The Final Calling

by Angela Colsin

  “You know,” Isaac started, finally offering his attention to the random visitor, “I almost find that insulting.”

  Near the center of the barroom stood Ardilon, a divinian most supernaturals knew as The Dead God—and flanking his sides were two comrades Isaac had never met. Yet they both looked just as stolid as the rest of their kind, a visage he liked to call the trademark there's-a-stick-up-my-divinian-ass look.

  But despite seeing several divinians through the years, Isaac didn't have much personal experience with them. Ardilon was the only one he'd actually interacted with because the Dead God had taken exception to his prolonged residency in Terra.

  As Ardilon put it, there was concern he wouldn't fit in—a nice way of saying he'd cause more trouble than he was worth.

  Still, Isaac had no real qualm with Ardilon outside of a general dislike that seemed ingrained in his very being, as if he were meant to antagonize the divinian.

  But the Dead God didn't respond to his quip, merely listening as Isaac stepped away from the motionless vampire and asked, “So what brings you here tonight, Ard? Did I fuck up and put mortals in danger, or were you just seeing how things were going?”

  “The former is apt, except that it's not you who endangered lives. Surprisingly.”

  “Wasn't me? You're right, that is surprising.”

  As if he hadn't spoken, Ardilon continued, “But mortal endangerment isn't my primary concern right now. It's the exposure of the supernatural that has my attention.”

  All at once, things became clear, and Isaac gave a look of discovery. “Oh, you're talking about the attack in Belfast two weeks ago. So what happened? A bunch of humans saw the fight and it's making rounds in the news now?”

  “No, those stories have been quelled. But many did see, and I will not risk another incident. So I'm here to ask what happened precisely. Why are there mortals talking about strange occurrences they should never have witnessed?”

  Without pause, Isaac answered, “Because the Brute's an asshole.”

  “The Brute?” He narrowed his gaze. “You're still dealing with brutes?”

  “Gee, what do you fucking think?”

  Ardilon made no visible reaction to Isaac's disrespectful tone—not that he had a chance to respond when yet another voice sounded from nearby.

  “Oh, Dead God, you still treat Perosians with such disdain. Do you truly think so lowly of us dark ones?”

  In an instant, the two divinians flanking Ardilon's sides turned and drew mystically summoned blades, weapons that glowed so brightly Isaac had to squint and deflect his gaze. But he didn't have to look to know they'd just drawn on Arias, who seemed to be standing directly behind Ardilon now.

  It was surprising to have a visit from both of them simultaneously, and Arias' low, bored sigh in response to the divinians' defensive behavior proved he was just as unimpressed with them as Isaac.

  “Would you please send your pets along, Ardilon? We've much to discuss, and I'm about as amused by your toy soldiers as you are with my miscreants.”

  My miscreants? Isaac wasn't sure he cared to ask, but Arias' phrasing did make him curious. Was he speaking of Perosian demons, or just random lackeys?

  Still, he decided to simply watch and see how things played out as Ardilon silently inclined his head toward his divinian allies. Immediately, they withdrew their weapons, then disappeared from sight without saying a word.

  That's when Arias finally stepped into view—and seeing the two in close proximity, Isaac realized he didn't have to ask to know there was a history between them. The way they regarded one another alone was proof, and considering the nature of those looks, it wasn't friendly.

  Hell, they even looked like polar opposites. Both were tall with powerful builds, but Ardilon's long, white hair and lighter apparel was in stark contrast to Arias' black mane and dark, ornate robes.

  “You finally show your face, Arias,” Ardilon remarked. “Something momentous must be occurring.”

  “One might say so, and though I'm sure you'd like to know what, you're here to ask Isaac about the Brute's attack. So please, continue with the conversation and I'll fill in the blanks.”

  “Ah, yes, because you know so much after having a hand in nearly every problem I've encountered recently.”

  Arias planted a dramatic palm against his chest. “Moi? You truly believe I could fly so low under your radar? Perish the thought.”

  As if annoyed, Ardilon's jaw twitched. “Stop playing coy. There are a number of events I could cite, such as my former votary's health. Did you infect him?”

  Isaac had no fucking idea what Ardilon was talking about now. But Arias sighed, waving a dismissive hand with the admission, “Alright, yes, that was me. But I had very sound reasons for infecting a mortal with a deadly, contagious, mystical disease—and by the by, I heard a cure was obtained, so you know, you're welcome.”

  Grumbling, Isaac remarked, “Would you two get a fucking room or something?”

  Arias rolled his eyes, saying no more on the matter. Instead, he explained to Ardilon, “The reason I'm showing my ever so handsome face tonight, my old friend, is that I know the reason for Isaac's attack in the square, which was in no way his fault.”

  “No? When he's wanted by Perosia?”

  “Just so. However, as you're exceedingly clever”—more sarcasm—“I'm sure you haven't forgotten the prophecy, and who Rothario's truly worried about.”

  The Dead God seemed to take that to heart. “Then he knows of Edith?”

  “Of her, yes. But her identity … ?” Arias pursed his lips with an eye squeezed shut as if to say it's hard to tell.

  Hearing this, Isaac interjected. “Okay, stop. Ardilon, you know who Edith is?”

  “Of course I do, Perosian,” he answered on a tone suggesting this was all his business. “The incident in the square could've cost several innocent lives. Did you think we wouldn't take notice?”

  “And two weeks was the quickest you could respond?”

  “No one was injured, so there wasn't a pressing need. But make no mistakes, we've been watching closely ever since.”

  That wasn't surprising. The Crucible was many things, but negligent in whatever matters it deemed important wasn't one of them. The mysterious way in which it operated was puzzling to many, but that only redoubled the sense that the Order wasn't to be trifled with.

  Still, Isaac quipped, “So you're voyeurs. Good to know.”

  “Yes, as I'm certain that it's good for you to know this issue has raised concern with your presence here yet again.”

  “Because the Brute attacked me in public?” Isaac growled. “Sounds more like you should be going after the fucker's who commanded it to endanger the lives you're trying to protect.”

  “We discussed that as well, but banishing you is easier,” the divinian returned on a no-nonsense tone. “So that's what I'm here to do, albeit temporarily.”

  Isaac's brows narrowed. “Wait … you're kicking me out of Terra?”

  The Dead God nodded plainly. “Once you've rectified whatever problems you're having with your homeland, feel free to return. But do so before that time, and forfeit your life.”

  Ardilon's dire mien was a perfect match to his grave tone. But despite his very serious direction, Isaac snapped angrily, “I'm not fucking leaving until I find someone to bind me. Rothario has a summoning crystal—”

  “Not my problem,” Ardilon stated pointedly.

  Sighing, Arias stepped forward to state flatly, “Your capacity for mercy knows no bounds, Ardilon. But banishment won't be necessary, as if you'd heed my advice to begin with.”

  Glaring at the Ancient with malice in his sky blue eyes, Ardilon answered, “You're right, so was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Arias?”

  Somehow, the longer he had to deal with Arias' presence, the more unnerved the Dead God became. His body was now reverberating with energy, as if hankering for a fight, and Arias looked equally ready to snap.

  It was
questionable why the hell they hated each other so much, but at this point, Isaac would've assisted Arias regardless of the matter.

  Yet, as the Ancient came to stand next to him, he announced, “No, Dead God, I believe we're done. So I'll be departing this oh-so-sacred realm of yours now, and much to your delight, I'm taking Isaac with me.”

  “What?” Isaac demanded, but Arias didn't answer.

  Instead, his body burst into a thick, black smoke that engulfed him, obscuring his vision for a scant few moments before an unfamiliar library came into view.

  It looked old world, with candelabras standing at the ends of the isles containing numerous books, and spiral staircases leading up to the second level of shelves. A large, arced window located on the upper floor was being pelted by rain from a thunderstorm roiling outside, and the iron wrought chandelier suspended before it had several ravens perched around the rim.

  But Isaac didn't take any of it in, too concerned with the notion that he'd just been transported to another realm—his binding broken in the process—to care.

  “Where the hell are we?”

  “In a small fissure between realms that few people know of,” the Ancient answered while searching the contents of a nearby desk.

  Growling, Isaac demanded, “Why the fuck would you break my binding?”

  “Because it was in the way,” he answered simply. “Besides, I needed to give you a gift in a place where we wouldn't be overheard by some insufferable pest like Gyles.”

  Isaac clenched his fists to get his irritation under control, asking, “What gift?”

  Finally locating whatever he was looking for, Arias turned to him and held up his hand with a red crystal clasped between his fingers.

  A summoning crystal.

  “This gift,” he answered. “It's Rothario's leash on you.”

  Isaac looked from the crystal to Arias and back again, his anger fading to vast surprise. “Are you fucking shitting me?”

  “Not at all.” Walking over, he grasped Isaac's hand to place the crystal in his palm, then stood back again. “Consider it a souvenir for all the years of warm, happy friendship we've shared together.”

  Ignoring his over-the-top description, Isaac inquired, “How did you get it?”

  “I actually happen to have a number of friends in the Imperial Palace,” the Ancient admitted, “and before you ask why I never stole it before, it simply wasn't necessary. You were content to remain in Terra, so I didn't bother. But now, Rothario's used the Brute to force you out, knowing a public attack could get you right where he needed you to be.”

  Isaac grumbled, mentioning, “I thought that attack seemed desperate. But why didn't you tell me this sooner? Too busy getting your hands on the crystal?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Why? Do you not trust what I'm telling you? Should I summon you across the library to prove the crystal is yours?”

  “No,” he muttered, knowing the blood contained within it was definitely his. He could perceive it just as clearly as when he sensed the restraints placed on him by a blood oath, and because a demon could only have one summoning crystal at a time, he knew the one in his hand wasn't a duplicate.

  So this definitely wasn't some type of trick meant to lull him into a false sense of security. Besides, if Arias wanted to trick him, he'd had two centuries to do it, yet the Ancient had never sold him out to spies, or led any assassins to his doorstep, proving his intentions were honest.

  And Isaac didn't hesitate to crush the damned crystal in his hand.

  Arias smirked. “Bet that felt good.”

  “Any better and I'd need to change my pants.”

  “Indeed,” the Ancient returned, his voice taking on a more serious edge than before when he added, “but I didn't only bring you here to break that pesky binding keeping you from your cherished mate.”

  Hearing this, Isaac narrowed his brows. He hadn't told anyone about Edith's departure to Ithelyon, growling as Arias walked by, “How did you know she'd left?”

  “I have my ways,” came his simple response—but his voice had changed, sounding closer to that of a much younger boy.

  Turning around, Isaac's brows drew together in extreme confusion when he spied … “Kidd?”

  The short teenager was standing just before him now, with the same wiry red hair and dirty clothing he'd worn when Isaac met him in the Pit so long ago.

  “It's been a long time, Isaac,” Kidd grinned. “Or maybe it hasn't, and you just think it has.”

  Isaac didn't know what to say, except to state the obvious. “Kidd was an illusion?”

  Arias responded in his normal voice—which seemed extremely strange coming from the teenager before him. “Yes, and a rather brilliant one if I do say so myself.”

  “But why?”

  During his question, Kidd's image vanished in huff of smoke that passed to reveal Arias once again, stating impassively, “Numerous reasons. I was scouting a nice vacay spot, and I wanted to see what kind of person Alder had become. You also needed a name,” he added as a casual afterthought. “Isaac was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “What kind of person I'd become?” Isaac echoed blankly. But for as confused as he was now, a red flag went up when he realized there was no way Arias would've been able to get in and out of the Pit without a certain tyrannical Steward's approval, and he scowled at the Ancient.

  “Then you are working with Rothario.”

  Arias scoffed, enunciating, “Him? The way he dresses alone is appalling to my senses.”

  “Uh huh. Then how the fuck did you get into the Pit?”

  “That's a good question, one best answered by changing a word of your assumption; I'm not working with Rothario. Instead, he knows me as someone else entirely, and that summoning crystal should be clear evidence that I'm far from being on his side.”

  Taking a moment to think it all over, Isaac realized he still had no reason to mistrust the Ancient if only because it just didn't add up. Though Arias had apparently fooled him in the past, he'd never been malicious about it, and if he was planning something, why expose his lies now?

  No, the much more likely conclusion was that Arias had been working against Rothario, and not just for a short time, but for centuries.

  The thought posed a very pointed question Isaac had no compunctions about asking.

  “Okay, but if you've been against Rothario all this time, why the hell is he still on the throne?”

  Somewhat cryptically, the Ancient implied, “Timing is everything, and acting prematurely would've split Perosia into civil war, needlessly costing lives. Besides, Rothario did well enough ruling the empire for the first five centuries after he took over. His more insidious acts didn't begin until after his refusal to cede the throne.”

  Isaac thought that over, supposing the avoidance of a civil war would've definitely been in everyone's best interests. Though people had died simply because Rothario was on the throne to begin with, war didn't ensure his removal from it, and who knew how the lines of alliance would've been drawn?

  Regions of Perosia could've fallen trying to oust the Steward just to wind up right back at square one with Rothario still calling the shots.

  So Arias was right. Timing was important.

  But the Ancient drew Isaac's attention from the matter entirely when he added, “I also have news to pass on concerning the Brute.”

  “What? Have his orders been changed to target Edith?”

  “Not precisely, at least, not yet. Gyles sent him back to Perosia. Within the past two weeks, Rothario's withdrawn his forces from Terra entirely because conflict has arisen. But before you ask what conflict, I can only promise that the answers will come soon enough, and for now, I believe there's a lovely young lady in Ithelyon who's waiting for you to assist with her Calling.”

  That was true, and realizing there was nothing to keep him from joining Edith now—no matter where her Calling took her—Isaac was eager to get going.

  Still, he asked Arias, �
�Before I go, there's one thing I wanna know. Why the hell are you helping me? Is it just to see Rothario fall?”

  A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “As I said before, I can't handle his shoddy fashion sense. But there's something even more important for you to know now, Isaac.”

  “What's that?”

  Quietly, the Ancient approached him, his black irises fully encompassing his eyes until they were like two empty orbs. It was an eery sight, and Isaac had never witnessed such a change in any Perosian's eyes before, making him wonder if the Ancient was fully Perosian, or something else.

  But his musings died the moment Arias relayed four words that sent ice through his veins.

  “Edith is in danger.”

  Nineteen

  • • •

  A dull ache in Edith's temple slowly roused her from unconsciousness, though her vision was initially too blurry to make anything out.

  Questions raced through her mind. Where am I? Still in the canyon? The last thing she recalled was casting a shielding spell on her body just before taking a fifty foot plunge over a waterfall. It was a magic expenditure she knew saved her life when her body landed on several jagged rocks jutting up at the base.

  Under normal circumstances, those rocks would've torn her apart. But instead, Edith only sustained minor abrasions before being knocked unconscious.

  Now, she felt almost fully healed aside from her head. Not even her chest was bothering her, and that was definitely the worst injury she'd sustained.

  But no matter how she'd healed so quickly, the more important question was her current location.

  Perhaps her body had drifted downstream and washed up on the riverbank where someone found her. Her clothing was generally dry now, so she'd definitely been out for several hours, but the only clues as to her current whereabouts was the sound of hooves thumping against dirt and the creak of turning wheels. Am I in a wagon?

  As she questioned it, her vision finally cleared enough to reveal the image of two Dok'aal women sitting a few feet away from her. Both were wearing dirty, torn clothing, and their expressions were decidedly murderous—a fitting visage considering they all seemed to be locked in a barred cage.