Rituals

by Ryan Hastings

  Iris positioned herself in front of Sophia. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” she declared. “I feel at some point there is such a thing as ‘too far gone,’ priestess,” Sophia replied, maintaining a death look in her eyes. Iris, shedding gentle tears on her behalf, couldn’t help but embrace her paragon. Sophia wasn’t sure how to respond to the action.

  “I can’t begin to imagine your life, Sophia,” Iris said compassionately, “being born to such a wicked place.” Sophia saw her sister and three other individuals in military attire coming. Joon nodded as if to ask for the paragon’s ear for a moment, so Sophia excused herself. Iris watched curiously but kept her distance so as not to eavesdrop.

  “You don’t look as good as usual,” Sophia remarked. “Ephthali was attacked yesterday,” Joon replied plainly. “How many dead?” the paragon inquired plainly. “Estimates are expected to rise, and they already stand at roughly seven hundred thousand,” Joon replied. “We’re waiting to hear about how healthy the remaining population is.” Even Sophia’s eyes widened to those numbers. “But the city survived?” she asked with subtle shock. Joon nodded. “Quite a story we heard about; but after the fact, they sounded confident in its security.”

  “Are we heading out or something?” Sophia asked. Joon took a deep breath. “No. A handful are taking some supplies there, but the Veils are on order to not thin their personnel any further than they already have,” she explained, glancing over at Iris briefly. “Apparently, it was a Celestial, the same one that’s had a notable interest in our young hero over there. I wanted to be the one to approach you about it.”

  Sophia understood the concern. “Thank you, Joon. I won’t let anything happen to that girl, I promise,” she said humbly. Joon grinned. “I know you won’t. What’s even better is that I can tell you care about her more than just a protective assignment.” The paragon blushed a bit, still not acclimated to being emotional about really anything, especially to have others take notice.

  “Should I tell her?” Sophia asked. Joon agreed. “I couldn’t tell you any best way, but it was agreed that this sort of news should be something of a bonding experience between you two,” she explained. “Hescan even mentioned that you may want to take her to the suntear skylight outside the city.” “Is she really so unstable?” Sophia asked. Joon nodded. “If the terrani are right about her, she’ll be the first wrathsinger on modern record. Her scope can’t be predicted,” she explained.

  Sophia looked back at Iris, who was already back to reading the codex. “I’ll take her,” she agreed. “Just do me a favor. Tell Maymay we won’t be there for dinner--that we want leftovers.” Joon smirked and began to walk away. “You’ll tell her, right?” Sophia asked after her. Joon gave a casual wave of her hand as she continued away, signaling their accord.

  Meanwhile, Bazmari, Kessiah, Tara, Hescan, and Ezra were discussing recent events, having been a part of a congress called in light of the battle at Dan-hali. While the report given to Veil’Umbra mentioned a bloodlion among the battle, it only made note of one. What had actually happened to Sahja and Fia wasn’t on the radar of those who gave or brought the information; but no matter how high the body count was, they were certainly not thought to be among the dead.

  Recently, there were reports of disruptions in lines of communication, but it was to be expected in the grander scheme of things. What was concerning to the humans and elves alike was the idea that their disappearance was the cause of said glitches. Since Sahja was in fact a bloodlion, the notion of an abduction or desertion was truly worrisome.

  Bazmari adamantly defended Fia and Sahja’s character among the congress, but the terrani had plenty of history with regard to Mol’do’s bloodlions, causing most of his “opinion” to simply be taken into consideration. “I do apologize for how cold politics can be,” Hescan commented, taking a drink of his wine. “Sahja was watched carefully while he was here, even with Artimus overseeing him. Bloodlions are simply too dangerous to be taken lightly, especially young ones,” he explained.

  Bazmari barely nodded his head, puffing his cigar and drinking a strong elven vodka. “Be honest. Why would Fia still be considered alive if Sahja was?” Tara asked. Ezra took a hefty gulp of his whiskey, holding up his finger as if to soon speak. “Every bloodlion has a handler,” the ghostdancer replied. “They aren’t always lovers, but that tends to be the most potent combination. The fact that they were means that if anyone wanted him alive, she would need to be alive--a sort of bond that strengthens the entire formula.”

  “Bloodlions have often been a form of currency in Mol’do,” Hescan chimed in. “Rulers have used them to win entire wars in the earlier years of this continent’s history. But given the state of affairs in Mol’do right now, the disappearance of one such as your friend cannot warrant much other than concern. The powers currently remaining in Mol’do aren’t looking to overthrow a neighboring province. Then there are those of us who believe you in your testament to your friends, Bazmari, but with that belief comes the idea that there is something far more sinister at work.”

  “You can’t possibly be talking about a mark?” Kessiah muttered. “Mark? What mark?” Bazmari responded. Ezra and Hescan looked at each other, each wanting the other to explain. Ezra sighed before he went on. “While it’s beyond rare for any mortal to be marked by the pit, one out of two bloodlions will receive such a mark, simply because of what they were born with,” he explained. “It’s a way of saying that anywhere they go, Dom’rel has a damn near open door to go through. A peaceful city will shortly see inexplicable violence and hate among its people. If the marked subject is in the wilderness, even wildlife can become demon-possessed, simply because the spirits that like to follow such harbingers of war have no other hosts.”

  “You’re saying that Dom’rel has a vested interest in Sahja!” Bazmari exclaimed angrily. “He wouldn’t stand for it. Neither would Fia.” “If a bloodlion is marked, it’s safe to assume that their handler is as well,” Hescan replied. “In one way or another, the mark tends to be voluntary on the part of the handler.” Tara covered her mouth in sadness and horror while her husband poured the two of them another glass of alcohol.

  “There’s no telling where they could be, Baz,” Kessiah remarked, “and any guess is none the prettier than the first.” “How can you be so calm about this, Kess?” Bazmari exclaimed. “Fia became like an older sister to Iris.” Kessiah was clearly working to maintain his composure. “A simple mark on one’s soul doesn’t mean that it’s claimed,” he replied calmly. “I love them both as much as you do, and I stand with you and your defense of the strength of their spirit; but the best we can do is pray that they aren’t compromised by the end of any tribulation in which they find themselves.”

  The moons would be approaching the noon position when Sophia had walked with Iris to the suntear skylight. Iris, unsure why Sophia asked her to travel so far out this way, was yawning, despite how beautiful the subterranean sky was. The paragon asked Iris to sit on a smooth stone and then crouched before her.

  She told Iris everything she’d been told, and she caught Iris as she fell into her arms. Sophia could feel Iris trembling through her armor and could feel the abnormal heat beginning to radiate from the priestess’ body. Sophia held Iris like kin, feeling the occasional sparks rising from the young girl strike her face. Iris held onto Sophia’s armor with utter intensity, and the paragon watched as nearby animals ran from the area.

  Sophia stroked Iris’ hair, never being able to find a word to say as sparks gently rose into the suntear skylight. Patterns on the paragon’s armor reacted to the energy, with the armor beginning to retain its own feint glow. Iris would be too exhausted to return to Veil’Umbra that night; and, so, Sophia set up a small fire beside which Iris could lie.

  The paragon would do her best to console the wrathsinger, as Iris struggled through a tumultuous night. Sophia had Iris’ head on a quilt in her lap, occasional
ly hearing the girl mumbling in tongues. The paragon had never seen an individual that even began to hint at the sort of phenomenon that the priestess had revealed. Heroic gifts tended to be physical in nature among the Fo’hemut, with a certain amount of reverence being placed on the “world-ender” classes that seemed to have eluded them since early history.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Crumbled Stone, Fallen Star

  Swae, having started at the northernmost front of the Dan-hali island, slowly walked through the front of the city. Her grief was visible by everyone she passed. U’jeo ran to the archangel when he saw her, eagerly falling into her arms. Swae smiled as best she could. “Hey, little guy,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Her absence seemed to be understood enough, as soldiers and heroes still greeted her with reverent bows and salutes; but she still found it difficult to look at anyone directly. The streets were littered with debris and gore from both sides. As damage was assessed, it was beyond reason that the city still stood above the sea.

  The amount of toxin and poison that Anri’s minions carried would hinder removal of their corpses, so intense heat was deemed the best way to quickly clear the more important areas. Sheets and makeshift covers laid on top of allied remains. Bodies of all shapes and sizes were lining the city streets in droves to await something of a respectful resting place.

  Elsa was covered in blood, having helped to tend to the dead, dying, and wounded. She was exhausted but still smiled her beautiful smile at the sight of the archangel. Xavus was at the base of the palace steps where he set up at a crude desk that was composed of several crates. His officers came and went by the minute as the king of Dan-hali practiced his authority. Quilla was stitching up several large flesh wounds of her own, with the Iscariot hound laying ever proudly among them.

  Xavus looked up from his sullied papers to see Swae standing not far off. He went to greet her, and the two hugged as best friends would. “Now I know why your swim took so long,” he remarked. Swae laughed a little, then looked the king over. “You still seem to be in working order. That’s good. I was gonna’ have to make U’jeo your replacement,” she joked.

  U’jeo acted surprised. Then he proceeded to pummel on Xavus’ leg with his tiny paws. Xavus laughed and picked up the Pawparosi like a child. “We need to work on your strength training.” “Artimus? Kat?” Swae inquired. “Artimus is in medical,” Xavus replied. “He’s stable but he lost a lot of blood and took a lot of venom. Quilla gave Nigel an anti-toxin recipe from the mines. He said he could build a mixer and I.V apparatus that’ll do the trick.”

  Swae signed to Quilla. “How many did you get?” Quilla signed back. “I lost count.” The Iscariot hound eagerly wagged its stubby tail, too tired to want to stand. Swae greeted the shadow beast with a generous rub. “We’re all getting old, aren’t we, fella?” she said playfully. “Forgive me, ma’am,” Xavus stated, “but I doubt a Celestial can be defeated by a single battle. Look around. We can’t stay another offensive, even a fraction of that size.”

  “You’re right,” Swae agreed. “Anri-Vex may be unbelievably delusional, but he is at least a cordial enemy. He probably considered this a test of humanity’s resolve here. Besides, he just learned that he has a new obstacle.” Xavus nodded solemnly. “I used to think the Celestial of Tides was just a sailor’s myth, as if there needed to be anything bigger than the leviathans of the abyssal seas.”

  “Tal’Traxxi was tasked with these oceans after the dispersion,” Swae replied. “He was never a kind fellow; he kept true to his post. He decided he was in the right to horde those sailors’ souls--gambling chips if you can believe it. Too much time in the mortal plane really does take a toll on the psyche,” the archangel sighed.

  “Does this Celestial not hold domain over the only barrier between the continents?” Quilla signed. Swae grinned and signed back. “Anyone traveling will travel by light, not by water.” Xavus looked at each of them curiously, but they both seemed amused to keep him guessing.

  The archangel left for the sector of the city that had been reassigned for the massive amount of medical attention required after and during the battle. A nurse rushed over to her and begged. “Archangel! Can you not do something to help these people?” Swae was crushed by the girl’s question, knowing that her hands were tied by rules written before her creation. “Even if you have to hate me, please only hate me. The suffering here will subside. Continue your good work, daughter,” she answered softly.

  The young girl looked at the archangel with tired and tearful eyes, bowing briefly before she resumed her gruesome work. When Swae came to where Artimus was bedded, Kat ran over and furiously grasped the archangel’s red trench coat, resting her head against Swae’s chest. Swae gently held Kat’s clenched fists, observing Sloth fine-tuning the machine that was keeping the bloodlion alive.

  “What should I do, Katya?” Swae whispered. Kat looked at the archangel searching for an answer but couldn’t come up with anything worthy of uttering. “Don’t bite your tongue,” Swae remarked with kindness. “Speak freely.”

  Katya regained her grip on the archangel’s coat. “YOU COULD HAVE SINGLE-HANDEDLY STOPPED THIS. YOU COULD HAVE SNAPPED YOU’RE FUCKING FINGERS AND WIPED THOSE MONSTERS OUT,” she literally cried. “WAS EVEN ONE LIFE WORTH YOUR SIMPLY FUCKING WATCHING THIS HAPPEN?”

  Swae held Kat close. “No life was ever meant to be like this,” she replied, fighting back tears. “This was never supposed to happen.” “Is that Swae?” Artimus mumbled. “Does she know we won?” Kat released her grip, recognizing how emotional she was. Understanding Kat’s fury, Swae nonetheless wanted Kat to stay.

  “I know you won,” Swae replied. “It would take the choirs of Eternity to sing of victory for there to be the slightest bit of justice to it.” “Tal’Traxxi saw you naked, huh?” Artimus added groggily. “I bet that was enough to enlist his help.” All at once Swae blushed, and Kat was a bit embarrassed in general at the brazen comment.

  “He’s all sort of doped up,” Sloth commented.

  Sahja and Fia rested in the relative comfort of the crumbled tower. Both opened their eyes to a now familiar presence that greeted their skin with chilled air. The dark lord was before them, fully suited in his mutated armaments. The two mortals said nothing, never really knowing if or when this would become any worse.

  Dom’rel stepped out of his armor and the suit disappeared like ash, causing a sheer look of disbelief in both mortals. “Grab your weapon,” Dom’rel said, nodding for Sahja to follow. Sahja obeyed the order. His knuckles cracked around the hilt of his sword. “Sahja,” Fiaria said quietly. The bloodlion briefly looked back at his handler long enough for his churning hate to come down to a more manageable level.

  Vil’el appeared just behind the devil, offering her hand to Fia. Fiaria took the fallen angel’s hand, following just a way from where Dom’rel stopped and turned around. Vil’el had one arm around Fia, and Fia couldn’t help but hold onto the fallen angel’s forearm in some desperate sense of security. Vil’el smirked and gently pressed the girl against her as they both watched the men squaring off.

  Sahja’s eyes had already become dark. Dom’rel took pride at the sight. “You truly are a gifted one, son,” he said casually, conjuring a wicked broadsword in his right hand. “What’s more impressive is you still hate me, even behind those devilish eyes. Well, here’s your chance to end it all, Sahja,” he added semi sincerely. The bloodlion’s body finished the last of its self-alteration, even assuming a larger posture than Dom’rel’s mortal appearance.

  The air was already acting strangely around the two men, with twisting nether flowing around and between them. The devil and the bloodlion shared rather unfeeling and unflinching expressions. Dom’rel assumed a less than defensive stance, giving a somewhat playful bow. In one motion, the bloodlion practically soared across the ground, clenching the defiled earth with stones shattered by the
force of his greaves. The two blades met with a ring that would reverberate throughout the dark scar. Dom’rel cracked a smirk as the sheer power of the impact slid him back in the dust, the sort of power that kept darkdancers all but absent in Mol’do’s history.

  Sahja swung the 300-pound blade as if it were a wooden bat. Time and time again, the blades parried and clashed. Neither combatant gave a hint of emotion or exertion among their sharp steps and swift lethality. Sahja was the machine that bloodlions were designed to be. His dark eyes stayed fixated on his target. There were moments at a time that their steel never left one another, only sliding back and forth with their wielder’s movements. Dark sparks and flickers of verdant lightning accompanied the masterful duel, keeping in step with the eerie calm that surrounded the skirmish.

  Vil’el moaned as she watched the battle, holding a breathless Fia before her. Every clash of the metal rang like a strike against life itself. The blades met dozens of times a minute, despite their weight. Here was the greatest swordsman of Eternity fighting against a prodigy of his own design. The similarities in their style were uncanny. The bloodlion’s silhouette may as well have been that of a fallen archangel.

  Sahja went for a powerful cleave, but Dom’rel caught the steel in his very hand. He shattered the metal with his grip but guessed wrong that the bloodlion would hesitate. Dom’rel gave Sahja just a hair too much room, as the bloodlion’s fist met the dark lord’s jaw. Seeing Dom’rel in such a manner of hand-to-hand combat was quite nostalgic, even more so to see him take a hit.

  Perhaps the contact was refreshing, because the two fighters went on to exchange a number of well-connected blows. The martial prowess was utterly marvelous, ladies and gentlemen. Even as the duel progressed, neither combatant slowed or huffed.