Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Since the Hammer Bearer transformed himself into a colossus Laviathon wouldn’t want to tangle with, the dangerous sea serpent sought to hurt Jeaf in another way. Killing his mother would do the trick. Having been told she had become the Master Candle Maker and then coming across a Candle Maker that the others of her order clearly showed deference to, one who was the right age, Laviathon was certain he had found Jeaf’s mother, Elamor. Laviathon had memorized the names and all there was to know about those related to the man he had promised to take revenge on for the the humiliation he suffered at his hands on the banks of the Eyrie River.

  Sneaking up on a person of such importance had been an easy thing to do with everyone’s attention being drawn to the unfolding drama taking place on the battlefield. Who would expect a creature that lived in water to leave its natural environment and travel overland?

  Laviathon never strayed far from a coastline or riverbank. To go farther inland would expose him and his children to unnecessary risks. Plenty of that could be found in the warl’s seas and waterways without slithering about on dry ground or crawling about on legs not suited for the task. Though Laviathon could rise up and balance himself on his tail and hind legs, both things were best used to maneuver though water.

  The Elf-Prince, Silvamor, rode up to Elamor and her entourage and said, “Beware of the fog that approaches. Evil lies within.”

  Until that moment, Elamor hadn’t noticed the creeping mass that was behind her. Focusing her Powers of Intuition on the odd vapors, she was quick to respond to what she felt by shouting out to her attendants, “Light your candles. Doom is upon us.”

  Before Elamor had finished giving her command, the fog sped up and swept around her and the other Candle Makers, surrounding them with a fence made of sorcerous smoke. Luckily, Silavmor brought three other elves with them him.

  With fiery shields made with the candles that were twirling before their hands in place, Elamor and her two attendants formed a three-sided barrier about themselves. Sitting on their nervous mounts that would have chomped at their bits if they had any, for elves only needed a simple bridle looped around the horses’ muzzle to direct them, Silvamor unsheathed his twin leaf-blades. His companions nocked elven thred arrows to the bows they carried. The saddles they used were made of material just thick enough to protect the horses’ skin and strong enough to provide structure for slender stirrups to hang upon.

  When a huge, triangular-shaped head covered in scales rose above the vaporous smoke that encircled them, one of the archers sent three sparkling arrows racing toward the exposed target- one red, one gold, and one blue. A spray of flames caught the projectiles before they reached their mark and turned them to ashes. Unfortunately for the elf, the incendiary retraced the arrows path and struck both the archer and the horse he sat upon.

  As it turned out, the horse was badly burned while its rider survived with minimal damage because he had been touched by the Hammer of Power’s magic as had the others, though the elf felt heat that made him feel far worse than he looked.

  “A truce!” the huge reptilian mouth filled with long, sword length teeth intoned. “I want to speak to the Master Candle Maker and let her know who’s about to take her life.”

  “I know who you are,” Elamor spate her words out.

  “But do you know why I’ve chosen you to be my prey?” Laviathon’s head bobbed and weaved in a hypnotic way as he spoke. Narrowing into slits, his moss green eyes were full of anger.

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me it does.” The circular wall of vaporous smoke drew closer as did the sea serpents head. “I won’t enjoy killing you half as much, if you aren’t told that your son is responsible for your death. Wouldn’t a parent want to know that? Wouldn’t they want to know that their whelp’s foolishness led to their demise?

  “If your pup had only minded his own business and not gone looking for the Hammer of Power you might have lived through this day. I might not have left the river at all. Or, if I did, I and my children could have feasted on the kings instead of you, though we’ll probably do that anyway once I’m done here.”

  The wall of vaporous smoke passed over Laviathon’s head when he finished speaking, filling in the space it had left open for the conversation to take place in. Delaying just long enough to let his magical discharge work on Elamor’s nerves and on the emotions of those who were with her, the evil reptile sent his children slithering forward to separate the others from the Master Candle Maker.

  Since there wasn’t any advantage to being on horseback in the fighting that would take place and the animals had no protection against the incendiaries that would be used, the swift elves leapt off their mounts and sent them running through the dreadful vapor opposite of where Laviathon’s head had appeared.

  The amount of screaming that was heard coming out of the dour smoke came from a single animal. No doubt, the badly burned beast had been caught. The whinnying that came from farther away gave hope that the other animals had escaped. Terrified as the whinnying was, it didn’t include the shrieking cries that result from being pulled to the ground. The approaching snarling and guttural growling gave evidence that the crocodon swarm was focused on the Master Candle Maker and her companions, not the horses.

  Fighting unwarranted fears about being abandoned by the others since they were obviously still there, fear that Laviathon’s sorcerous discharge was responsible for, the elves lept behind the Candle Makers’ shields as the loathsome vapors were lit up by the approaching fire the sea serpent spewed at them.

  As the flames came, Elamor and the others could see the crocodon brood silhouetted against the wave of light that swept through the vaporous smoke. Scores of long necks could be seen weaving about like snakes that were mesmerized by the radiant illumination. Their bodies looked like rounded boulders the serpents were hiding under. Some of the boulders were bigger than the horses that had escaped the crocodon’s snapping jaws; others were no bigger than large swine; all had long, sinewy tails that, along with their necks gave the monsters the serpentine aspect they were known for.

  Weathering the firestorm with only superficial burns showing they had been swallowed up in flames only a moment before, the beleaguered company’s elven leaf-blades and fiery spears went to work against the horde armed with scales, muscles, and long teeth that slithered quickly toward them with triangular-shaped heads lifted high and drawn back like snakes do when they are getting ready to strike.

  Not the highly-trained fighters the Candle Warriors were, Elamor and her attendants had more than they could handle with the number of crocodon that were swarming their way. With their strength and speed increased by the Hammer of Power’s magic that had touched them, the Candle Makers used their fiery shields to push the crocodon back. The hides that could endure their father’s flames, were burned by the candles’ magical fire, making the sea serpents scream in pain as the fire did its work. Still, the crocodon who persisted in ramming against the shields used their bulk to separate Elamor from her attendants, though they sacrificed their lives to accomplish the deed.

  Much faster than the Candle Makers were, Silvamor and his kin were not so easily manipulated. Still, their stubborn resolve to stay with Elamor led to one of them being killed when Laviathon’s huge, triangular-shaped head shot through the vaporous smoke he had no trouble seeing in and clamped his powerful jaws on the doomed warrior’s body. The crunching sound that followed was sickening.

  Not wanting to taint his pallete with elf-flesh, the father of the crocodon spate the horribly crumpled body at Silvamor’s feet to mock Forest Deep’s impotency.

  Unfortunately, Silvamor and his remaining companions took the bait and attacked the monster who was nearly as large as a Bjorkian longboat. Instead of catching the elves in his huge jaws this time, Laviathon swung his neck from side to side, batting the agile forest folk away where his crocodon brood could keep them occupied while he went for Elamor.

  “I’ve often wondered what your son woul
d have tasted like if he hadn’t got his hands on that blasted hammer.” Laviathon ran his long tong over his teeth as he chuckled over what he was about to do. “Now I’ll know.”

  The giant sea serpent’s first strike was blunted by Elamor’s shield while she stabbed her fiery lance into the roof of Laviathon’s mouth. The portion of Vla’War’s Magic passed onto Elamor by her son gave the Master Candle Maker the strength needed to stay on her feet when the giant reptile hit her shield with its lower jaw.

  Not afraid to work for his food, Laviathon roared before vomiting another dose of his incendiaries on Jeaf’s mother that was meant to keep her distracted from the jaws that were closing in on her once again, jaws big enough to take her and her fiery shield in one crushing bite, a bite the candle’s magic would make a painful one to take, but one the momentary suffering was worth enduring as far as Laviathon was concerned. After all, the evil sea serpent was not lacking in mystical might himself. What he was lacking were wings, things that Lylah had.

  Being a waterkynd, Lylah was able to gaze through the vaporous smoke’s magic and see what lay inside the fog-like mass. When she told Lamarik, who still rode on her back, what she saw, the Neflin urged Lylah to do what she said she was going to do. So, as Lamarik clung tight to her neck anticipating the demands of the plunge they would take, Lylah folded her wings against her side and dove towards Elamor and the huge beast that faced her. The roars of other ice dragons filled her ears as she raced downward.

  Taking a swooping path through the foul vaporous smoke, Lylah hit Laviathon’s back with her claws extended like he was a rabbit a hawk had pounced on. Being nearly as big as the Father of the Crocodon was, the force of the blow Lylah delivered was immense. Letting the speed of the plunge carry her weight forward, she bit into the sea serpent’s neck with teeth that were used to eat rocks with in the Warl of Ice as she drove Laviathon’s head into the mud.

  In a blink of an eye, Lamarik lept off her perch on Lylah’s neck and jumped on the sea serpents head where she drove the tip of her sword into the scales found there, those that she had to punch into time and again to reach the bone beneath.

  When Lylah’s parents arrived, taking the same swooping path she did, her mother took hold of one of Laviathon’s rear legs with her powerful jaws as she dug her claws into the ground to stop her momentum. Loryn sank his teeth into the crocodon’s opposite flank that was moving in the direction Alysha had inadvertently pulled Laviathon’s body as she skidded to a stop. With the outcome of the battle no longer in doubt, all that had to happen to end the fight was for Laviathon to die; and die he did when Lylah violently jerked her head sideways and broke the sea serpent’s neck. The loud cracking noise, heralding Laviathon’s demise to his children, was nearly as terrifying as the roars that announced more ice dragons had arrived.

  With the magical vapor dissipating after its creator had been dispatched, the scene looked like a flock of colorful sea gulls had descended on a fisherman’s catch left unguarded on the peer his boat was tied to. The only exceptions to this was the Neflin who kept hacking away at Laviathon’s skull, the Cragmar Giant who had joined the fight and was busy using his huge, metal-studded club to bash the heads of any crocodon the ice dragons overlooked, and the three elves who were using their sharp leaf-blades to add their contributions to the ensuing slaughter.

  “No ya don’t,” Bear shouted out in anger as he gave a crocodon, who thought it could sneak up on Elamor as she faced Laviathon, special attention with a weapon he swung with enough force to knock down the front wall of a house made of stone. “I promised ta protects Jeaf’s mother, and that’s what I’m goings ta do.”

  ****

  Buoyed by the power that melding the Warl of the Living with the Warl of the Dead’s magic together had given it, the lord of the darkness that covered the wasteland on the other side of Gulf Fix laughed like one who had lost their mind as hundreds of thousands of hapless beings whirled through the air on their way to be inculcated within the colossus who summoned them. Looking like the biggest swarm of bees that had ever been assembled was migrating to establish a new hive, the spirits the darkness stripped away from the black replica of the Mountain of Song were hurled at the creature who had once looked like Ab’Don, and reshaped the Sorcerer’s form into one that looked more and more like the evil entity’s own.

  Hair that had once looked like eagle feathers sticking out of Ab’Don’s head was now plastered against a skull that took on an insect aspect that was similar to a preying mantis’ enlarged head. Legs lengthened until the colossus looked like a giant frog standing upright on its wide flat feet. Arms lengthened to match the legs while the torso took on a barrel shape. Only the steel sword retained its former contours, though it continued to grow as darkness’ magic fed it.

  Where Ab’Don’s eyes were raptor-yellow, the mountainous giant’s were glossy black and almond-shaped. Two elongated holes that were hard to detect in all the blackness served as the fiend’s nose. A narrow mouth with full lips gave the evil entity a pouting appearance. The Sorcerer’s star’s blood armor was buried beneath the wraith bodies that stuck to it the swarm of bees had smashed into a window. Despite this, the shape of the blazing sun that was hammered into the armor could be seen as the wraiths conformed to the breastplate’s lines.

  As big as the black mountain was, and with the build the Evil One had, the ancient entity was only four times as tall as the replica that mocked the Mountain of Song once had been. The nature of the wraiths’ make-up was responsible for this disparity. In the Warl of the Living, the fiend would have been four times taller than it now was. In the Warl of the Dead, where things like blood and bone didn’t exist, life force or spirit was the coin of the realm, not flesh like in the Warl of the Living. Thus, the wraiths’ mass couldn’t be measured with a scale like merchants used to do business with.

  Though the black mountain’s bulk was not reflected in the Evil One’s size, the immense amount of lifeforce it contained was transferred to the colossus. Since spirit was created with magic, the lifeforce this equated to was replete with supernatural power the fiend could call on as it fought.

  Once the darkness finished ravaging the black mountain, it began tearing the bridge the Evil One was going to use to cross Gulf Fix, once it figured out how to break through the constraints the chasm imposed on it. After adding the wraiths used to make the structure that had reached over the chasm like a black finger pointing the way the ancient evil wanted to go, the darkness wrapped itself around the colossus it had created like it was a cloak with a train that stretched out to the horizon behind it.

  The Hammer Bearer was not idle while the darkness was gathering before him. Instead, he looked down at the grassy plain and at the Righteous Dead who were gathering about his feet and said, “Can you help me?”

  “Of course, we can help one of our children,” a man Jeaf recognized replied. It was the Candle Maker who had presided over he and Muriel’s wedding. Having attended his funeral ten winters ago, Jeaf wasn’t surprised to see that him here.

  Looking at the massive throng pressing in on him, Jeaf voiced the thoughts that came to him when he heard the words we and one of our children being used, “Are the Fane J’Shrym coming?”

  “My Son,” the man swung his arms out as wide as he could as he spoke, “we are here.”

  Candle Makers who were numbered among the Fane J’Shrym chose one of their own to be their Ska or spiritual leader. D’Vede was one in a long line these. In fact, he was the last Ska to walk in the Warl of the Living.

  “Draw us into yourself and clothe us with flesh that was once ours. Let the blood that you inherited from your ancestors nourish your deceased kin again. Then we can strengthen your muscle and bones so that they will not fail you during the fight that will be renewed on the grassy plains.”

  Amazed at how large the throng of spirits were that approached him, Jeaf asked, “Are all these Fane J’Shrym?”

  “This is your family, though many you see didn�
�t call themselves Fane J’Shrym, since that name didn’t exist when they were clothed in flesh.” With the Evil One’s size increasing as quickly as it was, D’Vede encouraged the Hammer Bearer to not delay in summoning them. “Be quick. Call us to yourself. We carry magic you that you need inside of us. With it, you have a chance to withstand the darkness that wants to swallow up the Warl of the Dead.”

  Letting the head of the Hammer of Power rest on the grassy plain, Jeaf said, “Come.”

  With that said, D’Vede walked into the hammer’s face and disappeared like he had passed through a silver curtain. A vast crowd, made up those who had been Candle Makers when they lived in the Warl of Living, followed D’Vede. All the former Skas were number among them. Once this group had been absorbed, the vast throng that followed them took on a silvery hue that continued to intensify until they looked like tens of thousands of metallic statues walking toward the Hammer of Power’s head. In time, the silvery statues began to melt like the Hammer of Power’s head did before it was absorbed into Jeaf’s forearm, becoming a river whose current continued to increase as it flowed toward the Hammer Bearer.

  After the river was drawn into the hammer’s head, the silvery flow reappeared as it wound its way through the Words of Power that were carved into the talisman’s handle and onto Jeaf’s forearm where it disappeared inside his skin. On and on this went as the Hammer Bearer struggled to match the Evil One’s growth in both size and magical potential, a struggle Jeaf was losing. As large as the Fane J’Shrym host was, it couldn’t compete with the vast horde that had been compacted together inside the black mountain. In the end, Jeaf was only half the size of his adversary.