physical stature. She was, indeed and in soul, a titan. Such was the surety with which she acted. Reaching out with her hand, she placed it on what might have been the demon’s head had it possessed more mortal definitions. It squealed and convulsed. But the small gray held firm. And then, after a moment of seizing, the demon stopped.
Both Liani and her small grey were exhausted. Their bodies slumped to the ground as they seemed to hold each other. As Zyndalia slowly walked over to the two of them, she was reassured when she saw Liani slowly stroking her wolf behind her ears. She continued walking over to them and knelt down beside the fatigued couple. She knew the toll this transition took on her brother and understood its effects would be just as much for Liani.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“Yes. We are fine,” answered Liani. After a deep inhalation, she continued, “Zyndalia, I would like you to meet Graloralynn. I am going to call her Grace.” When she heard her name, the small gray wolf howled in satisfaction. She howled, and the women cried.
Osin
(Oasis)
She never liked being alone and certainly did not like being alone in the dark. Although she spent the better part of her youth in the shadowy solitude of The Guild, she preferred the inclusion of people and the illumination of the day; more specifically, one person and the light he gave to her life. While solitude and darkness were both synonymous with nearly all assassins regardless of their beginnings, she was perhaps the only exception, at least it was after she met him under possibly the most unorthodox circumstance to begin any type of relationship, let alone the bond of love and trust they shared. You see, he was her mark. Her third mark and first mark of note that, if successful, would bring her the notoriety within The Guild to prompt her consideration for more lucrative and prestigious contracts. But first she needed to succeed.
The light jostling of the prisoner’s carriage she was being transported in indicated they were still on one of the main thoroughfares in the realm; however, which one, she could not be sure. She had been blindfolded and sedated along with the other women. Although she did not see it, she was sure that Lupara
had been taken as well. Because the blindfold she was wearing was well done, not even the faintest of light penetrated the tightly bound cloth. Had her hands been free, she would have used them to adjust it enough to allow her to properly delineate between day and night; but because they were bound as tightly as was her blindfold, her hands were useless. As such, it was impossible for her to tell how many days they had been traveling; consequently, she could not properly offer an estimation of their location.
Weariness set in as the sedation wore off. She was tired, tired because when sleep did come, which was infrequent, it did not last long enough to offer the rest required to stay alert during a long journey. They did not stop for camp either, another factor adding to her weariness. How it was possible for the drivers and horses to maintain a rest free trek was beyond her understanding, though she was sure both horse and men were under the influence of some sort of magic. Her weariness allowed her mind to more freely wander into the memories of her past, though she was not without possession of some modicum of control over which direction it wandered. To steel herself against such thoughts of hopelessness and dread regarding her fate and that of the women who had been taken as reparations for the services of the acolytes, she directed it to him, to Borinth.
She remembered the first time she had seen him as she crept silently into his room. His breathing was so easy, smooth, and deep that she could not believe anyone would contract this man’s death. But, as an assassin trained by the most lethal and precise guild of assassins in all of Avendia, she pushed those thoughts into the background and slowly drew her dagger. Her first two marks and been completed from a distance and lacked the intimacy presented with this particular job. Her first one had been fulfilled by the bow and arrow as she hid in a tree overlooking a port. Her second was completed while she was already on her horse riding away by the poison she had slipped into the woman’s nightly tonic. She had not had the opportunity to observe her previous two marks the way she did now. He seemed simple, peaceful and incapable of the offense warranting a death note. Regardless of his peaceful demeanor while lying in bed in the middle of the night, she could not speculate on his actions when awake.
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