by Jeffrey Cook
To the Otherlord's right-hand side, the giant Tainted warrior Matvei immediately strode towards the largest concentration of fighting, drawing the jet-black blade that, for most men, should have been a two-handed sword, though he swung it easily in one. Though the big warrior was calm and collected for now, Marshall was well aware that the more blood he shed, the more battle-mad the giant would go, until he was a howling thing as well. Despite the trio's emergence, the lines held. Everyone doing their job to keep Marshall advancing through the enemy ranks.
"Now! Go now!" the sergeant yelled, drawing his unit to him and moving to engage Matvei and force him away from his master.
Noriko took the cue, a peal of thunder responding to her slamming the staff down, sending cultists flying back from a shockwave, while more, far enough away to keep their feet, still staggered back, clutching at their ears.
The path to Xharomor was clear. As long as they possessed the sarcophagus, Xharomor was locked into the body of his current host, that of a solidly built, middle-aged man. As with every possession victim, the body had reacted to the intrusion, losing all of its hair, while the eyes took on a yellow cast—but this body had held up better than some he'd taken in times past, otherwise looking nearly entirely human still. The yellow eyes set immediately on Marshall, ignoring the rest of the battle around them. "Come then, and let's see whom Fate favors!" he challenged, drawing his own magical weapon, a gold-colored scimitar.
Fragarach clashed with the golden weapon. "You can't win," Marshall said, while Noriko guarded his back, dropping two of the cultists seeking to aid their master.
To Marshall's surprise, the look of annoyance turned into a grin. "Because you're the boy guided by two stars? Because you're the one the boatman wouldn't charge passage? Because you descended into the darkness, and brought back death when you recovered my sarcophagus? Is that why I can't win? Did you ever keep reading?"
Marshall kept losing ground in their struggle and couldn't free his weapon. “You had your chances to avoid this moment,” Marshall said. “But you've never had what I have behind me now.”
The Otherlord's grin remained, as he put more strength behind the weapon, shoving Marshall backwards another step. “Except one thing.”
The shadows moved behind Xharomor, and a near-skeletal figure appeared, his hand on the sarcophagus. "Master, the wards are dying," he said, making a gesture that sent two other silhouettes sprawling onto the ground as they were emerging from the shadows.
"Your loremaster has been most informative." Xharomor said.
At the portal's appearance, Marshall looked at Dr. Nathaniel in shock. He registered Noriko in his peripheral vision, surging forward, shouting "Traitor!"
Before she could reach Dr. Nathaniel, Matvei intercepted her, knocking her aside and almost down with a shoulder. Still off-balance, all she could do when he swung down at her was desperately push her thunderstaff up to block the attack. There was a tremendous crack and a burst of light. Noriko was sent flying, hitting the ground some ways away. Matvei was launched backwards as well, but the Otherlord no longer needed the help.
Xharomor kept his feet, impervious to the shockwave. Marshall, on the other hand, almost lost his balance. It was all the time Xharomor needed. The Otherlord plunged his sword into Marshall's chest, and immediately, lines of black started stretching out over his skin, and the blood turned black in his veins as the sword's corruption extended through him. He had a moment to flash back to years of preparation for this moment: take the blow and return it three-fold. And he had a moment to register Fragarach falling from lifeless fingers.
Xharomor raised his off-hand and chanted a single word of power in Othertongue. The glow of the incinerating blast from Xharomor's hand was the last thing Marshall saw, before his body turned to ash.
For a moment, no one could hear the battle, the daemons, or anything else over Celeste's scream.
The Chosen One was dead.
2
Listen to Your Heart Beat
Celeste Manoucheka LeRoux
Celeste vaguely felt her throat going hoarse as she watched Xharomor walk through the ash and charred meat crumbs that were the most beautiful boy in the world.
She still wasn't sure what had made Nils scream and clutch at the sarcophagus. She'd just run to him. And seen...
Now she saw the sarcophagus vanish into the crowd of Othercultists. She saw the gesture to the witch; she saw the gray smoke starting to seep from the crackling portal and more shadowy forms on the other side, but she saw it all through the screen of the blast, of Marshall crumbling to dust.
How?
Celeste was watching it over and over, a movie in her mind, as she struggled to her feet, making rote gestures of defense, necessary in these types of situations. Even realizing it was happening sort of made her sick, that they'd been in these types of situations enough that there were rote gestures. But it had all been to prepare them for a great and necessary moment—that was now past, in failure.
How?
The last second of Marshall's life continued to project in front of her eyes. She kept looking for the trick. The switch, the sleight of hand, the displacement—something that would show that Marshall, really, was somewhere else. Except every time it replayed, she saw the microseconds where his body was affected before it fell. There was no sleight of hand, Marshall's hands were in pieces around the hilt of his sword.
Everything felt like slow motion as her own hand went to the chain around her neck, unsure if even that would still be there. As she watched, the smoke poured out more through the portal, tearing it wider. A host of new daemons surged out into the field. They fanned out, surrounding, reinforcing. This was no longer a loss; this was to be a massacre.
"Celeste," Noriko said.
Celeste turned to her. “But … how?”
Noriko didn't have an answer, but reached out a hand. Celeste helped her up off the ground and supported her on unsteady feet.
She vaguely heard Nils and Noriko discussing options, but Celeste just stared again at the spot where Marshall once stood. She didn't look away until Nils cried out for his brother.
Because there was Hobie, struggling against the monster shoving him into its gullet.
Celeste finally stepped forward. Hobie was their responsibility, and there he was, doing this to himself again. She was vaguely aware of Nils and Noriko following her. Nils had his cane. Noriko still wasn't steady, but she had her staff—or a piece of her staff, or something—and Celeste couldn't multitask right now.
“Sancte Iude,” Celeste began to intone in a lost voice needing to be found. “Spes desperatorum, ora pro nobis.”
By the time they reached the creature, Hobie's kicking legs disappeared into the shark-like maw. “Sancte Iude, Spes desperatorum.” the creature reached for her a couple of times, but each time, its arm drew back as if burned. The prayers that healed those beyond hope burned those beyond pity.
Which was good, because a prayer beyond hope was all she had left.
Then Nils stepped up. As usual, he had to be Nils about it, chanting in Othertongue like he was the monster's scolding uncle. Celeste had never liked that—she didn't like anything reminiscent of a connection between the Bjornsson boys and the enemy—but it worked at turning them around. Well, it worked for that on the little daemons. This one, it just managed to hold still for a moment.
As it turned out, that was enough. The monster's seven eyes opened wide at once, body going rigid. Its stomach bulged outward, before it finally burst in a spray of ichor, as the little bear-sark fought his way free. Hobie's shield was gone, and he was hurt, but he was moving, and that was what counted right now. Eyes with no sign of human intelligence glared at them, a low growl rising in his throat.
Celeste stepped forward. Nils said something, but she ignored it like she ignored the roaring battle around them. She needed to get Hobie. She kept her voice even; she held her hand out.
“Hobie... we need to get inside."
&nb
sp; Behind her, Nils and Noriko were debating the possibilities, the sarcophagus, the gates. Celeste's eyes never left Hobie's. She never stopped talking calmly. She had to look past the doll-like deadness. She had to find him. They couldn't lose him too. "Hobie, we need to—"
Nils took advantage of the distraction to grab for his little brother's bloodied hair, turning his head. There was another giant daemon lumbering towards the gates, trying to prevent some of the Academy faculty from closing them. Nils pointed Hobie at that. Almost got his bad hand bitten, but not once Hobie actually saw the thing. Once he saw it, Nils just had to let him go, and the little guy was tearing off full speed.
Nils always had to be so...Nils about everything. Celeste felt the familiar irritation start to suffuse through her mind, and it felt good. So good to feel something so normal. She started to cross her arms. She'd say 'Why do you got to be like that?' and he'd say something about efficacy, and then Marshall would say they both had valid points, but...
Marshall.
Noriko's hand grabbed her. "We need to get the gates shut."
And then they were all running, as much as Nils could run. Noriko must have finally gotten her balance back. Celeste felt like she was losing hers again. At any rate, the three of them kept pace.
The trouble with most of the giant daemons going down was that the bad guys who'd been being careful in order to not get eaten themselves weren't careful anymore. The best the three could do was follow the trail through them that Hobie had left. The cultists and two little daemons closed in. More Othertongue from Nils made the monsters turn on their colleagues, then step behind Nils like some kind of watchdogs.
It was Noriko's turn to ask this time. “But how?”
Nils had an answer. It still didn't make any sense, but it was an answer. “Dr. Nathaniel stopped the ritual and attacked me."
“Of his own accord? Without possession?”
“Definitely.”
"After everything?” Noriko shouted. “That would be crazy even if the Otherthings had a cure, and they don't. He knows they don't.”
“Different deal.”
They reached the doors, partially blocked by the fight between Hobie and the giant daemon. The teenager had scaled his enemy, slashing at the chitinous armor of its chest while the giant flailed back with barbed claws, leaving shallow, bleeding marks where they struck, but no worse, with the protection of the berserkergang turning away most of the attack.
There were people helping exhaustedly with the defenses. Nils yelled at them to help with the gates and sicced the little daemons on the big one. That was always easy for him.
Celeste remained near the edge of the gate, and prayed. There was no time to see to any one patient. She just prayed to keep people standing in this fight. Part of her still wasn't sure why.
Under the combined assault, the last of the giants fell, partially blocking the gates, but also preventing them from closing all the way. Some people looked like they were going to try to move the monster body. Nils yelled at them to wait. He set his three little daemons to do it instead. So at least the first thing that Hobie's doll-like eyes saw coming toward him—and thus the first thing he set on—wasn't a person.
The little bear-sark was occupied, but there was still the body to finish moving, and something was coming up from behind them. She turned slowly and saw the four figures. One of them was Xharomor, hanging back behind the others, radiating infernal power, and looking so, so...satisfied. She knew in her heart it couldn't be. She knew in her heart that this thing was supposed to die today. This was … no, not impossible. They'd all agreed it was possible. It was just unimaginable.
Rhalissa and one of their own forces stepped up at the same time. Celeste didn't recognize him. By the look, he was some kind of shaman, but she didn't know if he was some schoolmate's father, or a noted Academy alumnus, or what. She wished she knew. One’s allies should always be people. Not scenery. Not choking, bleeding scenery. Because the witch had been faster.
Meanwhile, Hobie was an ichor-stained streak headed for Matvei and his sword and his roaring.
Dr. Nathaniel was talking to Nils. "The offer is still open. You're a smart boy. You've lost. But that doesn't have to be the end of the world for you."
"I've picked a side," Nils shot back, starting another of his foul invocations. But in the face of their real boss, the daemons slipped their mystic leash. The ones right next to Nils. This made everything worse, putting Celeste and Noriko on the defensive just to keep Nils alive for that moment, never mind the next.
A battering strike from Matvei sent Hobie flying into the area of the gates. Celeste thought she saw him, from the corner of her eye, struggling a little before he passed out. Because of course he did. Noriko was doing all she could to get at least a spray of sparks from the piece of her staff, but Xharomor walked through them.
Celeste held her ground, praying. It kept the daemons off her and mitigated the intensity of the casualties around her, but her eyes were on Xharomor's radiant form, moving towards her.
The chain was heavy on her neck. Wait up, Marshall. Right behind you.
The walls of the castle themselves began to tear apart, but this time, instead of crumbling, the shards assaulted the Otherrealm forces. The ground began to quake, rifts opening up and swallowing some of the daemons.
Headmaster Carvalho, rose into view on a pillar of earth, granting him a view of the field. A circle of other casters surrounded him, lending their strengths to his primal earth magics, though the effort and channeled power drained them quickly. Still, the effects were dramatic, and for a moment, even Xharomor was forced backwards as the earth turned against his army.
"Run!" the headmaster commanded.
"But—" Noriko began.
"No arguments," Carvalho shouted, "We'll hold them here. Someone must warn the Third Tower, and find a way."
The prophecy hadn't given another way. There was the Chosen One, and there was Xharomor ruling over the sphere entire. They'd all seen the engravings. Still, no one argued. People half-dead on their feet fell in line to protect the headmaster as long as they could.
Nils moved to support Noriko again, while Celeste looked to the headmaster, as if he might change his mind, or give them some other option. He just chanted, doing his channeling, exerting himself to the obvious edge of a stroke.
So Celeste lowered her head and, praying, did her best to drag Hobie’s unconscious form along. No one moved to follow. Marshall's Friends were off to do the impossible again, like they always had. Even with no hope and no Marshall, the doomed defenders were backing that horse.
They passed the last active guardians, huddled around the sanctum containing the Seal around which the Academy had been built. There was nothing they could do for that now. Soon, the Otherrealm's work would become so much easier.
Moving further into the Academy as it tore itself apart, they heard a shouted, "Children, this way!"
Ms. Williams, the Instructor in Conventional and Meta-Magical Geography, waved frantically. As they dragged themselves to her classroom, where a few of the survivors were gathered, she explained. "The pathstones... Dr. Nathaniel replaced everything we'd stored up for further evacuation. But I have one last set I was saving.”
"Let's go." Noriko agreed. Celeste knew that was hard. Noriko was the second-most confrontational person she knew. But they had to run. Marshall would want it. Just in case.
One of the other teachers, clutching at a wound in her side, shook her head. "We'll hold the path open ‘til you reach the other side, then destroy it. We can't afford for you to be followed."
A dozen people she'd known and loved for years were pressing supplies into Celeste's hands, telling her goodbye, and it still felt like such a blur, and they had to keep dragging Hobie.
“If it comes to it,” Ms. Williams was saying, “You leave me, too. Now, no more waiting." She dropped a set of brightly colored stones. They rolled around each other, then settled into equidistant points on the fl
oor some four feet apart. Blue lines of magic shot from one to the next, and a gateway appeared in the floor.
As soon as they stepped into the portal, the sounds of battle went silent.
3
A Morning After
Hrobjart Bjornsson
Hobie woke up to the smells of burning wax, salt and hot sand—and the sound of Celeste's voice, praying. He had not expected to wake up at all, but he never did. When he did wake, he'd gotten used to being surrounded by candles as often as not. He opened his eyes, and there they were, flickering in their little decorated holders. Hobie couldn't pronounce the guy's name, but he knew Celeste didn't break out the really ugly saint for anything but serious injuries.
And there Hobie was, reacting with a growl. "Who d'you think you're wasting your candles on!" He was at once sorry he said it, just like every other time, but the headaches and exhaustion that followed the berserkergang sometimes got out, even at Celeste.
"Look around you. Does it really look like there's anyone else to use candles on?" Celeste's tone immediately made him more subdued. Hobie forced himself to sit up, savoring the pain. It told him he'd been in a fight. A real fight. He'd done his job, the one he was born for. It also told him he was still alive. Her question also suggested they hadn't won. They'd still need him.
"I'm sorry," he grumbled, the heat turning the beach and water nearby into tan and bright blue blurs, respectively. The images were clearing, but the ringing in his ears was enough to tell him it wouldn't be for a while. "What happened?"
"You don't remember the daemons? You don't remember Matvei?"
"Please tell me I gutted him. No, I don't remember."
Celeste sighed and shook her head. He'd lost track of how many times she'd healed him like this, asking him if he remembered like it'd work this time. Usually it was after he killed some threat to the group, barely surviving. He suspected, looking at her, that this time, that wasn't quite what had happened, and that Matvei was still out there somewhere.
