The Cursed Lands

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Desperately and before the assassin could regain his balance, Helnia tightened her grip around the few beads in her hand that she had managed to grab. She felt the Raugus energy flow through her, but it was weak due to how much she had used already.

  But it was enough. Helnia jerked her hand forward, unleashing a blast of fire at the assassin. The Draymens assassin had no time to dodge; the fire struck him in the face, causing him to shriek in pain as he staggered away.

  Helnia would have followed up the blow with another spell, but her beads were out of Raugus energy, so she tossed them to the side and, scrambling to her feet, ran away. She needed to get as far away from the statue as possible in order to make it harder for the assassin to get her.

  Sarzen was still fighting Renuk’s corpse. Helnia could tell that Sarzen was already starting to tire; his attacks were sluggish, and even when they did land, they left only minor scratches or cuts, nothing that actually stopped or slowed down the reanimated corpse.

  Renuk, on the other hand, was still as fast as ever. He dodged Sarzen’s sword strokes and took advantage of the openings that Sarzen left open with a few well-placed punches. Though his blows couldn’t have been very strong, they nonetheless caused Sarzen to stagger whenever they landed. Helnia could tell that Renuk was trying to get Sarzen’s neck. She caught a glimpse of its teeth and saw that they were sharp, much sharper than they had been prior to his death, perhaps having been altered by the Draymens’ dark magic.

  I have to help, Helnia thought.

  She pulled out her money bag, which clanked with the coins inside it, and shouted, “Sarzen, duck!”

  Sarzen immediately did so, which also helped him dodge a punch from Renuk. The corpse looked briefly surprised by the sudden movement, but then Helnia hurled her money bag at its face.

  The bag struck the corpse right in the face, causing it to stagger backwards, but it did not get a chance to recover. Sarzen rose and, in one, smooth stroke of his sword, beheaded the corpse. Renuk’s head flew and landed on the floor several feet away, while its corpse collapsed into a heap, where it did not even stir.

  Lowering his sword, Sarzen leaned on his blade as Helnia ran over to him. At first, Helnia thought Sarzen was suffering from some kind of wound, but as she drew closer, she realized that he was crying. Tears were running down his face, tears he was doing his best to avoid showing by keeping his face down.

  “Sarzen, are you okay?” said Helnia. “You’re crying.”

  Sarzen wiped away his tears and looked up at Helnia. He looked both exhausted and sad, but he was now obviously holding back his tears. “It’s nothing, Helnia. I’m fine. Just tired from fighting.”

  Helnia could tell he was lying. She knew he was crying because he had essentially been forced to kill his High Priest. It may not have actually been the Renuk they had known, but that didn’t change the fact that Sarzen had killed it anyway.

  But Helnia also did not say that aloud. She knew her brother well enough to know that he would not appreciate it very much if she voiced her observations aloud. She would wait until later, after they got out of here, to mention it if it became relevant.

  “What about you?” said Sarzen. “Are you okay?”

  Helnia nodded. “Yes, but I don’t have my necklace anymore.”

  “Well, I’m just glad to hear that you aren’t hurt, at least,” said Sarzen. “But where is the—”

  A deep growl echoed off the walls of the chamber, causing Helnia and Sarzen to look over in the direction of the statue of the One.

  The assassin was standing at its base. His face was no longer on fire; however, his skin was melted and congealed in several places, one of his eyes even being melted closed. Part of his mouth had been burned open, showing the bone underneath, though the bone looked more black than white for some reason. Wisps of smoke rose from parts of his face.

  But what was most disturbing about the assassin’s face was that he was not even grunting in pain. It was as though his face had not actually melted and burned, although his one good eye twitched in pain every now and then.

  “What happened to his face?” said Sarzen in shock.

  “Your sister,” said the assassin. He winced. “Her fire magic was … painful, to put it lightly. But I will recover. The Elders say so.”

  “Who are the Elders?” said Sarzen.

  The assassin spread his arms. “Our leaders. The Elders of the One are the oldest and wisest among us. They have access to the darkest arts of the One, for they were his disciples. They fled Yores after the One’s death, but returned when the Dragon Gods left. They are the ones who discovered the spell that can bring the One back to life.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter who your leaders are,” said Sarzen. He brandished his sword. “We’re going to kill you and make sure that you never resurrect your monstrous god ever again.”

  “It’s over, assassin,” said Helnia, brushing aside some strands of hair that had gotten in front of her face. “Icicle is dead and your puppet is defeated. You’re going to join them both soon enough.”

  The assassin cracked a smile, which looked even worse on his melted/burned face. “Ah, such arrogance. You humans have no idea what dark powers we Draymens have at our command, dark powers granted to us by the One’s spirit. Such arrogance will be your downfall.”

  The assassin placed his long, spidery fingers on his forehead and closed his eye. He appeared to be concentrating, but Helnia had no idea what the assassin was doing until she noticed his body beginning to change.

  His limbs became large and bulkier. His body also grew in bulk, becoming even thicker than Sarzen, but it was muscle, not fat. He grew taller and taller, until he soon towered over them both. Twin bat wings grew out of his back, wings that flapped once or twice as if to get the kinks out of them.

  Within seconds, the assassin had completely transformed. Gone was the skinny, human-like monster that had existed just moments before; in its place was a hulking beast that more closely resembled the statue of its god than any human being.

  “By the Dragon Gods,” said Sarzen, staring at the assassin’s new form in fear. “What is that?”

  The assassin lowered his hands, a grin on his face, which was still as burned and melted as ever. “This is the form that I will use to crush you, of course. Be quick, because I am faster than I look.”

  The assassin’s voice was deep and booming now. Sarzen held up his sword, but before either he or Helnia could react, the assassin moved.

  That was it. The assassin just took one step forward, but somehow crossed the length of the room in the blink of an eye. Helnia started, while Sarzen slashed at the assassin, but his sword just bounced off the assassin’s knee as uselessly as if he had tried to hit him with a twig.

  Then the assassin knocked the sword out of Sarzen’s hands and grabbed both him and Helnia with his massive hands. The hands tightened their grip around Helnia’s waist so tightly that she gasped for air, air she could not get. She and Sarzen struggled to break free, but the titan’s grasp on their bodies was so tight that it was impossible.

  Once more, the assassin took a step backwards and they were suddenly back in front of the statue. The assassin slammed both Helnia and Sarzen against the base of the statue, the impact almost knocking them both out.

  “Now,” said the assassin, his foul breath streaming over them, “it is time to make you bleed in order to complete the ritual. Once it is finished, the One will rise again … and it will be all thanks to you.”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The titan opened his mouth. A long, sharp shadow streamed out of his massive maw, moving almost like a snake toward Sarzen and Helnia. Sarzen kept trying to break free, while Helnia did not, probably because she was too tired and injured to fight. But Sarzen still had a desire to fight, even though it was incredibly obvious that he was not going to be able to free himself or Helnia.

  The shadow tongue sharpened as it drew closer. Sarzen realized that all it n
eeded to do was cut their cheeks and cause a drop of blood from each to fall onto the statue’s base, which would complete the ritual and cause the One to rise again. But neither Sarzen nor Helnia could avoid the tongue; it was drawing closer and closer and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

  Dragon Gods, please save us, Sarzen prayed silently, watching as the shadow tongue advanced. Please give us a miracle. Anything will do. Anything at all.

  The shadow tongue split into two when it was about halfway toward them. One half made its way over to Sarzen, while the other made its way to Helnia. Sarzen just prepared himself for the inevitable pain from the cut, closing his eyes so he would not have to see what the results of his failure would be.

  That was when a loud roar—the roar of a dragon—pierced the air. It was an incredibly spine-tingling roar, so loud that it caused Sarzen’s eyes to fly open, though that was about the only movement he could make, because a fear swept through him at the sound of the roar, a fear he had never felt before. Helnia also looked shocked and fearful, too stunned to move.

  But not nearly as much as the assassin. A deep fear, as if his very life was in danger, crossed the assassin’s face. His shadow tongues froze when they were only inches away from Sarzen and Helnia’s faces; in fact, the assassin’s entire body had frozen, like he had been stuck out in the middle of a blizzard overnight.

  “No …” said the assassin in a low voice. “That roar … it can’t be …”

  All of a sudden, a dragon as white as snow tackled the assassin, sending them both rolling across the floor away from Sarzen and Helnia. Sarzen immediately sat up, rubbing his chest, while Helnia gasped for air and coughed several times.

  “What the heck was that?” said Helnia, panting between each word. She looked over at the dragon. “A dragon?”

  “It’s the Miracle,” said Sarzen in excitement. “The Miracle at Sinmo. Remember about the lesser dragon I told you of? The one that saved Sinmo from the Draymens?”

  “That’s the same one?” said Helnia in surprise. “What’s it doing all the way out here in the Cursed Lands?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sarzen. “But I think … I think the Dragon Gods sent it. They heard my prayer and sent him to save us again.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Thanks again, Dragon Gods. You are as faithful and quick to answer our prayers as ever.”

  Then Sarzen heard another crash and looked to see the fight between the dragon and the assassin. The two were now circling each other, but the dragon had already dealt significant damage to the assassin. The assassin had long, jagged claw marks on his chest, which were bleeding profusely, and he was even limping. The dragon, on the other hand, looked unharmed, even regal, its white scales reflecting the green light that glowed along the walls.

  “So …” said the assassin, his voice full of anger and pain. “The son of Errat appears again. You thwarted us at Sinmo and seek to do the same here? I should have foreseen this.”

  The dragon did not respond. It just snorted smoke from its nostril and clawed the floor, as if showing that it was not afraid of the assassin.

  “Son of Errat?” Sarzen muttered. “Impossible.”

  “Who is Errat?” said Helnia. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

  “Errat is one of the Dragon Gods,” said Sarzen. “The highest Dragon God, in fact.”

  “You mean this lesser dragon is his son?” said Helnia in surprise. “I didn’t know the Dragon Gods had children.”

  “Legend says that they used to have many children, but they were all slain in the battle with the One, and they refused to procreate again in order to avoid the heartache of losing their children,” said Sarzen. “But if the assassin is telling the truth, then this is no mere lesser dragon servant. It’s another ancient legend come to life.”

  All of a sudden, the son of Errat breathed a stream of silver fire at the assassin. The assassin jumped to the side to avoid it, but he was too slow and part of his body got hit by the fire, causing him to cry out in pain and stagger to the side.

  The dragon immediately ran toward him. It lashed out with its claws, slashing across the assassin’s face, and then following up the blow with a smack from its wings. The assassin fell onto his back and the dragon jumped on him, trying to tear out his throat, but the assassin somehow managed to hold back the dragon’s teeth, although it looked like it took all of his effort.

  “What should we do?” said Helnia. “Do you think the dragon can beat him on his own?”

  “Perhaps, but I hate sitting around doing nothing,” said Sarzen. He rose to his feet. “Stay here. I’m going to get my sword back and help the son of Errat.”

  Before Helnia could protest, Sarzen ran around the statue back toward his sword, which lay on the other side of the chamber. He reached his sword quickly and picked it up just as he heard a cry of pain—this time sounding like it came from a wounded beast—and looked over his shoulder.

  The situation of the battle had changed. The dragon’s left wing was wounded; it even looked broken, the way it hung from the dragon’s shoulder. The dragon itself was lying on the floor like it had been knocked down mid-flight; Sarzen had no idea how the tide of the battle had changed so quickly, but he knew that he had to act quickly if he was going to save the dragon.

  Holding his sword with both hands, Sarzen ran toward the battle. He was quick, crossing the chamber faster than ever before, and reached the assassin before he could finish off the dragon.

  With a yell, Sarzen slashed at an open wound on the assassin’s thigh, the closest wound he could hit. His sword sank into the assassin’s thigh, causing the assassin to cry out in pain for the first time so far.

  But the assassin did not fall. He swept a large hand at Sarzen, but Sarzen yanked his sword out of the assassin’s thigh and ducked, easily dodging the hand.

  The assassin growled in anger, clutching his wound, but then there was another roar from the dragon and the dragon appeared again. Though its wing was still as damaged as ever, the dragon nonetheless managed to sink its claws into the assassin’s shoulders and then sink its teeth into the assassin’s neck.

  And, with a final yank, the dragon tore through the assassin’s throat, sending gray blood splattering everywhere. The assassin roared in pain, staggering backwards before he fell on his hands and knees. The assassin clutched his throat with both hands, but there was no way he could stem the blood flow or close the wound in time to stop it from bleeding out.

  Sarzen and the dragon stood side by side, staring at the assassin as he desperately tried to stop his throat from bleeding out. It was a hideous, pitiful sight, especially when Sarzen smelled the blood, which was like rotten fruit.

  “It’s over, assassin,” said Sarzen. “You’ve lost.”

  Sarzen expected the assassin to fall down there and then, but instead, he looked up at them. The assassin’s eyes were aflame with madness, madness and hate, as if those two emotions alone were keeping him alive even when he should have died by now.

  “The One …” the assassin could barely speak. “... will rise … again …”

  The assassin tried to stand up, causing Sarzen and the dragon to get into fighting positions, but then Helnia shouted, “Sarzen, dragon, move!”

  Without thinking or asking why, Sarzen and the dragon jumped apart. The assassin briefly looked confused before shocked horror and understanding rippled across his face, which Sarzen did not understand until he heard the sound of something tall and heavy tipping over.

  That was when Sarzen saw the massive statue of the One—so detailed and well-constructed, a product of years of effort and work, mostly by human slaves—fall over onto the assassin. The statue not only crushed the assassin under its weight, but also shattered upon impact, its limbs and head falling off its torso. Its body cracked in half, while the head rolled away and came to a stop just a few short feet away from the main body. The green lights on the walls suddenly died, causing the room to return to its normal darkness, aside from the glowi
ng white light from the dragon’s scales.

  The assassin was now dead. And with the statue of the One also destroyed, it was obvious that his god was going to stay that way, too.

  Panting and sweating, Sarzen looked back over at Helnia. She was standing where the statue had stood mere moments ago, her chest heaving up and down.

  “Helnia?” said Sarzen. “How … how did you knock the statue over?”

  Helnia smiled a tired smile and held up a tiny bead in one hand. “Found a bead full of Raugus energy. Cast a tipping over spell. Then I let gravity handle the rest.”

  Sarzen could not help but smile at Helnia’s explanation. “Thanks.”

  Then Sarzen looked up at the dragon. The son of Errat had not left. It still stood on the floor, but it was not looking at Sarzen or Helnia. It was looking at the remains of the statue that lay upon the corpse of the assassin; unless Sarzen’s eyes were playing tricks on him, he thought that the dragon looked relieved, a feeling that Sarzen understood very well, given what almost happened.

  “Great son of Errat,” said Sarzen, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He could barely stand due to how tired he was, but he made an effort not to sit down and rest just yet. “Thank you for coming to aid us in our time of need. Had you not shown up when you did, the One of Shadow would have returned and all hope would have been lost.”

  The dragon looked at Sarzen. Its brown eyes were very familiar, even though Sarzen had never looked into its eyes before. They reminded Sarzen of someone he knew, though he couldn’t think of who at the moment.

  The dragon did not seem like it was going to leave anytime soon, so Sarzen said, “Great son of Errat, did the Dragon Gods send you? Where are they? Why have they not returned? I hope it is not too much for me to ask these questions of you, for I am just a humble Acolyte, but I must know the answers and you are the only one who can give them to me.”