by Davis Ashura
A single pinpoint of light became visible. It grew, becoming a golden glow. Sound came, the echoing notes of a mandolin and his favorite song. The fleeting feel of fog passed through him. He embraced the sensations, and they grew thicker, more weighty.
A rapturous laughter started from within the vaults of his mind. “You have survived the purification,” Linder said. His voice echoed louder and louder, becoming separate from him.
The sound merged with that of a singing light. A scent came to Rukh. It held the fragrance of purity and the touch of the sacred. It was a tolling note to which his Jivatma pulsed. It was a calling, a yearning that stretched out from the furthest heights—immeasurably distant—yet was close as a prayer. Rukh instinctively knew that the impressions originated from the singing light, and he tried to chase after it.
“It is not yet your time. Your work is not yet complete. Arisa still needs you,” Linder said. In their prior, brief conversation, he had sounded heavyhearted and tired, but now he sounded at peace. Rukh watched as the First Father ascended toward the singing light.”Search yourself, and you will find My final gifts,” Linder added. His voice grew faint as he quickly became lost to Rukh's senses.
With a pang, Rukh turned away from the singing light. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He had wanted to go to it, to give himself over to it, but he couldn't. Duty came first.
Rukh faced the world. His sight grew clearer. A cloud banked his vision. The haunting strains of the mandolin faded. Harsh cries crowded the skies. The cawing of ravens. He realized that what he'd taken to be a cloud wasn't so. It was smoke, an acrid stench that might have caused him to cough, but he had no lungs. Heat, an updraft from a thousand fires, clawed for him. With the burning he had so recently experienced, the flames were as cold as a winter day.
He mentally inhaled and the world returned in its entirety. With a start, he discovered that he floated far above Ashoka. He witnessed a world that was more vibrant and more clear than Rukh could ever recall it being. Everything held a sharp edge—buildings, trees, roads, people. They all seemed outlined by a stenciling of bright light. Sounds were also more distinct. Cries, shouts, even whispers—Rukh could almost see their reverberations disturb the air. And past the wretched stench of smoke and despoilment, he tasted the sweetness of millions of roses in bloom. The single flutter of a raven's wings flicked across his sight. Time moved slowly. He watched a raindrop form in the heart of a cloud. It floated in the air and dispersed into vapor.
It was how the world appeared when he drew Jivatma, but he wasn't drawing Jivatma right then. He didn't have to. Not anymore. He was one with his Jivatma, and it was vast. His existence was changed. It was then that Rukh came to the final realization that his body . . . he had none. Instead, he had the appearance of a cloud. And lightning coruscated around him.
Jessira had watched Rukh's transformation in open-mouthed astonishment. What had happened to him? What had he become? Had he once again done the unimaginable?
“What just happened?” Jaresh asked, his voice filled with astonishment. He limped over with Sign by his side. Thrum trailed after him carrying an unmoving Dar'El on his back.
“I don't know,” Jessira said with a helpless shrug. She looked to Rukh's nanna. “Is he . . .”
“He won't live much longer,” Jaresh confirmed with a shudder. A tear leaked down his cheek and Sign held him close.
Shon settled on one side of Jessira and Aia on the other.
*It is frightening seeing you in so much danger,* Shon said. *I don't like it.* He pushed his head into Jessira's hand, and she stroked his forehead, the area between his eyes.
*I'm still with you,* Jessira said.
“Set me down,” Satha wheezed, arriving just then.
Li-Choke carried her, chair and all. “After the Chimeras left, I felt it only fitting that she be here when her husband is embraced by Devesh's love,” the Bael explained.
Lightning crackled, and Jessira's gaze shifted skyward. It wasn't Suwraith. Instead, it was a blue cloud with cotton-white wisps that descended lower. A tendril of its essence hovered over Dar'El. A gentle glow discharged into Rukh's nanna, and he groaned. Dar'El slid off of Thrum's back, but before he could fall, Li-Choke carefully settled him on the ground.
“I'm fine,” Dar'El said, waving aside the Bael's assistance. “I can stand on my own.”
Satha cried out in relief, and Jaresh carried her to Dar'El's side.
Jessira's attention, though, was caught up with the cloud that hovered over them. She gazed upon it in wonderment. “Rukh?”
From the cloud came a voice. It sounded like Rukh's, but it was so much more vibrant, so much more resonant and powerful. But at the same time, it was also softer and more humble. “I'm sorry I had to leave you,” the voice said.
“You will die!” a voice of grinding bones and ripping flesh cried out. The Sorrow Bringer, pregnant with puissance and ancient with evil, raced across the skies toward Rukh.
“This world does not need to be Your prison any longer,” Rukh said, seeming to entreat the Sorrow Bringer. “Let it go.”
The Queen snarled in answer and attacked.
Rukh—though he was transformed into something other than Human, something far more potent and powerful—was yet young to his strength. And even he, in this new, strange state, was but a shade before the Sorrow Bringer's might. She dwarfed him. As the Sorrow Bringer reached for him, Rukh did what was prudent. He fled, racing skyward.
Jessira urged him on as Suwraith gave chase. Run! Run as fast as you can, as far away as possible!
However, Rukh was a warrior from birth. He did not flee forever. Nor did he shrink from Suwraith's challenge. Instead, high in the heights above, Rukh halted his flight. He turned to face the onrushing Sorrow Bringer. His blue cloud shape coalesced into the appearance of a man. “It need not be this way,” he said, still sounding imploring. “Your pain can be Healed. The singing light is the way to forgiveness and grace.”
Suwraith laughed at his words. “There is no light,” She snarled. “And you will die like all the others who challenged My might.”
Rukh seemed to sigh. “So be it,” he said, sounding regretful. From his hand, he extended a sword, and he gestured to the Sorrow Bringer, motioning Her to come and face him.
The Queen growled acceptance of the challenge. She rose up to meet Rukh. Her bruise-colored cloud slowly congealed, and She took on the shape of a woman, one that was head-and-shoulders larger than Rukh. Lightning haloed Her head, and She held a golden staff in Her hands. “The sword will not avail you.” Her voice boomed.
Jessira watched the tableau up above in awe, but a flash of reflected light from the ground caught her attention. She bent down and retrieved the Withering Knife.
Rukh stood in a luminescent gulf between flesh and spirit, but there was another who existed in this realm as well. One who had held reign here for far longer. One who was hoary and malevolent. Suwraith. And She was coming for him.
Rukh tried to urge Her away from conflict, to get Her to see the singing light, embrace its love . . . how could She not feel it? See it? Be drawn to it? But for whatever reason, the Sorrow Bringer did not. Instead, the Queen transformed Herself into the image of a young woman. She loomed more than head and shoulders taller than he. She was a giant, and she was old, and likely knew Her abilities in ways that Rukh wouldn't master for many years to come. The Sorrow Bringer forged a golden staff and promised death.
So be it.
Rukh let go of his regrets and firmed his resolve. Had he a chance to make sense of the Talents and knowledge Linder had left for him, perhaps he would have chosen a different weapon, but the sword was what he knew. The sword would be the weapon with which he fought. With a gritting of his figurative teeth, Rukh readied his blade.
The Sorrow Bringer attacked. Rukh raised a hasty Shield just as lightning lit into him. It flowed like a rolling tide of energy, wrapping him in a cocoon of crackling light. The Queen raced in behind it, H
er golden staff a whining blur of light.
Rukh blocked once. The power of Her swing nearly disintegrated his sword. He missed Her second blow. It pounded into his Shield. Rukh had to disengage. He pulled back, flowing smoothly, but the Sorrow Bringer followed. He blocked a thrust at his head. Another aimed at his ribs. Rukh's riposte was an angled thrust, but the Queen swept to the side, easily evading his attack. Lightning came for him again, but this time, Rukh was ready. He absorbed the crackling energy into his Shield. He feinted a jab at the Sorrow Bringer. Feinted again, and She reacted with a sweep of Her staff. It left Her open, and Rukh threw a Fireball, white-hot and bleeding lightning.
The Queen let it strike against Her Shield. The Fireball didn't slow Her down in the slightest. She darted forward but at the last instant, rose higher into the air. She now had the heights. Rukh pulled back, but the Sorrow Bringer followed. He tried to keep Her at a distance, and when She descended, he was ready. Or so he thought. She plummeted past him, angling so She was directly beneath him before rocketing straight up. Her staff droned like like a swarm of cicadas and a swing rammed directly at his legs.
Rukh desperately shifted position, moving so he could block Her strike. He basically flung himself to the side. Once more, he was below Her. He barely had time to reestablish his balance before She was on him again.
A flick of Her staff had Rukh defending once again. Another flick came, and he turned away from the swing and blocked the thrust aimed at his chest. Rukh was inside the Queen's reach, but She disengaged before he could go after Her. Suddenly, She lurched toward him, too quick to evade. Her staff whistled as it blurred toward his head, and Rukh blocked it. However, he couldn't avoid the counter-swing aimed at his legs.
He dissipated, taking on the cloud-like form that was his most natural state. He intended to let the staff pass through him, and it would have worked on any being other than the Queen. Instead, Suwraith's staff impacted against his formless form and cut a line of pain through him. It wasn't an injury such as he would have suffered when he still wore flesh—blood certainly didn't flow—but nonetheless, it still felt like he'd been dealt a terrible, ragged wound.
His Jivatma roiled, and he cried out in pain. He pulled back, desperate to gain distance. He didn't know what kind of injury he had sustained or how to Heal it. He just knew it hurt. Ironically, it was the Sorrow Bringer who gave him the time to learn how to repair his wounds.
The Queen paused Her attack as he retreated and laughed at him. “I mastered both the sword and the staff millennia before you were born,” She sneered.
Rukh didn't pay attention to Her words. Instead, he took the valuable reprieve to search his mind for what to do. It was here that Linder's knowledge proved invaluable. While Suwraith laughed, he was able to Heal his injury. The pain eased and Rukh took the time the Queen had inadvertently given him to try to formulate a better plan.
The staff was a difficult weapon to counter, and the Sorrow Bringer truly was a master. Worse, it had been some time since Rukh had trained against a competent staff wielder. As a result, so far, all he'd been able to do was merely defend. He'd been unable to muster any sort of offense. His approach had to change.
However, the Sorrow Bringer was on him again before he could devise a different strategy. Rukh stepped outside Her range. He blocked a swing aimed at his shoulders. He slid to the side and another blow went wide. She chased after him, but always She was in control. She never overextended. Another swing came too swiftly for him to avoid. It rocked his Shield.
Rukh ground his teeth in frustration. At a distance, Suwraith was simply too fast. He needed to get inside and fight in close quarters.
He stepped past a thrust and attempted to launch a counter. The Queen stifled him. She moved smoothly, effortlessly, turning aside his every strike. During it all, She wore a serene visage, almost as if She were meditating. It was so unlike Her appearances on the other occasions that Rukh had seen Her. Then She had raged, uncontrolled and wild. Rukh needed to fight that version of Suwraith. He had to anger Her so She would lose Her equanimity and perfect technique.
“You are not a goddess.” Rukh said, wearing a sneering smile after another disengagement. “Your Chimeras see You fighting someone who defies You and whom You are unable to immediately punish. They will eventually see the truth, and then what will You do?” He fired a Fireball, and it struck the Queen head on. “You are weak,” he stated in as contemptuous a tone as he could manage. The Sorrow Bringer stumbled away, and Rukh launched another Fireball. This one, She sidestepped. The Fireball detonated in the bay, and a hissing splash over a hundred feet high crashed upward as water boiled.
The Queen didn't bother answering with words. She simply snarled and stepped forward, launching a series of rapid strikes at him. From Her eyes, lightning lanced out. Rukh took it on his Shield, and from his eyes, he fired off a Bow. Suwraith dodged, but Rukh took the distraction to attack. He was briefly inside Her guard, but She brought up a knee, hammering into his essence. He stepped away with a grunt.
“The longer we fight, the more Your Chimeras will abandon You,” Rukh managed to say through the pain.
“I know what You are trying to do. You're trying to bait me,” Suwraith said with a mocking smile. “It won't work.” She leveled Her staff at him. “Now, at the end, understand this: you were never a challenge. You have been tested and found wanting. Prepare yourself.” Her staff blazed into motion.
The Sorrow Bringer chased Rukh across the skies. Wherever he went, so too, did She. Her movements were controlled and fluid. Rukh barely evaded Her swift staff. Their parries rang out over the city like a bell tolling doom. Once more, Her golden staff whipped through the air like a flood of arrows. Rukh couldn't block Her this time. The impact when Her weapon connected with him pealed like thunder and lightning sprayed in all directions.
Just then, Rukh straightened from a crouch and hurled a Bow. The Queen evaded, but Rukh came behind it. He managed to enter Suwraith's guard. A series of swift strikes with his silver sword had the Queen on Her back foot. Rukh followed, keeping the pressure. He blocked a short swing and his own front kick connected. It thudded into the Sorrow Bringer's chest with the force of a rockslide. The Queen quickly drifted out of range, but Rukh leapt after Her. She simply dropped beneath and to the side of an upward-moving slash aimed at Her head.
Rukh spun about to keep Her in front of him. He darted downward to where the Sorrow Bringer had descended, but She rose away from him. Rukh chased after, but the Queen flew backwards. Suwraith gained the distance She needed and settled Herself at the ready once more. Rukh's momentary advantage was gone. They stood at an even height and faced off against one another.
Jessira clenched her fists, watching the battle unfolding in the skies of Ashoka even as she willed Rukh on to greater quickness. He had the skills to defeat the Queen. Of this, she was certain, but he simply lacked the speed. He, who had been the swiftest warrior she had ever seen, was too slow. His parries were often barely made in time. He blocked blows and evaded others but did little more than that. It left him little chance to counter. His movements were all given over to defense. It couldn't go on, not if he wished to survive.
And that's all Jessira wanted. She wanted Rukh to survive. She wanted him to live through this battle. Nothing more.
Victory could be a dream for another day because today, the Queen was simply too fast, too powerful, and too relentless. And as the fight wore on, Her swiftness didn't seem to be abating. She was moving just as quickly now as She had at the beginning of the battle. Rukh, though, was starting to slow down, to weaken. His parries lacked the precision they had early on, and more and more often, he merely threw himself out of the way of Her strikes. He took another battering blow. And another. Another connected and he stepped away from Suwraith, shaking his head as if to clear away the cobwebs.
The Sorrow Bringer walked him down. She no longer bothered with lightning, Bows, Spears, or any other weapon. Her golden staff was all She neede
d.
Rukh held a look of desperation on his face. He needed help.
Jessira's gaze fell to the Withering Knife. How had Rukh transformed into what he had? What was the process? It had been something to do with the Knife, but what? He'd stabbed himself in the chest with it, but was that all there was? To kill oneself with the black blade?
“Do not desire for yourself,” a deep, resonant voice said, sounding as though it spoke from a great distance.
Jessira frowned. She'd heard that voice before. It had been during those episodes when Rukh hadn't sounded like himself. It was a voice that had sounded deeper and richer than his own as well as more world weary and fatigued. But this time, the voice had sounded at peace. But was it even real?
“Do not desire power,” the voice said, sounding even more distant.
Another peal of thunder. Distractedly, Jessira looked up. Rukh had managed a weak strike against the Queen, but his movements were still too ragged for him to win. He was only delaying the inevitable.
“Desire service with sacrifice,” the voice said a final time before growing silent.
Jessira considered the words spoken to her thus far. She still wasn't sure what to do. What the voice had instructed sounded so simple. Was that all there was? In order to become like Rukh, she would have to sacrifice? She would have to desire service rather than power. Was it really so easy?
It seemed wrong for such a transformation to come about with such little cost. After all, this was how Jessira had always lived her life. She had become a warrior so she could protect those who couldn't protect themselves. She was the sheepdog facing down the wolves, even at the cost of her own life.
Another crack of thunder, heavy and rolling, rocked the heavens. Without looking, Jessira knew Rukh had taken another blow. He couldn't take much more. She studied the Knife. Purity of desire, service and sacrifice. That was it?
