Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  When it realized the cloud that provided some sort of protection for the Great Ciity was caught inside a prison filled with pain and anguish, it spoke to the Dream-Messengers with thoughts it knew they couldn’t hear: Instead of helping the Warl of the Living, you’ve fallen into a trap of your own making. If you had only stuck to your own business, you could have slowed me down. But as things have turned out, I’ll be standing on the mountain top long before the Hammer Bearer’s body breaks into pieces and your set free. Then, what will you do when I’ve taken the Mountain of Song’s magic as my own? Will you try to confound me again with your vaporous covering? I doubt that will work once I reach the summit.

  The Evil One’s massive stride quickened as he approached the Mountain of Song. The darkness undulated in great waves as it followed behind like a cloak fastened to ancient entity’s neck, darkness that enveloped the quivering Hammer Bearer and those who lay beside him where he fell. All was the fiend’s now. Who up there could stop the ancient one? Since the colorful lights no longer appeared, as the Great City watched the mountain-sized giant’s approach, it was apparent the glorious place knew its doom was approaching.

  Then a light suddenly flashed in front of the Evil One’s face, making his large, black, insect-like eyes blink because of its brightness. The illumination looked like a hundred lightning bolts had been harnessed into a brilliant picture frame that contained a painting of the Warl of Living inside of it, a painting that didn’t remain static since the ice dragons seen within its parameters flew through the bright frame and into the Warl of the Dead.

  Experienced in travelling between different realms of existence, the waterkynd had no trouble passing from one warl to the other. In fact, upon entering the Warl of the Dead, the waterkynd found it was a realm filled with magic that was akin to their own. Roaring in the pleasure they felt over the discovery, the ice dragons took a moment to frolic about in the skies that were as refreshing to them as a pool of cold water.

  Riders could be seen on their backs as they flew: Bear sat on an ice dragon as orange in color as a brilliant sunset; the spirit of Rowniel the Healer, who died when Not-Ab’Don’s assassins attacked the gathering of Nyeg Warl’s leaders, rode on the ice dragon who looked like it was made out of clear crystal.

  Two-thirds of the Community of Blood joined the company of waterkynd as they flew into the Warl of the Dead. The other third stayed behind to keep an eye on the surviving cretchym. Bacchanor flew along with the Blood in griffin form. Mar’Gul and Anadara sat astride his back. Alynd rode on Seym Blood.

  Having risen out of the Ashes of Extinction, the winged-lions made the transition into the Warl of the Dead as easily as the waterkynd. Like the griffin, everyone who had entered through the radiant door had a relationship with death or the place where all the deceased were fated to come to. For them, this was not foreign ground.

  Riding on Grour Blood’s back, Muriel entered through the radiant frame holding Crooked Finger in her hand, the talisman she used to open the door that blinked out of existence once the Oakenfel brothers appeared astride the ice dragons they roade. Kaylan kept the sword he used to help make the portal in hand as he rode on Lylah’s back. Ay’Roan and J’Aryl did the same as they sat astride Lylah’s parents who were in their ice dragon forms: Ay’Roan on the Alysha who had the same amazing coloring her daughter had, but in a slightly different order, and J’Aryl on Loryn who was as black as the Evil One itself.

  Surprised by the ice dragons and griffin’s appearing the way they did, concerned that the slender, iron branch that was once stuck in Muriel’s heart was now in her hand, a talisman she took control of when it failed to do so, the ancient entity stopped and took stock of the situation. Flying about his black over-sized head, the ice dragons and griffin were so small compared to its massive size they looked like a swarm of mosquitos looking for a safe place to land.

  “What do you think, Grour Blood?” Muriel said to her friend and guardian as she looked from Jeaf to the Evil One and then back again. Her love for her husband made Muriel want to go and extract the massive sword that was thrust into his chest. Her instincts told her to stay where she was, so she could confront the colossal giant in front of her. Seeing the Great City made of crystal, whose towers were fifty times bigger than any tower she had seen before, sitting atop the Mountain of Song, the Prophetess Powers of Intuition told her that her instincts were correct. She was already at the heart of the battle.

  Seeing Jeaf on his knees with his head bowed in pain and his hand futiley trying to extract the fraethym sword that was buried in his chest, Grour Blood replied, “Help will be sent to Jeaf; but you must stay here. The Evil One is so big now, it will reach the Mountain of Song’s top before you could get back in time to stop it, if you go to your husband.”

  “We’ll go,” Bacchanor spoke for himself and those he carried. “The blade that’s been rammed into Jeaf is made with fraethym. With Alynd’s help we’ll handle the evil spirits while you deal with their master. If you recall, the Elf-Man has experience in dealing with the fraethym.”

  Looking at Alynd as Seym Blood brought him over to join the conversation, Bacchanor shouted, “Will you go with me to get that fire-blasted sword out of Jeaf. We may still need the Hammer of Power before the fighting’s done.”

  “I helped set Jeaf free from the cursed fraethym before. I’d like nothing better than to do it again.”

  “The symmetry of the two acts is interesting, don’t you think?” Grour Blood was the one who caught the aroma that prophetic deeds gave off, a scent that was pleasing to the Prophetess as well.

  “I’ll go too,” Rowniel shouted after he asked the ice dragon he rode to take him to Muriel and the others.

  Noting it was a wraith like herself who had volunteered, Mar’Gul spoke for the group. “Are you a Healer too? That’s what’s needed here.”

  “Aye, My Lady. I’m a Healer who has already tangled with the fraethym that attacked Goldan’s warriors.

  “And how did that turn out?” Mar’Gul inquired.

  “I’ve been chasing them ever since they fled. That’s why I’m here. I hate leaving business unfinished.”

  “Welcome.” Bacchanor’s voice was filled with the same enthusiasm Rowniel had brought with him. “You’re a man after may own heart.”

  “If you want to go with them, you’ll need to get someone else to carry you,” the ice dragon’s rumbling voice intoned as he spoke to Rowniel. “I’m not leaving the waterkynd.”

  “I’ll carry him,” Bacchanor said. “What’s another wraith since I’m already carrying two of them, if you know what I mean?”

  “Bacchanor,” Mar’Gul chided her husband for his artless reply.

  “Well, you hardly weigh anything you know.”

  “What about my sons?” Muriel asked. “Where will the go?”

  “Let them stay with the ice dragons.” Alynd replied. “Their swords will be needed here, though the Healing Magic they possess could be used against the fraethym.”

  “And the violence Vlad’War’s Magic carries with it could be used here too,” Bacchanor added as he nodded at the colossus who was trying to decide what to do with the pest that flew about his head.

  With the ice dragons the brother’s rode keeping them close enough to hear what was being said, J’Aryl asked, “Used how?”

  Seeing the fraethym blade sticking out of his father’s chest as he rubbed the place where Crooked Finger had been thrust into his own, Kaylan said, “We’ll attack the Evil One’s heart like he has our father’s.”

  “But what if he doesn’t have a heart?” The amber rings of light that sat in Travyn’s eyes could be seen glowing in the shadow his hat’s broad brim cast over his face as he spoke.

  “If he doesn’t,” Alynd chimed in, “Ab’Don certainly does. Look at the monster’s chest. It looks like Jeaf was trying to bash it in. Maybe he knows something we don’t.”

  “Or maybe it’s more of the symmetry I spoke about,” Grour Bloods voice w
as as deep as an ice dragon’s. “The Evil One has thrust his talismans in three of the Oakenfel’s chests. Maybe the Warl’s Magic is telling us to return the favor. The Evil One did look alarmed when Muriel tried to ram Crooked Finger into his chest after she took it out of her own.”

  “That’s it,” Muriel nearly shouted her reply, “I’m going to ram Crooked Finger into Ab’Don’s heart while the monster still has the bond it formed with the Sorcerer when it took possession of his body. Then it’ll be just as helpless as Kaylan and I were when we hung on that blasted tree, only the Evil One will be pinned to Ab’Don instead.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Alynd had to know what was going to happen here before he set off to help the Hammer Bearer.

  “We’ve got ice dragons that eat stone for breakfast, griffin whose claws are stronger than steel, and swords that were remade on top of Vlad’War’s Anvil. We’ll dig our way to the monster’s heart if we have to.” Noticing how the Evil One’s chest looked like a breastplate that had been badly battered with all the sharp inverted angles that could be seen, Muriel recalled the star’s blood armor Ab’Don wore, armor that had to still be there. “By the look of things, Jeaf’s already softened things up for us.”

  “What are you looking at,” the Evil One bellowed. “You think you can hurt me by shoving your talisman into my chest. Go ahead and try. I dare you.

  “I won’t even take time to wash your bloody remains off my hands before I go to conquer the Mountain of Song.”

  As confident as the ancient entity sounded, it was hiding the fact that it had decided the only thing left to slow it down was the fire-blasted iron branch Muriel held in her hand. The way she kept it from extracting the talisman from her chest, then removing it herself, still bothered the fiend.

  How could such a thing happen? Did she possess magic it was unaware of? Could her speck of a talisman harm an entity as ancient as itself? The Evil One doubted it, though a monicum of doubt about its doubt remained. Regardless, with the Hammer Bearer being incapacitated as he was, no threat worth being overly concerned about remained; not when the ancient entity had absorbed enough magic to make its incredible bulk an unstoppable force.

  “Go, Jeaf needs you now.” Muriel exhorted those who were going to help her husband before she turned to Lylah and Nazar Blood, who flew nearby, and added, “Tell the waterkynd our plan: We’re going for the monster’s heart. Nazar Blood rally the Community and ask them to create a distraction. We attack before the Evil One starts moving again. If it does, we may not reach our goal before the monster reaches the Mountain of Song’s summit.”

  Chapter 26: Crooked Finger

  “I hope it hurts as much as it looks like it does,” Ay’Roan told his brothers as they watched the powerful winged-lions launch a furious assault on the Evil One’s eyes. Using more than fluttering feathers to draw the mountain-sized giant’s attention away from Muriel and the ice dragons, the griffin used the claws on both their fore and hind paws in an unceasing series of lightning fast strikes where they raked the almond-shaped eyes that were as large as mountain ponds filled with inky-black water.

  Using a spiral flight path to both attack than flee, the Community of Blood relentlessly devoted themselves to their task without foolishly sacrificing their lives to complete it. Nevertheless, griffin were caught by hands as big as one of the Thrall Mountains’ foothills and knocked out of the sky. Some who fell got back up and rejoined the battle while others lay motionless on the bare ground that had once been covered in lush, tall grass. Many of those who failed to get up from their fall were trampled underneath feet that were wider than an arrow could fly.

  Taking heart from the courage the Community of Blood was putting on display and taking note of the aerial acrobatics they employed to carry out the assault, the ice dragons adopted the spiraling, arching technique the griffin were using as they flew at the Evil One’s chest. Coming at the monstrous colossus from every direction possible, the ice dragons looked like colorful bits of debri being pulled into an invisible whirlpool churning above the Evil One’s chest. In time, the mass of waterkynd looked like a medal had been pinned to Not-Ab’Don’s chest. But unlike a medal that wanted others to see its splendor so that the one it was affixed to would receive honor, the swarm of ice dragons dug into the massive chest they latched onto and hid from sight like tiny crustaceans do after a wave retreats from a sand-covered beach its turbulence had disquieted.

  The Community of Blood did their job so well, the ice dragons reached their goal unnoticed and unscathed. In fact, they tore at the ancient entity’s chest for much longer than they thought they would before the fiend tried to do something about them. And by the time it did, they had already burrowed their way past the mass of wraiths that covered the star’s blood breastplate that was strapped to Ab’Don’s body, wraiths who tried to fight the intruders once they were dislodged from the tough, black substance they had once been a part of, those that not only faced the ice dragons who crushed them between their powerful jaws as they fought, but also faced four men with swords that had blue light dancing along their razor-shaped edges and a giant named Bear who smashed them with his huge-metal club as he stood on one of the waterkynd’s broad, dragon backs.

  Feeling the hole that was being dug into its chest, the Evil One closed his eyes to ward off the griffin attack so he could use his hands to do something about the furious excavation that was taking place. But before it could do little more than touch its chest like one does when they’re having a hard time breathing, the ancient entity had to return its attention to the powerful griffin who were able to slash their way through the eyelids and scour the eyes they had failed to protect.

  In the end, the Evil One had to attend to two problems at the same time by using one hand to knock the unrelenting griffin off his eyelids, while it used the other to try and clean out the hole that had been dug into its chest. The problem with this was that the ancient entity’s massive fingers couldn’t fit into the tiny hole that bore its way into his chest, proving that its monstrous size had some distinct disadvantages. The vast number of wraiths that were being tossed out of the tiny hole showed the ancient entity it would be futile to reduce its size by shedding warrior wraiths it could send to attack those who were drilling into his chest. Besides, the time needed to carry out the process would only allow the ice dragons to dig deeper than it wanted them to.

  On the other hand, filling the hole with Fires of Darkness would put the Evil One in jeopardy of being burned by the magic that consumes anything it touchs. That’s why the ancient entity didn’t call on the dark magic to clear the griffin away from its eyes. Blindness was not a good trade for getting rid of the winged-lions.

  All the while this was happening, Grour Blood flew out of the mountain-sized giant’s reach waiting for the right moment before he would dive into the, from its perspective, the deepening pit and carrying the Prophetess to Ab’Don’s exposed heart.

  ****

  Jeaf’s massive body shook as it continued to shed its size while the fraethym served up the horrible meal’s last course to the Hammer Bearer and those who were joined to him: A memory of Schmar lifting an infant girl above his head while his jaws unlocked and his mouth opened wide like a snake’s does before it swallows their prey.

  A shrieking plea knifed through Hammer Bearer’s mind and the minds of all those who were connected to him. Please don’t kill my child, Jeaf heard his own voice cry out. If Jeaf had known it, everyone connected to him had the same experience: Their voices replaced Muriel’s; the anguish and utter helplessness they felt had become their own; the tears that filled Jeaf’s eyes would have been their’s if not for the magic that enabled them to embrace the Hammer Bearer the way they did.

  When the child disappeared in the horrible gaping maw, all hope went with her. Even the will to cry withered into sobbing that was a precursor to the numbness that overcame the Hammer Bearer, leaving him in an unfathomable stupor.

  Seeing the blank expres
sion spreading across Jeaf’s face, Alynd took out the last of Andara’s Tears that were in his possession and breathed across them all at the same time while riding on Seym Blood’s powerful back. This sent a huge cloud of magical amber light rolling across the fraethym’s blade’s exposed parts.

  Assuming his human form after landing inside Jeaf’s ear, Bacchanor produced a guitar out of thin air and began to sing a Healing Song that he sent into his friend’s troubled mind. As the Brown Wizard sang, his erstwhile passengers- that included the Mar’Gul, Andara, and the feisty Candle Maker, Rowniel, who inisited on coming with them- made their way down to the place where the giant blade entered Jeaf’s chest. Disappearing with the Elf-Man’s amber light as it slid along the sharp steel’s length, the wraiths headed off to use their Powers of Healing to drive the fraethym out of the Hammer Bearer.

  ****

  Pain repeatedly branched out in the Evil One’s body, feeling like a host of elven archers were standing inside the monstrous giant’s chest shooting volley after volley of sparkling thred arrows in every which direction. The sons of the Hammer Bearer are using lightning stored up in their fire-blasted swords to cut at Ab’Don’s armor, the Evil One accurately surmised. I’m not going to wait to see if they make an opening. I’m going to climb the mountain before they have time to do that and grab hold the Great City’s magic. Then I’ll deal with the insolent ice dragons who have burrowed into my chest and all the rest of them too.

  Until that was done, the ancient entity would hold onto Ab’Don’s body that greatly increased its power because of the interaction between itself and the Sorcerer it possessed. When the Warl of the Living’s magic was forced to meld with the ambient magic that filled the Warl of the Dead a synergy transpired that amplified both.