The Final Calling

by Angela Colsin

  “What if talking to Dalia brings back more, angel? Would it change me, and then how you feel?”

  Edith remained thoughtfully silent, ratcheting up his fear until she finally sighed. “There's only one way I can answer that, but it might not be what you wanna hear.”

  He groaned uncertainly. “What is it?”

  Against his ear, she whispered, “Stop being a dumbass.”

  His eyes opened, then the corners of his mouth slowly lifted until he was grinning as she went on, “I don't care what your name is, or if you're a prince, a fugitive, or Joe Schmoe bagging groceries at the local supermarket. I want you, and as long as you want me back and treat me well, nothing's gonna change that.”

  Lifting his head, Isaac cupped her cheek with one hand and stared into her eyes. “You really don't have any complaints?”

  “If I ever do, you'll be the first to know about it.” Smiling, her eyes closed as she leaned her cheek into his palm. “I've never felt this way before, Isaac, never thought I would feel this way. So if making me happy is a priority, you're doing a damned good job.”

  Her admission was so gratifying he quickly leaned down, claiming her mouth in a hard kiss meant to prove his following statement—and gods knew he felt it with all his heart.

  “I fucking love you, angel.”

  Her eyes opened to gaze up at him in surprised uncertainty, and for a moment, he thought she might react negatively to his impulsive confession.

  But then her face lit with compassion, her cheeks tinged pink when she asked, “Really?”

  “You doubt it?”

  With a bitten bottom lip, she finally grinned. “How much?”

  “Shit, you want a comparison?”

  “A rough estimate.”

  Smirking, Isaac glanced at the bed—and teleported them to it.

  Laying Edith back, he murmured, “I could show you more easily.”

  “Isaac—,” she gasped, clutching his shoulders as he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. But when he hooked his fingers into the collar of her shirt to rip it open, Edith tore her lips from his and grabbed his wrist. “Wait!”

  “What's wrong?”

  Catching her breath, she pointed out, “Dalia's downstairs waiting, so we really should go talk to her.”

  Reminded of the demoness, Isaac groaned in reluctance. “Can't she wait a little longer?”

  His suggestion had Edith pursing her lips. “Just a little longer, is it?”

  Realizing how that sounded, he smirked. “Good point. We should tell her to come back next week.”

  “Isaac,” she muttered, grinning while climbing off the bed. “Come on. I'm really curious to know what she has to say about fucknut, anyway.”

  “Fucknut? Oh, Rothario.” He smirked, deciding that was the Steward's official name from now on.

  But Edith was right. Even if he didn't care to chat with his sister, they did need to know more. The only problem was a strange, and extremely pesky sense of awkwardness plaguing him—a feeling he wasn't at all used to.

  Isaac didn't care what others thought of him, and had never once felt the need to be anything other than himself, even when chastised for misconduct. He definitely wasn't going to do any differently here, either. But deep down, he wondered if Dalia would accept him, reminding himself while teleporting downstairs with Edith that those concerns were actually Alder's, and he had no reason to care.

  The living room was largely deserted when they arrived. Only Dalia was present, standing near the chaise sofa with a thick book in her hands that she looked mildly amused by.

  “Where did everyone go?” Edith inquired.

  Looking up as if she hadn't heard them come in, the demoness explained, “I chatted with your friends for a bit, but they seemed to want some time alone. So I told them I'd be fine waiting here by myself.”

  Isaac had the feeling that Ulric and Charlotte probably thought he would've rather talked to Dalia in private anyway, and couldn't say he wasn't grateful. So, in the search for some way to start a conversation, he looked at the book she'd seemed so humored by and asked, “What's so funny?”

  “Oh … .” Dalia's amused smirk returned as she handed the book over and answered, “Dragon porn.”

  Isaac blinked, then looked the page over to see a detailed documentation of drake mating habits—complete with illustrated diagrams.

  Snorting, he asked, “Who the hell draws this shit?”

  “I know, right?” Dalia snickered as if she'd thought the same thing, and it was a little surprising to realize they had such a similar sense of humor over it.

  Perhaps it was proof of their blood relation, or just a wild coincidence. But whatever the case, Isaac was simply glad more memories weren't resurfacing to tell him.

  Still, it made him wonder just how much like Alder he actually was, or if Dalia would begin to think there were similarities, redoubling his reluctance to talk to her at all. But Edith thankfully distracted him by tilting the spine of the book up to read the name aloud.

  “Mercio's Dragon Documentary? That's required reading in Mystikkar, and you should see the article on the way wyverns mate.”

  “Why?” Dalia asked curiously.

  “Because the females are bigger than the males, and they get so aggressive during mating season they've been known to kill their partners. So male wyverns initiate things in flight when the female doesn't have use of her arms.”

  Isaac snorted. “Flyfucking. Makes me wish wyverns lived in Terra.”

  “Why?” Edith asked, confused.

  “Just imagine the photobombs,” he pointed out, eliciting a round of laughter—and the sound helped ease the awkwardness he was feeling.

  Dalia wasn't being sentimental, or telling him how glad she was to see him after so long. In fact, she seemed completely invested in making sure he understood her intentions to treat him like a stranger when she took the book to settle on the coffee table and asked, “So, did Edith tell you why I came? Because this is awkward enough without you thinking I'm here to reunite.”

  Isaac's brow wrinkled in curiosity. He hadn't considered this would be just as difficult for her to deal with, and asked, “Why do you say that?”

  Dalia reluctantly grumbled under her breath. But then she folded her arms over her chest, straightening her stance in a regal fashion while stating her reasons directly.

  “It's been seven centuries since my family was killed, and I've had to learn to let them go. But I'll always remember them, and I'll always care no matter how much time goes by. So seeing you now? Knowing you were Alder? If you think it's strange discovering his sister is still alive, believe me, it's not any easier for me to deal with meeting you, and to be blunt, I'm not sure I'd want to continue any associations we establish once all is said and done.”

  At that, she motioned to Edith and added, “I'm here to offer her support in usurping Rothario. Not only did he orchestrate the murder of my family, he's also subjugated the Dok'aal in Perosia, and I can't allow it to continue.”

  Then she really wasn't interested in swapping stories, and Isaac nodded without pause. “That's fine by me. But you know, if you wanted to offer support, you could've fucking knocked.”

  Dalia snorted. “Really? A random Perosian showing up on your doorstep with Dok'aal companions? Even if you trusted me, the Dok'aal and I weren't comfortable coming out into the open. Nalona is a draconian city with little bias against their kind, but just walking down the street would've started whispers, and I wanted to keep things quiet.”

  Isaac conceded the point by inclining his head, then asked, “Why are you with them, anyway? Aren't they the ones who actually killed your family?”

  “Not the clan I was raised with,” she explained, “and those who did were misguided. But as for me, I was eleven when Rothario had my throat slit, and a Dok'aal healer working in the palace saved me in secret, then took me to her clan. So I'm closer to the Dok'aal than I am to any Perosian.”

  That certainly answered the q
uestion. But Isaac's mind seized on another sensation altogether, and he thoughtlessly asked, “You were eleven?”

  Why did that cause him anguish? It definitely proved why Alder felt guilty anyway—she was young, and probably didn't have the necessary skills to defend herself. But it was difficult to separate those feelings from his own, and the more he tried, the more angry he became.

  “Does it matter?” Dalia asked, her tone genuinely confused.

  Groaning, Isaac paced to the left and admitted, “Normally, I'd say no. But you've caused some vague memories to come back, and Alder felt guilty as fuck for not protecting you, like he'd failed you.”

  The demoness' breath hitched as if his confession struck a nerve. “He did?”

  “Yeah, which means I feel the same way when you tell me shit like that, and since we're being so blunt,” he continued, pacing back to his original spot with his ire building, “I gotta say it really pisses me the fuck off. I don't even know you!”

  Isaac nearly shouted the last, but Edith grabbed his hand—and her touch was all it took to calm his irritation. Somehow, the matter just didn't seem as dire when he recalled her promise to stay, and he needed her now more than ever, immediately drawing her against his side.

  Gods only knew what he would've done without her there, and damned if he ever wanted to find out.

  Twenty-Eight

  • • •

  Edith hated seeing Isaac so angrily confused, immediately slipping her arms around him after he'd dragged her against his side while attempting to offer some advice.

  “Let's talk about what happened to Dalia and her family later, Isaac. Give things time to settle first, and discuss it when those memories don't seem so overwhelming.”

  “I agree,” Dalia qualified. “At this point, it doesn't matter what happened to me. It doesn't even matter that Rothario orchestrated it anymore. What does is taking him down and freeing Perosia from his bullshit.”

  Tightening his arm around Edith, Isaac gave a slow nod, exhaling as if pushing his concerns from his mind. “Okay, so what's fucknut doing, anyway?”

  “Fucknut? Oh, Rothario,” Dalia drew out, grinning in approval of the nickname. But her expression grew more somber when she explained, “As far as his stewardship goes, he's progressively grown more tyrannical in recent decades, ruling out of fear with extreme punishments for minor infractions. For example, when the former king of Perosia's Upper Quarter questioned his authority, Rothario sold his wife and two of his children to a harem as punishment.”

  Edith's gut clenched in disgust hearing this, and her anger only intensified when Dalia added, “Topping it off, he's enslaved the Dok'aal still living in Perosia. So our clan is doing everything in its power to free as many as possible and bring them to Ithelyon for a better life until things change.”

  Such information wasn't easy to swallow. Until that moment, Edith had only gathered minor details of what Rothario was like as a person. But as a ruler, he was a million times more despicable, enough so to make it feel like an honor knowing she was supposed to take the bastard down.

  The only question was when and how these prophetic events would manifest. Edith definitely wasn't planning a direct assault, but if a divination indicated she was going to change Perosia's leadership, she wouldn't have to. Such events could crop up at anytime—and without any warning.

  So it was a good idea to know as much about Perosia as possible if only to prepare herself, and she asked Dalia, “You must know your way around the empire fairly well, right?”

  “Well enough,” Dalia confirmed. “But things have changed over the centuries, and it's been a year since I traveled there personally.”

  “Why?”

  “An old acquaintance advised me to stay low for a while. Actually,” she qualified with her gaze shifting to Isaac, “he's the same person who told me you'd survived, and about the prophecy. He's an Ancient I've—”

  “Wait,” Isaac interrupted knowingly. “Let me guess. Arias?”

  Dalia's surprised look told them all they needed to know. “You know him, too?”

  “Yeah. He was the first Perosian I met after I was pulled from the Pit, and I saw him just a few days ago. He said Rothario was fortifying against conflict and that I'd find out more when I came to Ithelyon.”

  Looking between Edith and Dalia, Isaac added, “Guess this is what he meant.”

  “Could be. We're trying to keep Rothario busy, anyway,” Dalia remarked, then asked more conspiratorially, “By the way, Isaac, is it just me, or is Arias a little … strange?”

  “Do you mean strange as in black eyes, illusions, and knowing things he probably shouldn't? Or strange as in he acts funny? Because the answer's yeah on both counts.”

  Dalia sighed as if relieved not to be the only one who thought such a thing. “I first met him in my late teens, and he told me then that I would be able to help my people, but I had to be patient, otherwise innocents would needlessly die warring against Rothario. My Dok'aal clan think he's a visionary, as if he has some divine source of information.”

  “Divine?” Edith asked. “You mean like communicating with the Pantheon?”

  “Perhaps,” Dalia qualified. “But whatever his deal is, he told us to start spreading word of the prophecy in Perosia, and I'm convinced it's kept people safe by waiting for it to come true instead of actively fighting the Steward. So Edith, when the time comes, we're here.”

  “Works for me,” Edith related. “I could use all the help I can … get.”

  Her trailing words came when she noticed a necklace hanging around Dalia's neck. Most of it was hidden under her collar, but the chain shifted into view as she'd turned her head—and the silvery metal called to her.

  Almost simultaneously, a vision struck, and Edith closed her eyes to focus on the images. Slowly, a dark cavern came into view, and trolley's filled with rocks stood idle on metal tracks along the floor, like one might see in a mine.

  It was disorienting, but also telling, and Edith snapped out of her momentary stupor the moment Isaac asked her name.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she confirmed, then asked Dalia, “May I see your necklace?”

  If the demoness thought her request was strange, she didn't say so, reaching to pull it out of her shirt without question. Attached to the chain was a glittering amulet with a fiery gem at the center, but Edith's complete attention was on the argent metal encasing it, glinting a purple tone when the light struck.

  “What is this?”

  “A gift from my father,” Dalia answered. “Why?”

  “Because I need this type of metal for my staff. What's it called?”

  “It's oyalite, and it's mined in Perosia, but also traded with other places like Ithelyon. So you could probably buy it here easily enough.”

  “No, I don't need the processed metal,” Edith explained. “I just had a vision of a mine with the raw ore in trolleys, and that's what I have to get.”

  “The raw ore?” Dalia looked between them uncertainly. “If there's any in Ithelyon, you'll have to make inquiries to find it. Perosia won't trade the ore because, if it's processed correctly, the metal can kill a demon without decapitation.”

  Edith parted her lips to respond, but stopped herself short when Isaac groaned.

  “What's wrong?”

  Shaking his head, he pointed out, “I'd rather not go around pegging people with questions about this stuff. The Brute found us tonight, angel, and there's no telling how many spies could be around.”

  “Then that brute was Rothario's?” Dalia asked, her tone suggesting she'd suspected nothing less.

  “Yeah,” Isaac confirmed, “and seeing him here in Ithelyon means Rothario knows we're here. So if he finds out Edith needs oyalite ore for her staff, and we can't actually get any in Ithelyon, he'll set up a trap.”

  “Damn,” Edith muttered, having hoped to save herself a trip to Perosia if possible. After all, jumping through portals to search dangerous areas for the items
she needed was one thing, but traveling to the one place in the universe that wanted her dead, especially when her magic was getting so low? Why me?

  Still, if traveling to Perosia couldn't be avoided, she'd rather do it incognito, muttering, “Guess I'll have to find someone to open a portal and figure out where to go. Unless,” giving Dalia a curious look, she inquired, “how does your clan travel between realms.”

  Before Edith even finished her question, a smug smile lifted the demoness' lips. “Simple; we discovered a subterranean labyrinth of caves leading to an old castle ruin. Inside were several magical artifacts still intact, and the courtyard possesses a number of portal spheres marked with the names of differing realms, some I've never even heard of. Only a handful still work, but that includes the one leading to Perosia.”

  “Really?” Edith asked, completely intrigued. Who had this ruined, subterranean castle belonged to? The fact that it possessed magical artifacts and portal spheres suggested a mage, and Edith would've loved nothing more than to ask, or tour the entire ruin.

  But for now, the most important thing was that it would get her where she needed to go, and the only question left was the one Isaac posed next.

  “Alright, that's fine for traveling to Perosia. But what about getting back?”

  “The portal sphere isn't a one way trip,” Dalia explained. “It sends you to a sister sphere in Perosia, and we've done our best to keep it secret so Rothario won't destroy it.”

  “Oh, good. I was hoping I wouldn't have to use what's left of my magic to return,” Edith remarked—and only remembered that Isaac didn't know she was low on energy until after the words were out of her mouth.

  “What do you mean what's left?” he asked. “Are you low?”

  “A little,” she returned in short, hurrying to change the subject before he found out why. “Dalia, do you know of any mines in Perosia?”

  “Our clan's stolen several maps that mark a few places, and Vulen's always traveling to mines because of the number of slaves put to work in them.” She'd nearly growled the last, her efforts to reign in her anger clear before volunteering, “I'll go back and ask him if he has any ideas on what the easiest place to reach might be.”