by Rex Hazelton
A burst of light flashed on Muriel's hand as she sobbed and said, "Daddy."
When a responding flash of light rose up out of the green grasslands covering the part of the Warl of the Dead that was bathed in the Mountain of Song's wonderous radiance, the One Who Was Not Ab'Don said, "Did Daddy finally come and help you escape Schmar's cavernous kingdom?"
"He came in the only way he could after Arachnamor murdered him when he first went looking for me." Muriel touched the ring that her father had given her the day she was born. Then she looked down at the grassland below, wondering if her father was standing there now.
"He came fifteen winters after you were abducted. Why not sooner? What made him wait so long? Wasn't he bothered by your plight? He had to know about it if he sent the magical ring to find you."
Taking Bacchanor in with cold eyes, the Sorcerer sneered and said, "That, Brown Wizard, is why I know the Prophetess will accept my offer. Muriel is determined to succeed where her father failed."
"He didn't fail," Muriel corrected the Sorcerer as she continued to caress the ring.
"The mind you've developed to cope with life's inequities tells you that. I know there is a child inside of you who won't let the past be pushed aside so easily. Now the one in need is Kaylan who, though now a man, is still your child. And unlike your father, you won't wait fifteen winters to save him. In fact, you won't wait another day. How could you live with yourself if you did otherwise?"
"Don't listens to him," Bear looked worried as he spoke to his friend. "He's just tryin to manipulates you."'
"He's right Bear." Muriel looked at the giant as the sadness filling her eyes was joined by a smile of resignation. "I won't wait another day to save my son if an opportunity presents itself. I have no choice, even if it brings me to harm. You'd do no different if the Sorcerer had made the offer to you."
This silenced Bear who had spent much of his youth in the Cave of Forgetfulness like Muriel had. "Then I'll goes with ya."
"Giant, you can go with her and escort Kaylan to safety. But you can't stay, not unless you have a death wish you haven't told the others about."
Trying to forestall the moment Muriel would accept the offer, hoping something would arrive that would interrupt the distressing negotiations, Bacchanor asked another question. "Why can't you use Kaylan to unlock the door you want opened? His body was inside his mother's womb when she hung on the iron tree, and his spirit was inside of her when she was forced to go to the Warl of Dead. The simultaneous working of magic must have affected him as much as it did Muriel."
"You'd think," the Sorcerer replied. "But it didn't, though I can say I touched Kaylan's spirit in a way he wouldn't be able to shake off even if he was the Singer himself. Crooked Finger didn't pierce his heart like it did his mother's on that fateful day. That's the difference. That's why I need Muriel. And that's why you can count on me keeping my word when I say I will let Kaylan go free, and the rest of you too, once his mother takes his place. Once I have her, nothing will be able to stop me, so why not let you go?
"Let me lay the all of my cards on the table. If the Prophetess rejects my offer, I could scuttle your Flight and send you all plummeting into the Warl of the Dead.
"Since I need her, I won't do that.
"Because I can't force your craft to go to the Hall of Voyd with me, I might be compelled to kill Kaylan. But I won't do that either, since I need him to be alive if the Prophetess changes her mind. But what I will do is, torture the young man in ways you can't even imagine. I'll make each day of his life worse than anything his mother ever experienced.
"On the good side of the ledger, at least from your perspective," the One Who Was Not Ab'Don focused his attention on Muriel once again, "you're probably thinking you can escape from the tree that I'll hang you on. You did it once before. Surely, you see yourself doing it again. And once Kaylan is freed, he could use the magic I sense dwelling in the sword that is strapped to his hip to help your husband when he comes to liberate you.
"For the life of me," the Sorcerer laughed at the irony of what he said and because he had unwittingly drawn on Ab'Don's vocabulary to express himself, "I can't separate that fire-blasted thing from his hip. So, he might as well take it with him.
"So what will it be?" The Evil One's smoky silhouette, that only Muriel could see, rose up and enveloped the Sorcerer's body once more. "Will you take Kaylan's place on the fiery tree that stands in the Hall of Voyd, giving me the magic I need to extend my rule from the sunlight Warl of the Living all the way into the shadows stretching across half of the Warl of the Dead, or will you save your skin for now and allow your son to be viscously tortured in a way that will leave him a blithering idiot if I allow him to live. Then he'll be as insane as your husband is becoming because of the time he spent in Chygroyd's Keep's dungeons.
"Oh, excuse me for bringing Jeaf into our conversation. He needs saving too. Isn't that why you're rushing off to see him? You think the Song of Breaking's magic can heal him.
"So this is the conundrum you're facing: save Kaylan and give me the means to increase the very power I will use to conquer your beloved Nyeg War, or you can run off and sing your song over a man who will despise you as much as you will despise your self for abandoning your son.
"What will it be?"
"Muriel," Grour Blood's deep rumbling voice expressed empathy for her rather than trying to sway her decision, "I wish I could take this burden from you."
"Me too," Bear said as he looked at his friend with eyes as big as saucers.
"Burn you to ashes, you pathetic monster." Bacchanor spat out his words. "You'll pay for this."
"Why don't you pull out your guitar and sing a love song to Mar'Gu's ghost." The One Who Was Not Ab'Don was running short of patience with the Brown Wizard. "It'll be the last time you do. As far as me paying for my actions, don't think you haven't run up a bill of your own, and I'm keeping the ledger right here." The Sorcerer tapped the side of his head with his finger.
"Before I agree," Muriel's words quickly closed the ledger the Sorcerer was keeping on Bacchanor, the same metaphorical ledger his mind kept on all who dared to offend him, "you'll need to explain things in a way that will put me at ease over Kaylan and my friends' well-being."
"Let's get down to brass tacks as they say." The Evil One's silhouette sank back into Ab'Don's body as he explained things to the Prophetess. "As I said, I can't just pull you back to the Hall of Voyd with me. The momentum that was carrying you along in the vehicle Mar'Gul made is not lost. It still pulls on you, though you can't feel it. Once I do release you, it will quickly gain control of the sphere you're in and hurl you forward toward the destination you were heading for. At the same time, the Hall of Voyd's magic I've used to anchor myself here will pull me in the opposite direction so that I can't follow you even if I wanted to.
"Once you reach your destination, Mar'Gul will direct her vessel to return to this place where my residual magic will be waiting to escort all of you to the Hall of Voyd. By saying all of you, I'm warning Mar'Gul to keep her vessel intact until you reach my throne room where I'm keeping Kaylan. If anyone else joins you, or you exchange passengers, I'll kill Kaylan without waiting for an explanation and then the rest of you afterwards. I'll do my best to keep the Prophetess alive if my anger allows me to, and then I'll hang her body on the tree of fire anyway.
"After the exchange, Mar'Gul can Fly the rest of you anywhere she wants. Once she's gone, I'll ward the Flying platform I've built in the Hall of Voyd to keep anyone from returning to rescue the Prophetess. And by anyone, I mean the Hammer Bearer."
"How do I know you'll keep your word?" Muriel frowned as she asked her question.
"You don't. That's why I've told you so much. I want to make it clear that once I have you in my hands, your friends will pose less of a threat to me than a brood of chicks that have lost their mother. I have no practical need to harm them, so why would I? Conversely, I gain a benefit by letting them go free, since the story they
’ll tell will send a message to Nyeg Warl and the rest of the rebels that will weaken their resolve to pick a fight with me. And if they gather enough courage to go ahead with their suicidal plans, they'll be more likely to surrender when the battle turns against them, as it quickly will."
Nodding her head after she rehearsed the Sorcerer's words in her mind, Muriel took a deep breath and said, "If my friends are willing to take a chance with me, I'll accept your offer."
Worry and distress were the main themes expressed on her friends' faces. Sadness was present to. Still, every one of them nodded their heads in assent, each recognizing Muriel's struggle would only be appeased by her following her maternal instincts. By saving her son, she would be saving herself at the same time.
Aware that this dynamic dominated Muriel's feelings, the Sorcerer smiled at her acquiescing friends and over the fact that Kaylan was the only piece of cheese it had to offer her to get the deal done. "Let the Warl of the Dead and the Warl of the Living that spred out below and above us witness our agreement."
The sober expression the ancient entity assumed as it said words constructed to add an official touch to the conclusion of the talks was soon replaced by the irritating smile that seemed permanently affixed to its face. "The deal is made. I'll be waiting for you in the Hall of Voyd. Brace yourself. I'm going release my hold on you."
With that said, when the smoky tether disengaged from Mar'Gul's vessel, the sphere was catapulted forward with renewed energy, while the Sorcerer's vehicle was pulled in the opposite direction, looking like a ball that was as black as the mountain the ancient entity had sculpted in the shadows below.
****
With the speed both parties had so quickly attained, the black sphere soon turned into a dark spot a moment before it disappeared entirely. Left alone, the company of travelers was free to speak their minds without fearing they may say something the Sorcerer could use against them.
"If Nyeg Warl's victory at Suskynd was the first blow thrown in the fight we find ourselves in, the Sorcerer's counterpunch was a staggering reply." Bacchanor was busy evaluating what had just happened. "What did we expect in this place where the odds are ever against us?"
"We didn't expect the Evil One to be directly involved in the fight." Pearl's voice quietly reverberated against the sphere's walls like it had come from the outside.
"Aye, we didn't," Bacchanor admitted. "We also didn't anticipate Muriel being a gatekeeper of sorts who stands between the Warl of the Dead and the Warl of the Living." Rubbing his thick, curly brown beard, he added, "What this means could be debated, but it's clear to me that the Prophetess is a greater weapon than anyone realized except the Nameless One who I’m convinced views her to be a threat that needs to be removed as much as an asset to be used."
"Nameless One?" Pearl intoned in the ethereal way she did.
"Aye," Bacchanor replied. "I guess we could call him Ab'Don since the monster has taken over his body. But this lacks accuracy. I'll not call the fire-blasted thing Evil One since there are more that are evil than just one, nor do I think the monster invented the practice, though with how highly it regards itself, it might take credit for the foul accomplishment.
"I must admit, Nameless One lacks accuracy too, since I'm sure the fiend has some kind of name he hasn't yet divulged. Sorcerer seems the least complicated designation, since it's a title that is uniquely associated with Ar Warl's Lord."
"Fiend is better," Muriel's concern for Kaylan made her more angry than afraid. "Setting that aside, if I'm hanging on a flaming tree with Crooked Finger jammed into my heart, how will I pose a threat to the fire-blasted Sorcerer?"
"Little Sister, the same way you posed a threat to Schmar who must have realized he was playing with fire to keep you alive," Grour Blood's deep voice reverberrated off the sphere's inner surface even though he had spoken quietly. "With all that has happened to you, I'm convinced Schmar was aware of the magic that you inherited from Laz. That's why he had the riverchildren blatantly attack your childhood home, the kind of overt act the Lord of the Cave of Forgetfulness tried to avoid.
"All that you've gone through has been thoroughly examined by the brightest and the wisest among us who conclude that Schmar, Ab'Don, and the one Bacchanor will now call Sorcerer heaped pain on you to turn you into a twisted mess. And once they finished breaking you into ever smaller pieces that could not be reasembled in their original form, they planned on sculpting your remains into an image that would reflect their own. Whereupon, they planned on recruiting you to their evil cause, for what could be more appealing than to be asked to stand alongside those you were once powerless against as an equal.
"Though such an alliance seems counterintuitive, since one would think that the abused would never identify with their abuser; you'd be surprised how many choose to fight off the feelings of helplessness that a warl thrown into chaos gives rise to by aligning themselves with those who have shown they are powerful enough to create the very chaos that is feared.
"Power is an antidote for the poison the fear of chaos injects into people. But this is not the only cure: Believing there is magic in the warl that will help you and your loved ones combat the fear and uncertainty that accompanies chaos is an antidote too."
The ring Muriel's father had given her vibrated on her finger as Grour Blood spoke. Seeing the faint glow that accompanied the vibrating, Grour Blood added, "Though Schmar came close to removing any possibility that Muriel-Blood could ever have faith again, the magical ring her father had given her as a child rescued her from the chaos that had become the norm for her life and set her on a path that brought healing into her life before all hope for restoration had been lost."
Grabbing a handful of Grour-Blood's heavy mane, Muriel added, "That path led straight to Stromane where much of the healing I needed took place. It was there that the Community of Blood bathed me in the Magic of Friendship and taught me what it meant to be a part of a family."
"Friendships and families," Bear rubbed his large round nose with the back of his hand as his eyes misted up "They saved me too. And they'll saves Muriel again, I swears. As one of your friends, I swears."
Bala's large, dark green, almond-shaped eyes looked at the giant with wonder in her eyes before she took Pearl and Bacchanor in with her gaze. "Friendship and family," she quietly repeated Bear's words that began the work of carving out a place for the giant in the diminuitive cretchym's heart, a place near to where Pearl and Bacchanor already resided. Then her eyes lit up as an idea came to mind, "We should call the fire-blasted Sorcerer the Lord of Chaos."
"Good suggestion Bala," Grour Blood replied. "But chaos is only one of the weapons the Sorcerer wields to advance his cause, since he doesn't want chaos for the sake of chaos. Instead he wants all things to be put into order in a way that is to his liking. His only real use for chaos is to exploit its nature to undermine the institutions and people who would resist this order, which includes the monster becoming the Lord of Everything and Everyone."
Muriel frowned before she said, "The Sorcerer has told us so much that we could mistakenly think he has told us all. But he hasn't. His heart is set on more than consolidating his control over the shadows that cover half of the Warl of the Dead and the empire he has siezed control of in the Warl of the Living.
"While he was tomenting me in the Warl of the Dead, the fiend reached into my mind with its own, thinking to use my memories in a way that would hurt me. Little did the foul thing know that as it did this, I was able to see into its mind too. And do you know what I saw: The Mountain of Song. He's obssessed with conquering it. That's what the fiend's heart is set on doing."
All looked down toward the Warl of the Dead that quietly slipped by beneath them. Gazing passed the uneven patches of flame that moved over the sphere's surface like shredded clouds racing across a wind-ravaged winter's sky, the passengers looked at the Mountain of Song that filled so much of the distant horizon. Taking a moment to marvel at the clouds, filled with colordful bursts
of light, that lay like a huge vaporous nest atop the behemoth's upper slopes, the company of travelers eventually diverted their eyes to looked at the black bridge that reached out of the shadows like a finger thrust beyond the lip of the chasm called the Gulf Fix that divided the Warl of the Dead into two. Letting their gaze continue to slide along, they were soon staring at the black mountain the Nameless Evil had made too like a small replica of the larger mountain topped with wonderous light.
"That's why he's building his mountain and the bridge he plans on using to cross the chasm filled with molten rock," Muriel explained. "He wants to invade the grassland that spread out from the chasms far side. Then move against the Mountain of Song itself so that he can take control of the place that is responsible for creating so many songs that have given birth to magic in our warl.
"And why? The fiend wants to compose songs that will restructure the warl's magic to satisfy its own foul tastes. It wants to take the Singer's place so it can reshape everything into its own image. To do this, the monster needs more souls to put together so it can complete the bridge it's building over the Gulf Fix and finish the mountain it uses to mock the one it is so jealous over, a peak made with the countless souls the fiend will send swarming over the mountain he so detests. That's why he needs me to open the door so Catchers can flood into the Warl of the Living and gather the souls he needs to complete his dark designs."
"Muriel," Bacchanor added, "with the number of those who have fallen under the Spell of the White Hand growing by the moment," the Brown Wizard didn't take his gaze off of the black mountian as he spoke, "I'd say he's already harvesting the souls he needs."
"Be that as it may," Muriel explained, "he needs many more, so many that it is imperative he subsume the entire Warl of the Living under his rule.
