by Davis Ashura
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, Her 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 an
d 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 needed.
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?
Jessira's decision firmed. In all the other instances she had heard this strange voice, he had always provided wisdom. He had always spoken true.
Jessira would do this to save the people she loved, save Rukh, save Ashoka, save even the poor, deluded Chimeras. All of them deserved a chance to live free of the Sorrow Bringer's evil. She lifted the Knife to her chest and breathed a swift prayer to Devesh, seeking His protection and guidance and forgiveness.
She turned to Dar'El. “The Knife is the key,” she said. “It's how Rukh became like Suwraith. But you can only do it if you have nothing in your heart but a desire to serve and sacrifice.”
Dar'El shot her a confused stare, but Jessira had no more time for talk. Rukh had taken another series of blows.
Thunder split the skies as Jessira plunged the Knife into her heart.
Pain, like nothing she had ever known, took her.
If Rukh still had a body, he would have been panting in exhaustion by now. He would have been hobbling about, bruised from all the punishing blows the Sorrow Bringer had delivered. Though his Jivatma still coursed potently, he was simply taking too much punishment too frequently to give himself time to Heal. New damage occurred before he could care for the old. With a sickening awareness, Rukh knew there would come a point when he would break. Unless something drastic changed, he was doomed.
He even tried to flee the battle, but the Queen was too swift. Every time he tried to retreat, She cut him off.
The worst aspect of his looming defeat and death—the knowledge that made him want to cry out in frustration—was that Rukh finally knew how to fight the Queen. She was fast, but he had Her timing down. She was powerful, but She lacked his precision. She was skilled, but there were stances and movements when Her thrusts and strokes became predictable.
If Rukh only had a few minutes to Heal rather than the paltry few seconds he had been granted so far, he would be refreshed and ready. He would be able to take advantage of his understandings of Suwraith's fighting style. He would finally be able to take the fight to the Sorrow Bringer. Just a little time, and he could take Her.
Rukh snarled.
Then he'd earn that time.
He held tight to his will and poured all his energy into speed and defense. For a time it worked. He parried and blocked. He gave ground. He flew above Suwraith. He flew below Her. All his effort was given over to avoiding Her golden staff. He was able to hold off the Queen, prevent any further injuries, and slowly, he Healed.
Then She launched a seemingly lazy thrust at his midsection, which he easily parried. She slipped to his right. Her staff dipped to the side of his sword, and She swung it up. Rukh never saw it coming until it slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back. He took two more blows before finally gaining space to disengage.
All his Healing was undone.
Suwraith gave him a chilling smile. “Now comes your end.”
Whatever else She might have said was lost in the flood of Jessira's pain. Something horrific was happening to her. Agony flooded through her, threatening to tear her apart. She burned as if she'd been dipped in molten rock. Her essence was being torn apart, frayed and ripped into ever smaller pieces.
Rukh's figurative heart clenched. The Withering Knife. Jessira must have stabbed herself in the heart with it. It was the only explanation that could account for the terrible pain she was experiencing.
Suwraith hissed. She might have sensed what was happening to Jessira as well. “Whoever has sheathed the Knife in their flesh won't survive the purification,” She declared.
“She will survive,” Rukh said, more to keep the Queen talking than for any other reason. The longer the Sorrow Bringer let him rest, the more chance he could recover from his latest injuries.
“Only those with the worthiest of hearts can enact the change. You were an aberration, but there won't be two in one day,” the Queen sneered. “And if this woman does survive the purifying fire, still, she will die. I will make certain of it.”
“It is You who will die,” Rukh vowed.
Even as he said the words, he knew they sounded asinine. They didn't sound defiant or heroic, but he also didn't care. He would say whatever it took to keep Suwraith distracted. He only needed to stay alive a few moments more. Help was coming. Jessira was coming. She would survive the trial with the Withering Knife, and she would be here. He knew it. He had faith.
“
I think not,” the Sorrow Bringer laughed. “The woman who sheathed the Knife won't save you. No one will. She will be another I cast down. You'll live to see her dead. This, I promise.” The Queen surged toward him.
But Rukh was ready. Only a few seconds had passed, but it had been enough time for him to somewhat recover.
The Queen attacked, and Rukh's silver sword whistled through the air like a shrieking hawk. He blocked Her strike. A sound like rocks cracking shook Ashoka. Another swing, and Rukh deflected. A tolling echo boomed across the heavens. Rukh stepped back, moving out of range. He rose above the Queen and She followed. He darted down and to the left before moving laterally to the right. She overswept him and had to spin around to keep him in sight. Rukh refused to engage, and this time Suwraith was unable to force the issue.
He had to stay away from the Queen and give Jessira time to complete her transformation. Even now, her pain was slowly fading, and for a time, Rukh couldn't sense her presence. But he held tight to his trust. She would survive.
Eventually, he again became aware of Jessira's essence. She had done it! She had survived the purification.
The Queen bellowed in rage.
This time, he could sense so much more from Jessira than he ever had when they had worn flesh. A luminescent cloud of glowing green motes ascended to the heavens and settled next to Rukh. They coalesced into the shape of a woman that wore Jessira's heart-shaped features.
She smiled at him. “You look like you could use some help.”
“You have no idea,” Rukh said with a laugh. Barely understanding what he was doing or how he was doing it, he passed Linder's knowledge to her.
Jessira nodded in appreciation. “Thank you,” she said. “Let's get to work.” A blue sword extended from her hands, and she turned to the Sorrow Bringer. “My Queen, I believe You have a date with Death.”
The Sorrow Bringer still towered over both of them. She was a giant, and they were but children in Her presence. But still, She appeared nervous. Suwraith slowly readied Her staff even as She warily eyed them. A moment later, She turned and fled.
