Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  “Let me pass,” the Evil One shouted with a voice as loud as a rampaging avalanche. “I long to conquer the Mountain of Song, not to defeat you. Step aside and your wisdom will be rewarded when I set up my throne on the heights above.”

  The colorful lights that flashed in the billowing clouds sitting atop the enormous mountain, increased in brilliance as the Evil One spoke. When the foul entity was done, the incredible mass of cloud dropped like its weight had suddenly become too much for the mountain peaks to hold aloft. Continuing to drop lower, the clouds’ worked their way down the towering slopes like they were trying to get a better grip on the Mountain of Song.

  “If I have a say in the matter,” Jeaf’s amber-colored eyes glowed with determination, “you’ll not gain your prize.”

  “Then you’ll die here and I’ll come back and collect your spirit and all those that are inside you once the Mountain of Song is mine. Then I’ll use Fane J’Shrym Magic to mold reality as I see fit.”

  The darkness trailing the Evil One it had fastened itself to, made a flapping noise like it truly was a garment as the fiend moved against the Hammer Bearer. The waves of shadows that rolled off into the distance behind the foul entity added to the impression.

  The first blow the Evil One delivered with his massive steel sword knocked the Hammer Bearer off his feet as he intercepted the fraethym blade with his own weapon. Flying through the air, Jeaf landed on his back and slid through the tall grass that grew on the Warl of the Dead’s broad plains.

  Not wasting any time, the giant who- with all its size and its monochromatic coloring- looked like darkness embodied, moved with incredible speed to take advantage of the Hammer Bearer’s vulnerable position.

  Striking a glancing blow on Jeaf’s back as he tried to role away from the approaching steel, the fraethym blade sent feelings of sorrow through the Hammer Bearer’s body, sorrow that gripped all who had been joined to him, an emotion that would have been incapacitating if the blow had been direct.

  Wanting to stop Jeaf’s movements, the Evil One swung his blade down into the plain in front of the Hammer Bearer, using its span to corral him in. But instead of letting this happen, Jeaf did a backward somersault that brought him back up on his feet.

  As big as mountains in their own right, the speed the two colossus were moving at was startling for the rest of the Righteous Dead, who had backed up toward the Mountain of Song to make room for the duel the grassy plain could barely contain, to behold. It was so startling in fact, the immense cloud bank continued dropping lower to get a better look at the epic fight, the likes of which had never been seen in the Warl of the Dead.

  Leaping forward, Jeaf slammed the Hammer of Power against his adversaries left knee. Once, twice, three times before the larger colossus hit him with a backhanded punch that knocked him far enough away to give it room to swing the fraethym sword at the Hammer Bearer who was struggling to get his feet under him.

  When the blade finally arrived, Jeaf was braced to absorb the blow just like his father had taught him to do as a young man. Catching the Evil One’s sword in the crook where the hammer’s wooden handle entered the silver head, Jeaf pulled his mountainous opponent off balance by jerking Vlad’War’s Child downward. This brought the Evil One’s head close enough for Jeaf to punch it with his left fist. The pummeling continued as Jeaf stepped on the blade he pulled the sword low enough for his foot to stomp on.

  When the Evil One dropped to its knee to regain its balance, Jeaf gripped the Hammer of Power’s handle with both hands and swung it at the overly large head that had come within range. Jeaf got in only one blow, that seemed to do little good because of the disparity in size and power that existed between the two foes, before the Evil One brought his sword up and caught the Hammer Bearer on the inside of his thigh, sending him cartwheeling through the air as he groaned over the feelings of anguish the fraethym blade had sent into him at the point of impact.

  Lying on the ground, worried he didn’t have enough power to counteract the Evil One’s magic, Jeaf looked toward the host of Righteous Dead who were gathered at the foot of the Mountain of Song, hoping they could somehow help him. What he saw instead was a mass of billowing clouds approaching him, the same clouds that he had seen atop the majestic mountain. And as the cloud approached, bodies began to appear in its thick, vaporous expanse, but not those of the Righteous Dead. These were different, but not unfamiliar. Jeaf had seen one of their kind before, back when he accepted the responsibilities that came with being the Hammer Bearer during a meeting he had with the Dream-Messenger, Whistyme.

  With that thought in mind, Whistyme stepped up to Jeaf who lifted himself up on one elbow as he focused on the Dream-Messenger. “It’s been awhile since you made your choice in the cottage by the pond. Now it’s our turn to choose: Do we leave the Mountain of Song unprotected to help you; or do we remain dug in around the great city to keep it safe?”

  The cloud covering that came with Whistyme surrounded the Hammer Bearer and hid him from the Evil One’s sight, as well as the Mountain of Song itself, as the two spoke.

  “So, the Dream-Messengers live in the clouds that cover the mountain?” Jeaf asked from where he lay.

  “We are the clouds and the protectors of the great city that sits on top of the Mountain of Song.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I could ask the same thing.” Whistyme’s appearance changed from a young man to one that made him look as old as Ilumanor, the man who was the Master Candle Maker before Elamor assumed the role, did at the end of his life. “Be satisfied to hear that the great city wants us to help you as we do ourselves. Like you, we’ve chosen to take up the Hammer of Power by joining our essence, our magic, and our will with yours.”

  “Can this be done?”

  “Can you dream?”

  “I can dream of defeating the Evil One and driving the darkness away, if that’s what you mean?”

  “Then your dream is big enough to include us in it.”

  When Whistyme regained his youthful appearance, he said, “Fight well and know we’ll do everything we can to see that your dream comes true.” Then the Dream-Messenger nodded his head at Jeaf and stepped into the Hammer of Power’s silver head. The rest of the Dream-Messenger’s followed, flying past Jeaf’s eyes as he lay on the ground like they were the pages of an enormous book being leafed through by one who was quickly measuring the tome’s considerable length.

  The magic the Dream-Messengers brought with them was nothing like Jeaf had ever known. The feeling of being alive it stirred up in him was astonishing, making him reassess the Warl of Dead and how much mankind feared coming here. This was not a place for ghosts like many thought, nor was it a place where shadows should be entertained. This was a place filled with life, though life different from what was found in the Warl of the Living, the kind of life that inspired one’s imagination, making them think anything was possible.

  By the time all the Dream-Messengers had joined themselves to Jeaf, he was of a comparable size to the Evil One. If the two had been in the Warl of the Living, they would have been taller than the Thrall Mountains’ highest peak. In the Warl of the Dead, they were only one fourth of the Mountain of Song’s height.

  Fire-blasted cloud. The Evil One was angry that he couldn’t fight off the Magic of Confusion the cloud threw at it until the Hammer Bearer emerged from its fading mists. Now nearly as big as it was, the entity that clothed itself in the darkness that wanted to take control of the Warl of the Dead didn’t have to guess how that happened, not with the cloud missing like it was.

  Looking past the Hammer Bearer, the entity turned its ancient eyes on the Great City that sat atop the Mountain of Song, a city made of clear crystal whose myriad facets made it look like an immense jewel-covered crown sitting on the mountain heights. The radiant bursts of light that came from the Great City’s crystalline structures showed that they were the source of clouds’ colorful display. Each eruption marked the creative energy used
to compose a song whose magic was sent to sustain life in one of the realms that made up known existence, magic the Evil One wanted to control so that every aspect of life could be the entity’s to control.

  If a Singer truly existed, they’d be there… in the Great Ctiy.

  More than anything, the Evil One wanted to take the Singer’s place so it could compose its own twisted compositions that could be spred throughout creation like a rampaging plague, compositions that would make everyone and everything bow before the one who wanted to rule over them.

  The only thing that stood between the Evil One and the Mountain of Song was the fire-blasted Hammer Bearer. So, with darkness trailing it, the colossal being- whose evil appetites were just as big- sent tremors through the grassy plains as it ran at the Hammer Bearer with its fraethym sword raised.

  Filled with the magic the Dream Messengers brought with them, Jeaf had recovered from the thrashing his opponent gave him when he was much smaller. Enthusiasm had replaced uncertainty. The Hammer of Power was lifted off his shoulder as he got ready to defend himself against the incredible giant who was coming his way.

  Steel struck silver with such fury that an explosion of power was sent sweeping over the grassy plain, an explosion that tore the tall grasses out of the ground near the massive warriors and hurled it into the air as the shock wave continued its outward journey. The Righteous Dead were the next things to be uprooted. Soon, they found themselves flying up the Mountain of Song’s steep slopes.

  The shock waves that followed were less powerful than the first one, though combining the waves with the tremors sent across the plains as the mountain-sized warriors moved about made it seem like there was little difference.

  The noise the metal talisman made when they struck each other sounded like the Warl of the Dead was being rent asunder. The darkness trailing the Evil One snapped in the air with explosive force like it was a garment that trailed the ancient entity as it twirled about and sent its fraethym blade sweeping toward the Hammer Bearer. Delivering another glancing blow, the ancient entity was frustrated that its weapon didn’t have the damaging emotional affect it once had on its opponent. Anguish no longer took hold of the Hammer Bearer whenever the fraethym blade touched him, nor fear, nor terror. Even a direct hit only made Jeaf drop his head and grimace for the moment it took him to gather his strength and retaliate with the Hammer of Power.

  On the flip side of the coin, Vlad’War’s Child was taking a toll on the Evil One whenever the Hammer Bearer sent its massive silver head smashing into his adversary’s chest.

  Drawn by the image of the blazing sun that could still be seen beneath the untold layers of black wraith warriors who were plastered to Ab’Don’s armor, Jeaf couldn’t help but think it was an appropriate picture of his enemy’s nature: Though it wanted to be as preeminent as the sun in its glory, the ancient entity was the antithesis of light. If it had its way, all feelings of trust and friendship would be extinguished, all bonds of family and kinship destroyed. Not only did the raised rays that surrounded the sun mock the illumination the orb should have given off, its inky blackness spoke of its desire to consume light in all its forms.

  Aware of all of this, Jeaf found he hated the black hole that the false sun really was, a hatred that made the dark circle a focus of the Hammer Bearer’s attacks. Whenever possible, Jeaf sent his talisman’s huge silver head crashing into the emblem Ab’Don had chosen to signify his authority. Time and again, the Hammer Bearer struck it until the earlier dent he had made in the star’s blood breastplate that covered the Sorcerer’s chest, a breastplate that was buried beneath the wraiths that were used to increase the Evil One’s size and power, was deepened.

  In time, the dent became so large the sun looked like a bowl had been fastened to the ancient evil’s chest instead of a breastplate. The brutal transformation pushed the armor into the Evil One’s body in a way that made the foul entity wince whenever it swung its sword.

  It seems that taking possession of Ab’Don’s body had its shortcomings as well as its benefits. Feeling pain was one of these, pain that came when the Sorcerer’s ribs were broken, pain that made it hard to breath. Though the atmosphere in the Warl of the Dead was different from that which was found in the Warl of the Living, those with flesh and blood still needed to breathe the air that surprisingly was found in a place where only spirits dwelt.

  Faced with the choice of shedding Ab’Don’s body to escape the pain it felt and regain the mobility the discomfort was impeding only to lose the ability to meld the magic it brought with it from the Warl of the Living together with the magic found in the Warl of the Dead, a lose that could diminish both its power and size, the Evil One chose to deal with the pain. And one way to do that was to make certain the Hammer Bearer couldn’t inflict any more physical suffering.

  In a move of desperation, the ancient entity exposed its head to an attack when it gathered all of its strength and lunged forward to drive the tip of the fraethym blade into the Hammer Bearer’s chest. It smiled when the blade was not repelled by the Hammer of Power and the Dream-Messengers’ magic that had kept Jeaf’s skin from being breached by earlier attempts to stab him. The smile grew when the blade sunk deeper into the Hammer Bearer’s chest as the fiend pushed on it with all its might.

  Jeaf gasped as crippling pain shot through his body. Weakness followed the pain that made the Hammer of Power feel too heavy to wield with any alacrity. When he did use it to strike back at his enemy, Jeaf was dumbfounded when the ancient evil blocked it with an arm that didn’t have to exert too much energy to do so.

  Not wasting their opportunity, the fraethym used to make the sword attacked the Hammer Bearer’s mind and, by association, all the minds of those who were melded into his body. Tormentors by nature, the evil spirits were genius at assaulting their victim’s powers of reasoning. They didn’t kill the way a wolf would by rending flesh and bone with their fangs. They preferred having their prey slit their own wrists, tie the rope around their own necks, throw themselves off a cliff, or do something else when people want to take their own lives.

  All of this was achieved by accessing their victim’s own memories to use against them. At times, they took other’s memories to torment them with, making them experience unimaginable atrocities they couldn’t imagine would happen to them.

  That was the point, the fraethym didn’t administer the memories in a bard like way. They didn’t tell stories to shock their victims. Instead, they had their quarry experience the horrid events for themselves, not just witness them. Every emotion, every bit of physical pain became their own. Once the memory was finished, it became their’s too if it wasn’t their’s already, so much so, that, in very real terms, they became the one who had been brutalized. The bruises that appeared on their bodies was evidence of just how profound the fraethym torment was.

  Drawing on their inclination for theatrics, the fraethym chose to use the Prophetess’ memories to incapacitate her husband and those who were with him. They found this to be a productive tactic during the Battle of Decision when they turned Jeaf into a broken man who the Lord of Regret was able to attack with impunity. If it wasn’t for Ramskynd the Elf-King and the fire-blasted Elf-Man’s magical orbs that drove the fraethym away, Koyer would have finished the Hammer Bearer off before he had time to become who he was today.

  Having spent fifteen winters in the odious Cave of Forgetfulness and having experienced every type of abuse dealt out there, apart from having her body cut or dismembered, the Prophetess had a wealth of memories to draw from, each unbelievably horrible. Those they used during the Battle of Decision were just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

  If the fraethym had their way, the bitter fare they were about to serve the Hammer Bearer would be much more than a simple three course meal, it would be a feast that would last for days.

  The appetizer was served by three old men who had their way with Muriel when she was a child. Abused themselves in the days of their own imprisonment, by d
oing to others the same things that were done to them, the men deceived themselves into believing they were hammers and not nails. Given the way some people respond to their own suffering, the men’s unconscionable viciousness was a predictable outcome.

  Experiencing the attack was especially painful for the Dream-Messengers who had little in common with the likes of humans, elves, hunchmen, and giants, other than things the beings better-selves would be drawn to like loyalty to kin, the love of beauty, and the desire for friendship. Never knowing a day of sickness, the heartache betrayal created, or the pangs of being truly hungry, the ethereal company was nearly undone by the human suffering they were made to experience, suffering that was as debasing as it was physically painful.

  Muriel having her throat caressed by a razor-sharp dagger, as the Lord of the Cave of Forgetfulness boasted that he could do to her whatever his whims dictated before the beast defiled her with his rotund body slamming against her time and again, was the meal’s next course.

  All the while this was happening, for Schmar’s incredible stamina that was the product of the dark magic he practiced made this memory a long one, Jeaf wept over how helpless he felt about not only being unable to stop the abuse he had to endure, but by not being able to save his wife. Everyone who was joined to him wept too, for they all felt what he felt; and as they wept, the recollections of the battle on the grassy plain were buried beneath the weight of the sorrow that assailed them.

  Falling to his knees, Jeaf’s body began to shake as the fraethym continued their work, so much so, that his skin began to fall away in infinitesimally small flakes that turned into bodies once they hit the denuded plains; and each body was a Fane J’Shrym that, unable to get to their feet, lay sobbing before the mountain-sized giant they had once been part of. Soon stone, soil, brush and bark fell with them.

  He’s literally coming apart, the Evil One surmised with a sense of relief.

  Feeling it was safe to take his hand off his fraethym blade the fiend thought the Hammer Bearer was too undone to pull out of his chest, the fiend turned his attention to the Mountain of Song and strode off to conquer the crystalline city that sat on top of it.