Trestan regained his feet as Savannah enchanted her flail with its dark blessing. With heavy heart, he realized he had no hope of getting his sword back. Savannah was shielded, armed with a blessed weapon, and had every capability to throw a damaging miracle at him from a distance. Only one choice seemed available at that moment.
The squire turned and ran along the edge of the rise. Accelerating footsteps carried him back to his friends.
The abbess of DeLaris wouldn’t permit it. She called forth another dark miracle. A wall of red mist formed before Trestan, blocking his retreat. It stretched out over a long distance from side to side, even extending slightly over the drop-off.
Trestan recognized the miracle from a past encounter. Inside the mist waited a disorienting illusion, where the images of past loved ones would attempt to distract him from his path. He looked back to see Savannah slowly advancing towards him. She had retrieved her skull helm and stared at him from within the skull sockets. The Sword of the Spirit was tucked into her belt.
A plan came to Trestan’s mind. The mist had scared him when he was young and inexperienced, but he held no fear that it could stop him now. With a nod to Savannah, he turned and plunged into the mist.
Savannah’s mouth widened at seeing him willingly thrust himself into that cloud. The abbess ran parallel to the drop-off, dismissing a portion of the mist so that she might run through and intercept him. When she got to the other side, Trestan was not visible. Savannah conjured up another dark miracle and sent it exploding within the mist she had conjured. No scream or noise came from the mist.
A realization came to the faithful of DeLaris. She ran forward to the edge of the drop-off. Down below, she saw Trestan running into the woods. The paladin had found the cliff’s edge and descended it while the fog covered the escape.
Savannah descended the small rise soon after. Both Trestan and Savannah knew where the relics were hiding. She was determined that the young man would not beat her to the Earthrin Stones.
* * * * *
Sondra knelt on a blood-soaked cushion, staring across a bubbling cauldron at two others. A focus of light, from no apparent source, illuminated the figures and the area next to the cauldron. Although she could not see the walls, the acolyte knew she was within the inner sanctum of the dying Doranil Star. Around her the room thrummed to the song of Ganden, yet she could not find the source of that song, for there were only the three of them present. The other two did not appear to be singing, though she could not see their faces due to the hoods of their ceremonial vestments.
The one on her right turned partway towards her. She could see the edges of a black and gray goatee and mustache. The figure pointed to her, “Chant the mantra along with us. We must keep the ship floating long enough to save the others.”
Sondra started to comply, but found herself unable. In her heart she knew something was amiss. Sondra glanced to the other robed figure, looking for an affirmation or denial.
The robed figure on the right frowned at this action. Across from the unknown priest, the face of Mother Evine appeared beneath the cowl on the left. Sondra’s mentor stared into the cauldron. “Acolytes please leave. Get to the life boats and continue to serve Ganden well in the years to come.”
Sondra found herself at odds with her own feelings. She didn’t want to stay and die, yet she wanted to honor the call of her god and follow Evine to the very end. She owed Ganden everything.
The robed figure on the right frowned. He whispered something that made Mother Evine’s face turn away into the dark depths of the hood. The male priest rebuked Sondra in a firm tone. “You serve the God of Honor, and his duty to you is clear. Your wishes are nothing compared to the lives of his guests. Begin the mantra or be gone from his service.”
The acolyte of Ganden strained to get a better glimpse of his face. The cowl always seemed to cover too much. She felt the compelling need to do as he said. Duty called to her, putting the needs of others before her own wishes. It had always been this way.
She briefly hesitated, looking once again to the left as Mother Evine’s face reappeared. “You will someday find the beacon of strength that lies in your own heart. You will learn the uninhibited joy of being able to help others, as well as the self-respect that comes with honor.”
“Why do you hesitate?” snapped the robed priest on the right. “Do you actually care to go out among those people? They teased you as a child, tormenting you for being a homeless orphan. How can you care to join those that don’t care for you? How thankful are they?”
Jentan Mollamos concentrated on his mesmerizing chant. He could see images in Sondra’s mind as he continued to play out his illusion. Though he could not see specific memories, he could sense her feelings as her mind weighed uncertainties. In the physical realm, the acolyte knelt by the debris of the wreckage. Her eyes viewed only the images Jentan wove from her own feelings. While the mentalist struggled to maintain control of her mind, his eyes wandered over the young woman’s curves. What a truly magnificent power he had to control the minds of such beautiful ladies.
Sondra could only agonize over the punishing feelings that played upon her heart. She was losing herself under the guilt and pain that lay bared for the mentalist.
He continued to assault her feelings, “It is easy to serve meals and heal the beggars to warm your own soul, but the true test of your honor and devotion is your life for your god. You must chant the mantra or the ship will fall. If you refute his call, we will all die anyway.”
The mentalist idly wondered if he could get her to eat one of the magic foods he had in his pockets. The mixture, combined with the proper words, was the means by which Savannah and Revwar had snuck on board the divine vessel. If Sondra could be convinced to eat one, then speak the words, she would be transformed into a clay figure. Jentan could carry her away in a pocket. He could then break her mind at his leisure. Savannah had denied him, yet a younger, more innocent woman awaited his domination.
In her private world, Sondra anguished over her decision. The path seemed clear, but why did she feel hesitation? She felt a sense that she had left the sanctum before, and brought great pain onto her heart. Maybe she was required to give up the last of her hopes and dreams in favor of dying in Ganden’s service. Hadn’t her only hopes been rooted in this divine ship anyway? She cast another look at the robed person on her left. Maybe there was one last comfort they could offer.
This time the hood revealed a different face. The paladin-aspirant, Trestan, looked upon her with inquisitive eyes. “Duty? Are you clear on your duty Sondra?”
Familiar words came back to Sondra. She repeated them, though she couldn’t remember when she had spoken them to Trestan before. “I’m just an acolyte! I’m just a healer that cares for the poor!”
Trestan smiled a sad smile, “Did you truly give up all your hopes and dreams in your service to Ganden?”
“In order to truly serve a god in this world, you have to give up everything for them!” Sondra said, or was it the robed man on the right echoing words from her past?
Trestan shook his head. “Ganden doesn’t want a servant; he wants a champion. He loves you for who you are, and that includes your hopes, your dreams, your zeal for life.”
The priest on the right boiled over in anger. He hissed a few sharp words. The image on the left shattered. Somewhere within Sondra, her feelings brought the image back into being. This time it did not kneel by the cauldron. The mystery figure was walking into the darkness.
“Wait!” Sondra cried out, “I’m confused!”
The departing figure paused and turned. Sondra stared into her own face; a face that scowled back in anger at her kneeling form. The robed figure spoke, “Ganden wants more than an obedient lapdog. Someone has to get the relics and the betrayer. The past is set. Ganden’s champion needs to seize the path ahead.”
The image turned to walk into the darkness. Sondra jumped to her feet in her need to follow this version of herself. “I’m not ju
st a lapdog! I know my duty now!”
Sondra reached into the collar of her vestments. She pulled out the chain upon which hung the dog-shaped pendant. Her fist tore it off the chain and flung it at the robed figure by the cauldron.
The holy item flared in brightness as the nightmare illusion shattered. The emblem landed at Jentan Mollamos’ feet. Sondra’s eyes focused on her enemy. The veil of confusion fell aside.
“Betrayer!”
Sondra came forward with her mace as Jentan threw up his arms to cast a spell. The heavy iron snapped down on one forearm. The mentalist screamed as he stumbled backward. Sondra advanced again. A few quick words and Jentan set off another spell. He seemed to disappear as a flash of light zoomed several meters to one side. He reappeared there, trying to run away from the angry woman.
Sondra gave chase, only to discover several seconds later that it was only an illusion. She turned to see the mentalist running the other direction, cradling his injured arm. Sondra Oskires called out to Ganden, asking for a prayer to shield her mind as she chased down the one she held responsible for the death of the Doranil Star.
* * * * *
Montanya felt an odd sensation in the stab wound on her leg. The poison was already seeping into her veins, slithering up her own system to siphon her life. Kemora kept out of reach. The domid’s poker face flashed briefly to feigned sorrow. The frown mimicked how she assumed Montanya must be feeling at the end of their long chase.
The chiaso felt cheated. Her anger urged her to continue the attack until unconsciousness claimed her. Montanya felt her lust for vengeance, and yet for the first time she became repulsed by her legacy. Where had her anger driven her? It seemed she never escaped her limitations to fulfill her purposes. She couldn’t escape the wooden box to save her parents. Montanya got thrown in the brig on the divine chariot, unable to act. The elves had kept her prisoner in a wooden jail.
The young warrior only had one event that went beyond the barrier blocking her goals. She shattered caleocht wood when it had trapped Sondra and the elf children. That had only happened after achieving the control of her mind, body, and soul that her anger had denied her.
The red-haired youth spun her staff up defensively when she noted the halfling sneaking forward. Kemora eyed it warily and stepped back. The smaller female wiped blood from her mouth due to the earlier hit.
While Kemora circled, Montanya attempted to relax. She thought of Lindon’s sweet music. The tune of his mandolin strings, wind through his flutes, his melodic voice…they brought serenity to her feelings. She sought to find the center of her inner balance. In her mind, she danced the Butterfly in the Windmill. She felt every stretch of her muscles. Her anger disseminated into physical energy.
She briefly recoiled as she felt the foreign poison snaking its way up her leg. Recalling her lessons and feeling her inner strength, she realized she could slow her breathing and pulse to a more relaxed level. Somehow, the energy of her chi slowed the poison, buying her time. The poison would not be stopped completely by her spirit, but it could be slowed considerably.
When Montanya dropped to a kneeling position, eyes nearly closed, staff touching the ground, Kemora assumed that the poison was finishing her. The rogue lunged forward with one more stab to make sure the toxin could complete the job.
Montanya’s eyes snapped open. Her greenish-blue eyes saw everything around her in perfect clarity. In the soft beauty of her face, there was no scowl or angry look. The chiaso’s left hand instantly clamped over Kemora’s stiletto hand. Montanya’s right arm lifted the staff to knock back the arm with the sword. She surprised the domid with her flexibility when the chiaso launched a kick from the kneeling position. The foot slammed the breath from Kemora’s lungs.
Though the youth’s other leg was weakened, she performed every maneuver with a level of concentration never witnessed by her former master. The rogue’s stiletto arm twisted painfully, even as the kicking foot switched to connect with her sword arm. Kemora began every dirty trick she could attempt. The trapped rogue spat in Montanya’s face even as she tried kicks of her own. The martial artist soon sent the domid sword flying off to the side. They twisted and wrestled, mixing in short punches and kicks.
Somewhere in that tussle, Montanya discarded her staff. With both hands, the human worked over Kemora’s stiletto hand until something snapped. The domid screamed out as her poisoned blade fell into the grass. She retaliated with ferocity, biting Montanya’s arm.
When they locked eyes once again, all sense of discipline and inner balance had fled Montanya’s face. The angry scowl had returned. Both women slugged blows powered by desperation. Kemora couldn’t escape the strong entanglement of the human.
During the fight, the locket around Kemora’s neck slipped free of her tunic. Montanya saw it and angrily ripped it from her.
Montanya attacked with a bestial frenzy. The scrap of pink fabric in her hair came loose, drifting past her vision. The human began to shout things that only prompted confusion from the rogue. Kemora sought escape as fragments of sentences uttered forth in rage.
“Not my mother! You can’t have her!” mixed with “Damn thieves, stop stealing my life!”
Montanya willingly drowned in feelings of loss and rage. She completely surrendered to the angry beast within her, pounding Kemora with years of unfulfilled oaths. Ghosts of her past clouded her vision. She could no more see Kemora than she had viewed the caleocht board in the training room of the Order of the Mind’s Eye. Montanya spent a long time venting a lifetime of frustration.
Montanya never had a clue as to when Kemora’s life faded away…she simply kept swinging as long as anger lent her strength.
When it was over, she sagged against a tree. She could no longer find the strength to fight. The limp body of the thief sprawled among grass blades speckled with red. Victory felt hollow. Though she had defeated the opponent she had chased for miles since the theft of a magical mask, there was little sense of accomplishment to justify a life of vengeance. The Orlaun taxmen did not come out of the trees and return her estate to her possession. Grandmaster Woshan was not there to offer her any congratulations for being a fine student. Her parents remained long gone…dead as the beaten halfling lying before her.
Was it really a victory anyway? What heroic purpose had Montanya really given to the world? In her heart she knew it was not any desire for heroism that had pushed her along this path. Heroics were only a glorified excuse to justify her need to hunt thieves and hurt them.
It had been an excuse to thrash Kemora bloody until her small heart no longer beat.
This was the ending she sought, yet her life’s pursuit seemed empty. Montanya felt envious in regards to Sondra, and that small glance she had into another person’s life. Sondra had at least put food in front of starving people, earning a smile from strangers for her selfless work. The other woman had even continued her task when thanks were not forthcoming. For all her criticism of Sondra, the world would miss Sondra, it would not miss Montanya. The world may indeed be a better place without a rogue like Kemora Quickfeet, yet Montanya was ashamed to think she had bludgeoned to death someone roughly half her height.
Montanya slid to the base tree with a shuddering sigh. The poison within her spread unhindered by her skills. She hardly cared about it. The chiaso let the poison run free.
The young girl named Montanya su Troyeal bara Westonhout had died the same night as her parents. The heartbroken warrior who had borrowed her body afterwards was willing to let the poison return the girl’s spirit back to her parents.
CHAPTER 33 “Trestan, Where is Your Sword?”
She discovered, much to her relief, that she was not dead. Maybe she had Trestan to thank for it. He held her as miraculous healing energies flowed into her body.
“Are you feeling well, Cat? We need to move quick if you can manage it.” Cat could see the worry filling his lovely brown eyes.
After a slight pause in which she examined the hurts of her body,
she nodded. Cat rose to her feet. Foyren lie dead a few feet away. Her stab had indeed been fatal. One hand went to her head, feeling about the tiara.
“I thought I was dead for sure,” she stated as she felt for any remnant wound.
Trestan shrugged, “A god must have been looking out for you. I don’t know what hit you but it left a small bump under the Taef’ Adorina.”
“A small bump?” Cat was incredulous, given the nature of the blow she had received. As her fingers felt the thin gold loops in the tiara, she couldn’t find any deformities from the hit.
“We have nay time to stop. I know where the relics are, and Savannah knows that I can’t really fight this day or I lose my faith. We have to beat her to the relics and run with them.”
Cat retrieved her rapier and her bow. Together they ran in the direction Trestan’s senses took him. They occasionally heard other noises nearby, but stayed focused on the course that would take them to the relics.
“What if they find us while at the relics? What if they have beaten us there?” Cat asked.
Trestan shook his head helplessly as he ran. “We can only pray for swiftness. I will be useless in any combat with them. We’ll have to grab the relics and run.”
Squire Trestan could well feel the worry in Cat’s heart as he spoke. She knew he had to honor his goddess with a peaceful heart this day. In answer to her unspoken concerns, Trestan said, “We need to have faith in Abriana. Just like you told me the day of the Embarking.”
That faith seemed misplaced a short time later when Trestan and Cat abruptly halted within sight of Savannah and Revwar. The two antagonists were picking up cloth sacks amidst a field of spoiled food.
Savannah and Revwar remained unaware of their adversaries at first. The abbess of DeLaris’ head jolted up, though not due to perceiving Cat or Trestan. Revwar noticed the shock in her eyes. She turned her skull helm towards him as she explained, “I just felt Kemora die. Already a Karet-Atriul is recovering her soul.”
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 50
