by T. A. Miles
“You’ve protected her this long, Ersana. Don’t abandon her now...don’t leave it in the gods’ hands when you’re own are capable and while others are willing to lend theirs as well. She’s your daughter. She needs her mother...not the one that would possess her, or even the Ancient Mother, who would do her harm to protect her own cause.”
He might have gone too far and feared that he had when Ersana became suddenly more alert and defiant. “The Mother protects us.”
“What’s coming may well kill all of you,” Korsten answered quickly. “She conspired with demons, risked all of you to help them attain bodies and now she’ll risk all of you again in her mad plan to eliminate them. These are not the actions of a mother and this is not how this war will be won, or should be fought.”
“The war is yours,” Ersana tried to accuse, but Korsten wouldn’t allow it.
“This war is everyone’s,” he told her. “The killing, the dying, the ruin laid to homes and souls belongs to all of us. We can all work together to push Morenne back to its own borders, or we can scheme privately and against one another in the process. This,” he said, gesturing to the scene behind him. “Is not helping.”
Ersana looked beyond Korsten. Shadows of the erratic and violent movement outside of their temporary shelter passed across her face. Eventually, her gaze returned to Korsten and she said, “They will never tire. Their vessels are constructed of blood and earth. They are fortified and they are fed.”
Merran looked at Korsten in such a way that the gesture almost carried physical presence. Korsten carefully took his eyes from Ersana and acknowledged his partner’s interest and concern.
“Your spells will not evict them from those bodies. The sea will rectify them.”
“And all of us,” Korsten reminded, growing irritated with this situation. “If Dacia and the demons reach the Mother will her Summoning be stopped?”
He felt as if he knew the answer and perhaps Ersana was decided that he did, but he wanted it confirmed. They had to know precisely where they stood.
Looking sharply at her, he demanded an answer. “Will it?”
Ersana tried to hold his gaze and her silence, but soon shook her head and said gravely, “No.”
A wave of terror broke over Korsten at the thought of what they actually faced. He referred the sensation to Merran, as if he might somehow be able to deflect it and it was in that silent imploring his partner for an answer that he realized what they had to do.
Merran seemed to know as well and was shaking his head in aggravation. He glared at the battle outside of their shelter.
“Is it possible?” He asked openly, his mind quickly organizing a scenario; four priests casting Barrier at the water’s edge...maybe diverting or diminishing the force of the wave enough for the citizens of Indhovan to escape to higher ground.
Whether or not Merran was considering the same scenario, he shook his head slowly and said, “I don’t know if anything we can do will be enough.”
“But we have to try,” Korsten concluded, turning back to Ersana. “How long before it arrives?”
“I do not know,” Ersana said and there was nothing in that response that felt like a lie. “The Summoning has been years generating. We have been without the Mother’s direct guidance for a long time now.”
“It should have been easier for you to break your faith, then,” Merran inserted and seemed both irritated and disgusted. “You’ve allowed her to desecrate your pacifist tradition through a childish trust. She is not a conduit to the gods...each of us has that power on our own. Each of us is joined with nature—we’re a part of it. Your coven worships Nature as if it’s only the Malakym. You should be cherishing every aspect of nature, including the people who live beside you. Destroying them or allowing them to be destroyed—whether or not they’re member to your coven—is a disrespect to and in defiance of the gods...just as the Vadryn are. You regard us as their enablers when it’s you who are their bedfellows.”
Merran was right in that.
Whether or not Ersana would see it was set aside by the sudden, high pitched shriek that tore through the air. A low chuckle followed, rising steadily in cadence and volume. Ersana rushed down to where Korsten and Merran stood, clearly to see whether or not the scream and ensuing laughter meant the end of her daughter.
Korsten turned fully to the Barrier between them and the fighting, and looked with dread and awe upon the figure of the crone rising, the thrashing wooden limbs joining her. They hovered around her ancient form and seemed to pull her into it. She was expanding in mass, growing taller and broader, gaining arms that continued to whip across the open space. Her body was becoming the trunk of a new being, her face spreading and nearly disappearing into its scaly bark.
“My...gods...” Korsten barely breathed, but what they were seeing of the Ancient wasn’t the worst of it.
Beneath the crone, who continued swatting back Vadryn as if they were flies, Dacia stood. One arm was encased in a ruddy shell...a gauntlet that appeared in actuality to be an arm from one of the demons.
Korsten remembered the limb that had been separated from one of the beasts by the Reach in the same moment the one-armed demon threw itself down onto the floor behind Dacia. A sharp sensation of panic that she would be eviscerated where she stood struck Korsten and Ersana both.
Ersana physically responded, as if she could rush through Merran’s Barrier, but both Korsten and Merran reached out to stop her.
“Dacia!” Ersana cried out, and the first true expression Korsten had witnessed from her manifested in a horrified gaping at her daughter while the one-armed demon stepped forward and Dacia wheeled on it.
With unseen speed and an intangible force, the girl cracked the vessel down the middle. With a mad smile, she whirled back around and took the broken body on, as if shrugging on a cloak. It conformed to the shape, rejoining with its once severed arm and forming crude armor around the girl.
Dacia shrieked again. Witnessing it, it seemed a primal cry of aggravation and challenge. Was it Dacia, Korsten could only wonder, or was the girl channeling the demon whose stolen body spawned her?
“The roots responded to Fire,” Merran reminded, answering to the moment and by doing so, bringing Korsten alert as well.
He nodded. “The demons responded to me. They’re in such a driven state, I don’t know how readily they’ll do so now, but if I can somehow contain them again...”
Merran conceded with a taut nod and then said to Ersana, “That leaves Dacia to you. Try to reach her, else you’ll surely lose her.”
Ersana looked down at the crystal in her hand, then closed her fingers around it, drawing herself up somewhat as she drew in a breath and settled her attention calmly on her daughter.
The walkway extended to a natural shelf. Along the way a section of scaffolding had been battered down by the rockslide. They each managed the gap and, once they arrived at the shelf, Vlas stopped to look for ways to separate the walkway from it.
If Fire had been one of the spells his talents allowed for, he’d have simply incinerated the gods damned thing. However, having twice the emphasis on blue, and with white from his predecessor, he was far better equipped for thinking than assaulting.
The Megrim spell was easier for him than most, but he’d never tried it on ghouls. It was useless on demons and dangerously effective on people. Perhaps on something that existed between the two, the spell would yield a mediocre effect.
Wind might tear down some of the platforms, but more than a breeze would require more time. Blast, for a priest of his nature, manifested as little more than a flare. In fact, it might just as well have been called that, but that the mechanics to casting it were the same.
At a time like this, it was painfully clear that the gods, his predecessor, and Vlas himself were all agreed that he was not meant to be a warrior or a hunter. He hadn’t slacked in his
weapons training, but there were a few too many opponents present than he wanted to chance, especially with others present, who he would hold himself responsible for.
“This way!” Vaelyx urged.
Vlas looked toward the man, then back to the ghouls, who were gaining ground quicker than he would have liked. He still considered what he might do, and then Imris took his arm, insisting that they follow Vaelyx. With a last glance over the wooden construction—solid even in its connection to the rock—he abandoned the matter and went with Imris.
His legs were long and Imris was an able runner. The both of them quickly reached Vaelyx and threatened to overtake him. Assuming he was the one who knew where they were going, they slowed their pace enough to allow him to continue to lead.
Their route was sloping downward, into a tunnel that required light, so Vlas provided it. Orbs glinted high along the wall at the same time and Vlas barely had a moment to curse their luck before several figures leaped down at them. Vaelyx swore loudly enough for all of them and took a short knife quickly from his belt. The man immediately set about defending himself.
Vlas sent the Lantern toward the ceiling to grant them enough light to see their opponents and drew his sword in time to slice the blade across the arm of an attacker.
The once-man’s flesh was weak from his curse and gave readily, enabling the thin weapon to cut well deeper than it might have normally, which provided swift though jarring passage to the ghoul’s shoulder and chest. It took the damage and continued in its reckless lunge.
Vlas put his free arm between them and shoved the ghoul backward, into the one behind it. While both opponents stumbled, Vlas instructed his companions. “Do not lose blood to them!”
His words went unacknowledged, but hopefully not unheeded.
Beside Vlas, Imris had taken a narrow club of sorts from off her own belt and he feared worse for her. She wouldn’t be able to afflict them enough to bring them down with a weapon like that. He barely trusted his own weapon to do enough damage to such creatures.
The wounded ghoul and its fellow were recovered and lurching at him again. He abandoned the Lantern and a hastily cast Megrim confounded the attackers’ sense of direction. One of them fell directly while the other attacked the air beside Vlas as if he had a twin standing at his shoulder.
Vlas quickly put the tip of his sword into its exposed side and drove it toward the wall. It impaled with the ease of rotted wood and Vlas’ weapon pulled out of it as easily. Gruesome as it was he had to continue hacking at it until it was damaged beyond further useful movement. In the process, the one that had fallen managed to crawl at him and was grasping the air in anticipation of reaching him. He kicked the reaching hand, hard enough that the arm was flung and bent awkwardly in the process. The ghoul’s weakened bone splintered, rendering the arm useless. He saw to the rest of the creature and quickly flinched aside when a third dove at him, this one with a torch. The others must have caught up to them, then.
While Vlas dodged the errantly flung fire, Imris stepped in and leveled a haltingly abrupt blow to the attacker’s lower back. The ghoul went splaying to the floor and afterward Imris pivoted sharply and with precision, swiping her club across the jaw of another attacker. There was a methodic pause, an intake of air and then a grunt of force accompanying the crack of her weapon against an enemy’s skull.
Vlas took the opening her efforts provided to retrieve the torch of one of the fallen. He held the flame to the ghoul’s prone body until it smoldered and lit. He hurried to do the same to any others that had been taken down. A handful of stragglers hesitated to attack as the smoke and fire rose.
The ones nearby were accounted for.
“See to Vaelyx,” Vlas instructed and Imris went to the aged man, who was still standing, albeit somewhat bent and out of air.
In the meantime, Vlas sheathed his sword and took one of the fallen ghouls by the ankle, dragging its limp form toward where the majority of the others had gone down. He deposited it there, then sought another and did the same, pulling it by the arm, which felt as if it dislocated at the shoulder along the way. When the body was near enough, he rolled it over with his foot, so it was directly beside the rest, then set the low mound on fire.
The surviving ghouls watched emotionless, save for a vaguely antagonized glare. Their poisoned minds were doubtlessly pondering whether or not they could charge through the flame and survive long enough to fulfill their duty to the demon who’d bound them literally until death with her foul toxin. She must have fed from them regularly, extending their existence but also prolonging a slow death. Their minds and bodies were literally deteriorating.
When Vlas felt convinced that the ghouls weren’t willing to set themselves on fire, he turned from the scene and carried the torch to the others. He passed it off to Imris while giving his attention to Vaelyx and to visually examining him for injury. None seemed apparent. He asked anyway, “Are you hurt?”
Vaelyx cast him a weary eye, then shook his head. “Are you?”
Vlas rolled his eyes and frowned mildly. “I’d yet fare better than you if I were, Master Treir. Where to now?”
Vaelyx gestured further down the tunnel ahead, drawing himself to a better stand as he recovered some of his stamina. “The well’s not far.”
“And Serawe?” While he asked, he caught Imris glance at him and returned the visual contact.
“She goes often,” Vaelyx answered, shaking bits of gore off his knife.
“For what?” Vlas asked, watching the man then swipe the blade over his pant leg.
When Vaelyx felt the blade was clean enough, he sheathed it and raised his eyes to Vlas. “For our daughter,” he answered and the wry bitterness in his tone was markedly disturbing just at that moment.
Vlas frowned while Vaelyx turned from them and proceeded down the tunnel. In all his years, Vaelyx Treir may have been the first man to render him legitimately speechless.
“Let’s go,” Imris prompted from what she’d made her place at his side. Rahl had raised an admirable constable. If all of their troops were so dedicated and so skilled, the city may yet have held an advantage over the encroaching forces.
Merran brought down the Barrier. Ersana was between them, or he would have reached to touch Korsten’s hand in the moment, before they emerged from their short-lived haven away from the melee of demons and the magic of an ancient witch. Merran had never witnessed one this old, nor one as determined to behave as aggressively and as inhumanely as one of the Vadryn. Unfortunately, at her age, with her raw talent, it would be nearly impossible to bring her down.
This was tantamount to one of the Superiors, devoid of conscience or consideration for those beneath them. Merran could not picture it. It crossed his mind that Ersana may not have been able to picture this before it happened either, and he was forced to withdraw his judgment of her.
Trust could become both helpless and dangerous. It was the betrayer of that trust who’d committed the greater wrong. His mind began to apply that same reasoning to Korsten’s former trust of a certain demon, but he forced all thoughts save those required to challenge the crone to be still.
“Take your mind from the Mother,” he advised to Ersana as they stood outside of the stairwell, looking up at the spectacular image of an ancient woman merged with nature.
She had transitioned herself into the tree...into a vessel that was previously inanimate, but which yet enabled magic and life to flow through her and from her. This application of the magic was also something Merran never would have envisioned before now.
He felt a pull at his subconscious just then, like a thread lifting through his blood, drawing toward a source he could not ignore. He would ignore this, though.
He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and willed himself not to look at Korsten—the source of Allurance that was successfully calling. Allurance that was now paired with something else. Ko
rsten brought forward Song. There was no question. Merran had been struggling to keep himself from succumbing to it for nearly the duration of their time in the caves.
He opened his eyes again and saw that even Ersana was lured to staring at Korsten. He placed a hand over hers, his skin against hers enabling the transfer of a mild spell. It deadened her senses somewhat and enabled her to quiet the stimulating effect Korsten’s soul had on others, particularly when it was Singing...as it was now.
The demons heard it before Korsten opened his mouth to coax them away from their fight. Merran could only wonder if Korsten realized the power his voice added to the spell, or if it was incidental that he talked as much as he did, and especially when he was concentrating.
Ersana seemed to understand the essence of what was happening. She rearranged the placement of their hands over one another and returned the gesture Merran had just paid her. In her rogue manner, it felt different than any form of healing touch he’d received at Vassenleigh. Its effect was the same, regardless, and both cooled his blood and calmed his spirit enough that he easily assumed control over himself.
He met the woman’s gaze and said, “Go to your daughter.”
With a quiet nod, Ersana slid her hand from his and stepped away. The demons were already dropping away from the fight.
Merran looked up at the Mother. He held his eyes tightly shut and drew in a breath, then opened them again, dropping both the breath and his gaze in that moment. He performed the quick motions of a Fire spell and sent heat racing toward the thick base of the Mother.
Flames rolled into being as the intense warmth connected with material. The cords of wood strewn across the floor curled back from it. Several of them rose up and whipped in Merran’s direction.
Foresight enabled him to anticipate behavior and action in some situations and to better respond to it. He avoided being struck at first with simple leanings and sidesteps, but before long he had the Mother’s full attention.
