by Licia Troisi
“Thank you. …” he murmured, and collapsed to the forest floor.
Nihal stood motionless. For the first time, she knew what it meant to murder. Her sword trembled in her hands. Her hands were stained with innocent blood. In the rapture of her horror, she heard nothing as the enemy approached her through the woods. Not until four Fammin burst forth from the trees, catching her by surprise. The half-elf raised her sword.
Never before had she hesitated in the face of an enemy. She’d suffered fear in battle before, but only once, and never the fear to kill. But this time it was different. She’d seen enough blood. The thought of spilling any more made her stomach curl.
The Fammin closed in on her from all sides. One swiped an axe across her shoulder. Nihal leaped backward, waving her sword to fend them off. “I don’t want to fight you! Get out of here!” she shouted.
In each of their savage faces she saw a reflection of Vraśta’s smile—any one of them might have been a Mistake, simply following orders because he had to. How could she fight back?
She fled, as fast as she could, sprinting through the woods, scraping herself on the dry branches. She fell. She stood back up and took off running again. Behind her, she could hear the pounding of the enemies’ heavy footsteps.
A second blow clanged against her armor, just below the shoulders. Escaping was out of the question; she had to fight. She halted and turned about face. At the sight of her ready to battle, the Fammin hesitated.
“I don’t want to kill you. Go! Get out of here, and I’ll leave you alone,” said Nihal.
Their only reply was a chorus of derisive snickering. Nihal closed her eyes and launched into attack. She couldn’t bear to look at their faces, so terrified was she of glimpsing a trace of humanity. She struggled to take down the first, then the second. She’d been wounded already, but she went on fighting, until there was nothing left but their four lifeless corpses on the ground. She took off running again, pursued by her own self-disgust.
All of a sudden, she came to a halt. She’d arrived.
Before her was a sort of cave, a covered alleyway formed by two walls of dead trees, whose branches intertwined to form the ceiling. Nihal sprinted through the entrance and went on running, and the farther on she ran, the thicker the darkness grew around her.
For what seemed like an eternity, she ran. The air took on a strange consistency, enveloping her like a blanket, or as if it were water. She jammed her foot against something and fell forward. It was then that the lump in her throat dissolved and she broke into a wild sobbing. A thousand thoughts crowded her brain: the image of Vraśta, smiling as he died; her slaughter of the four Fammin only moments ago; her friends, fighting somewhere in the woods on their own; Laio wounded and tortured; Sennar.
She cried and cried until she thought it would never end, that for all eternity she’d go on shedding tears, alone there in the dark.
Then came the sound of a voice: “Who’s there?”
19
Goriar
or On Guilt
Laio shook himself from sleep and readied for attack, sword in hand. He could hear footsteps approaching: quicker, louder.
“Are you sure you’re okay to fight?” Sennar asked. “Your wounds haven’t fully healed yet.”
Laio smiled, maintaining his ready position. “I’m tired of being just another burden. I didn’t come all this way to let someone else do my fighting for me.”
Sennar grinned back at the squire, turned, and began repeating the spell in his head that he’d use the moment the Fammin arrived.
The footsteps grew nearer, together with the strident sound of someone calling out Vraśta’s name at the top of his lungs. The voice of a man. Laio gripped his sword. His last run-in with the enemy hadn’t done much to prove his valor as a warrior, but this time it would be different.
From out of the trees, seven Fammin burst into the clearing. Sennar greeted their arrival with a powerful spell, sending one of the Fammin lifeless to the ground. The remaining six were disoriented, allowing the sorcerer time to prepare his defense. With a wave of his hand, he drew four of the beasts toward him. Immediately, he erected a thin force field and began his assault.
Laio took advantage of the confusion and dealt a forceful blow to one of the stumbling Fammin. Then the fight began for real. In that instant, it was as if he remembered everything he’d learned during training at the Academy. He was focused, blocking and attacking with precision. Any one of his opponents, he knew, could potentially be a Mistake, but he banished the thought.
With the first Fammin still out of commission, Laio turned to the second. The beast was a stronger, more capable warrior, but what Laio lacked in force, he made up for in ardor and agility. A sharp claw slashed the squire’s arm. Laio returned the blow, striking the creature in a moment of distraction.
When he saw his opponent hit the ground, Laio felt a surge of confidence. He’d done it. He’d defended Nihal.
Just then, he felt the blade of a sword run across his calf, and he knew that his skirmish with the second Fammin wasn’t over. The duel resumed. Both were injured, but Laio was on the tail end of a long and painful healing process. Soon he could feel the burn of his old cuts reignite. His vision blurred, and every blow seemed more devastating than the last.
In a desperate rage, Laio dealt the Fammin a mortal blow. The beast fell, and Laio collapsed to his knees, breathless. He lifted his gaze and saw Sennar, still busy with two Fammin. Two others lay beside him at his feet.
“I’m coming to help!” Laio yelled to the sorcerer, making to stand. But just then he felt a sudden pain in his back and his body ceased to cooperate.
“I’m afraid your days as a hero are over,” came a voice from behind him.
Laio crumbled back to the ground without a noise. The man leading the troop of Fammin had assaulted him by surprise, and now he stood beside him, his lips curled in a cruel grin.
Sennar had heard Laio calling out to him and had turned just in time to see him hit the ground. The sorcerer’s limbs were suddenly charged with the very same fury he’d felt at Seferdi. All he could see was the boy splayed on the ground and the grin planted on the lips of that man, that traitor.
Fending off one last enemy blow, he sprang toward the squire. The boy’s eyes were closed and a large bloodstain covered his back.
The Fammin ceased their attack and the man stepped forward. “Resistance is futile,” he said, raising his sword to strike.
All of a sudden, the man’s arms froze in mid-air. Sennar’s lips curled around the words of a strange spell until a green ray of light surged from his palm and the man collapsed, lifeless.
A deathly silence seized the forest clearing. The Fammin stood there, riveted to the earth. With no one around to give them orders anymore, they were at a complete loss. Sennar’s lips began moving again as he recited another spell, quietly at first, but then louder and louder. A small globe of silver light began taking shape in his hands, expanding, and expanding, until, with a savage cry, Sennar released it.
What he’d just performed, for the first time in his life, moved by the force of hatred he’d discovered within, was a forbidden spell.
Silver light flooded the clearing, stretching to a twenty-foot radius. When it dissolved, all that remained were ashes and charred corpses. Not a single tree, not a single Fammin.
Amid the surreal silence, Sennar could hear only his own labored breathing. It felt as if he’d gone mad, as if he’d sunk into a hellish abyss. As he regained his senses, he came to the gradual realization that he’d killed, that he’d murdered, for the first time in his life. And what truly horrified him was that he felt gripped not by a deep displeasure or self-disgust, but by a wild joy. He turned toward Laio.
The boy’s back had been sliced open from end to end, and his face was bloodless. Sennar pressed a hand to his neck. His heart was still beating. A
ll was not lost.
The sorcerer scanned the area, doing his best to remain objective and ignore the enemies’ remains. He needed to think. The burst of energy he’d sent forth would be visible for several miles, if not more, particularly in a land shrouded in perennial darkness. Without doubt, someone had seen it. Staying put would be unwise. And with his energy almost entirely depleted, curing Laio’s wounds was out of the question at the moment. Between his encounter with the Fammin and the forbidden spell, he was spent. There was nothing left to do but get out of there. It would have been smart to hide the bodies, but there was no time, and Sennar was sickened by the mere sight of them. He hoisted Laio in his arms and set off in search of a safe hiding place.
He ran desperately, ceaselessly, with the constant fear that he was traveling in circles. At last he spotted a hideout—a deep burrow in the ground. It didn’t look very reassuring from the outside, but it was wide enough for both of them. First he set Laio down. Then he climbed down himself, helping his friend to a comfortable position.
It must have served as an animal dwelling at one time, for there were bones at the bottom and leaves piled up against one of the walls. Sennar laid Laio out over the leaves, face down, and leaned against the wall to catch his breath.
The moment he closed his eyes, his mind was flooded with images of the recent battle: Laio collapsing, the grinning face of the man he’d killed, the massacre he’d brought about with his own hands. Before then, he’d never taken the life of another, not even the sorcerer who’d attempted to assassinate Nereo. He felt lost, disturbed by the thought of how easy it all had come to him. The words of Soana and his other teachers swirled in his head: To kill is the ultimate subversion of nature. Murder is at the very foundation of the Tyrant’s magic. He’d used a forbidden spell, and one of the darkest at that. He’d ceded his soul to hell. And yet, at the bottom of his heart, the thought of the massacre still brought him joy. Horror overcame him.
After nearly an hour, he felt rested enough to use his magic. First he sent a message to Nihal. Then he leaned over Laio and began reciting the most powerful healing spell his strength would allow. Only then did he realize how gravely his friend had been wounded. The gash running the length of Laio’s back was distressingly deep, and he’d already lost a good deal of blood. Sennar began his treatment, though he discovered immediately that the wound was resistant to magic. Rather than give in, he persisted in reciting the spell, charging his glowing-hot hands with every last ounce of his strength.
“Who’s there?”
It was the voice of a man, and yet there was something inhuman about it. A grim, deep voice, as if emanating from the furthest recesses of the night’s darkness. The voice of the dead, rising from a crypt.
Nihal made no reply.
“What brings you here, to this sacred ground?”
As his question echoed in the silence, Nihal went on crying.
“Quit your suffering and speak to me,” said the voice.
Just then, Nihal had the sensation of a comforting arm wrapping itself about her shoulders. Her calm returned and she forced her eyelids open, but the dark was impenetrable. She felt immersed in a sea of nothingness.
“Am I in the sanctuary?” she asked, finally.
“This is Goriar, Temple of Darkness,” the voice replied. “Of darkness and Oblivion. The darkness of the world’s great consoler, Death, who soothes all pain. The darkness of dreamless Sleep, where the soul finds rest.”
“Then I need you. Now. My heart is sunk in nothingness,” said Nihal.
“What is your name?”
“Sheireen,” she answered, forcing herself to use that dreaded name. “Grant me the power to forget. I am a murderer.”
Nihal had the strange sensation that someone was sitting in front of her. The arm then lifted from her shoulders and a warm, comforting hand brushed her cheek.
“I know who you are,” said the voice. Nihal took out the amulet. It glowed in the pitch dark. “You’ve brought my sister Glael along with you. You’ve torn her from her solitude.”
“You’re the brother of Glael?” Nihal asked.
“Light and Shadow are one and the same, Sheireen. She is my other half, my self. By her I am negated, even as I am affirmed. Without Shadow, Light would not glow with such radiance; but without Light, Shadow would not be endowed with such perfect darkness.”
Nihal lowered her eyes. “I’ve come all this way to ask you for the stone, to beg your assistance, but I’m not sure that’s what I should do now. My hands drip with blood of the innocent. I’m no longer worthy of bearing the talisman.”
The darkness seemed to tighten around her.
“I can feel your heart is filled with suffering, that the words you speak are true. The blade of your sword has seen a thousand deaths, and among these even the deaths of innocent warriors. And yet, deep down, your soul has maintained its purity.”
“I didn’t want to kill Vraśta!” Nihal moaned. “He was a friend to me, a companion. He saved Laio’s life. I didn’t want to kill him!”
“You speak the truth, I know,” said Goriar.
“And the Fammin back in the forest, I didn’t want to kill them either. I didn’t want to kill the innocent!” More tears poured down her cheeks. “Please, help me to forget, grant me oblivion. Please.”
The sense of protection that she’d felt up until then suddenly vanished. She felt alone and abandoned.
“Oblivion was already offered to you, by Thoolan, and you refused it,” said the voice.
“What I want now is unconsciousness, and I know you can grant it to me,” Nihal implored.
“That is not what you need,” said Goriar.
“I don’t want to feel so vile anymore! I don’t want to feel so cruel, so filled with guilt!”
A hand took hold of her chin, lifting her head up. Nihal felt a stream of warm breath on her face. When Goriar spoke, his voice came from only inches away. “The suffering you feel now, your sense of guilt, are necessary. You cannot flee them. When you left Thoolan, you were warned that you would suffer, but you chose to go on. What you’re feeling now is nothing—very soon, new and more devastating horrors will rend your heart. It is through this suffering that you will come to understand life.”
“I know now that I was wrong, that I should never have felt justified in killing Fammin, but it’s too late,” said Nihal.
“It is true, but from the ruins of your past errors, you may form new tenets by which to live. You’ve discovered the way in which evil permeates all things, that it is no mere product of the Tyrant, but an ever-present force in the world.”
“What should I do?” asked Nihal.
“That much you must discover on your own. I can tell you nothing.”
“I’m no different than the murderers who killed my father. …”
“You’ll gain nothing by wallowing in your grief. You must find a way to transcend it, a path that will lead you from darkness back into the light.”
Nihal’s nerves began to settle. “For my whole life, I’ve never known which path to follow. …” she murmured.
“That is the very essence of your journey. If you never feel lost, you’ll never find your way.”
“But what do I do now?”
“Now you must reflect. On yourself, on the world around you, on your mission. All I can tell you is that your soul is not lost. And I know this because I can feel you are worthy of possessing the stone.”
Nihal dried her eyes and cheeks. As her vision came back into focus, she noticed the faint figure of a man taking shape, glowing gray against the dark shadow of the cavern, smiling, graceful, calm. At the center of his chest was a concentrated point of darkness.
“If you hadn’t reckoned with the cause of your pain today, I would not have been able to grant you this.” The dark object detached from his chest and began floating toward Ni
hal.
“Here is the stone you seek, the fifth stone, for which you’ve paid dearly with the suffering that comes from awareness. Let it be the flame by which you are led out of this darkness. Make good use of it. Let it take root inside of you.”
Nihal reached out toward the stone.
“Never forget the pain you suffered today. All that remains now is to perform the sacred ritual,” said Goriar, casting her a benevolent smile.
Nihal grabbed the stone and, as she placed it into its niche, recited the spell. The darkness retreated and the talisman glowed with a new light. In an instant, the half-elf found herself standing alone in a tunnel of trees.
For a short while, Nihal lingered in the tunnel. She was completely spent, everything in her used up, as if an entire lifetime had passed in those few hours. She needed peace and quiet. And it wasn’t until her thoughts settled that she realized how much time had gone by. Sennar and Laio were still out there, she suddenly remembered. And they were in danger. Sennar was no warrior, and Laio was a mere squire, wracked with wounds.
In long strides, she took off running, sword in hand.
Silence entombed the forest. When at last Nihal reached the clearing where the whole mess had begun, she came to a halt and glanced around.
Never in her life had she seen anything quite like it. For a radius of ten feet there were no trees at all, as if they’d been burned to ashes. Strewn over the ground were eight mauled corpses, charred black by the flames. It was difficult to distinguish their features in the darkness, but seven of them, Nihal was sure, were Fammin, and the last appeared to be a man.
She threw herself down beside the body, terrified it might be Laio or Sennar, but right away she noticed a strange breastplate that belonged to neither of them. At the center of the scene was a shallow crater. This had been the work of Sennar, Nihal was certain of it. He and Laio must have taken refuge somewhere. And yet an act of such uninhibited rage didn’t seem to fit the Sennar she knew. He hadn’t merely protected himself from the enemy; he’d slaughtered these Fammin. Nihal was struck by a sense of foreboding.
