by JW Baccaro
Reacting immediately, while protecting one another’s back, Caelestias, Mirabel and Nayland swung at every angle and ferociously cut them to pieces.
Bits of hacked flesh and severed bone lay everywhere, blood oozing down the rocks. Then dark-green vines either fell from the ceiling or sprung up from the ground and began attaching themselves onto their members, wrapping around their legs, arms, torsos or any member they could get their accursed roots onto. Cutting apart as many as could be there seemed just too many to defend against, rushing out like never-ending rope, and it wasn’t long before the vines stole their weapons and completely wrapped the three up, hanging them in mid-air like insects caught in a spider web. The vines were also acidic and burned their skin. They could not break free.
“You two must transform,” Caelestias suggested “I am Aryeh. So long as we are bound in this cave my magic is useless! I need the woodlands. But the sorcery should not have an effect on Transformation.”
Just before they got the chance to do so, the invisible Witch shouted aloud, “Mephistopheles!”Then different colored flames burst out from little holes on both sides of the rock walls, encircling Mirabel and Nayland, while the flames together formed the colors of a rainbow.
Caelestias knew exactly the source. Arion! Unholy stones formed by the blood of the Fallen Angels, able to influence morally good creatures to darkness, and when mixed with the right properties of black magics they become toxic or fatal to any Nasharin because of the ‘curse’ they carry. At the moment, things were not working in their favor.
“I cannot change,” Mirabel said.
“Neither can I,” Nayland muttered. “I feel nauseous—weak.”
“So do I—can’t concentrate—” He fell unconscious and Nayland shortly followed.
“That is right Nasharins,” the Witch cheered. “Sleep. Sleep like your friend. Belial!” she shouted and the Arion flames went out. “Elf, you never should have brought them into my domain. The only thing you managed to do was ensure their death. For I know their greatest weakness, Arion! Layered within this mound are hundreds of the beautifully shaped hexagon stones. Many years I have studied them, looked into their essence, discovering new ways to use their evil, until finally perfected. Yes yes, I created my own ‘anti-Nasharin’ spell, you could say.” She laughed again in that hideous screechy voice. “Why, even the greatest Nasharins fall like dust before me when cast it. I am the Mistress of Arion. I only blew the flames out for these two to prolong their lives. You see specimens boiled alive taste wondrous…their flesh is to die for. I would offer you some, but you are going to be part of it.”
The Witch finally revealed her form and stood before him. She looked hideous! A pale-green face, having black gashes all over it, oozing out greenish-white puss and dark-red blood. Her hair consisted of a dozen or so deep purple snakes slivering in and out of her skull, hissing and licking the dripping facial puss and blood. One of her triangular shaped ears looked clogged with what looked like white fuzzy mold while the other seemed to have been burnt down to nearly nothing, like a piece of charcoal resting aside her head. She sported a long pointy noise and her torn black garments revealed a set of mangled breasts then even a third breast in place of where the belly button would normally be, with a yellowish excretion slowly seeping from of her skin pores accompanied by a smell beyond even death. Her eyes shone a sickly green.
Caelestias tried to look away but the vines held his head in place.
She walked closer to him, the snakes hissing constantly. “Yes yes,” she hissed. “Having the power of Arion in my blood I could sense the Nasharins miles away, the boy especially. I wanted him, lured him in with my gaze.” She grinned. “Like a fly to the spider. Watch, I’ll show you him.”
At the end of the cave a section of rock swung open like a door, revealing a little cavern. Inside, stood Darshun, bound by the same vines and unconscious.
Never did he think this would be his fate, killed by a Witch, consumed into waste! Imagine the embarrassment of his elders? “Darshun!” Caelestias shouted.
“He cannot hear you Elf,” she said laughing, getting into his face with the stench of abomination.
* * *
Darshun did hear and slowly opened his eyes. He saw Caelestias, Mirabel and Nayland—all bound like him. Fear shot through his heart but he was too ill to move or speak. The rock closed up again.
“Now I shall dine on you three first. Save the sweeter one for desert.” She licked her lips. “Mmm, I can hardly wait.”
The vines which sprung up from the ground now let go of their legs and torsos then they slithered back into their holes. Abruptly, the ground opened up revealing a pit about fifty feet deep. At its bottom sat a large cauldron of brewing fire!
“See, I told you I prefer my flesh cooked alive, cooked slowly alive…” She cackled. “Oooh, does it bring out the flavor, roasting above an open flame! And I do say I love the screaming.”
The upper vines still having hold on their heads and arms began to extend, lowering them down to the fire. Closer and closer they fell and Caelestias could feel the heat of the flames increasing every second. The Witch repeated, “Cooked slowly alive…” This meant a long painful roast was in place, like a rotisserie elk. What a horrible way to die, only to be consumed into her mouth!
“I cannot move!” Caelestias gasped. “The vines are too tense, and this cave–portrays a defense against my magic. I underestimated the Witch, too full of trickery she is; Darshun—you must wake up!!”
Caelestias’ voice, the notes like little piercing knives, echoed through the walls and Darshun did become driven to consciousness. “Caelestias…?” he muttered, slowly opening his eyes and moving his fingers. “I cannot give up. But what am I to do? I feel so weak.” Then he heard a voice inside his head…“I have awakened your elvish powers. In time you will learn to use them.” He remembered those words. They were the words of Lord Athanasius spoken to him back at Ashhaven. He wasn’t positive whether Athanasius spoke them telepathically or if it just happened all in his head. Nevertheless, an odd new power rose within him as he’d never before experienced. Not so much of strength, rather, something else—something from the past, enlightening—from ancient times.
While the heat began to singe his skin, flames crackling high out of the cauldron, Caelestias struggled intensely but still couldn’t break free.
“Yes yes my children,” the Witch said to her snakes, petting them. “It is almost time!”
A trembling rumbled and a reddish-green glow shined through the cracks of the wall where Darshun had been entombed.
The Witch glanced over and the rock exploded casting rubble everywhere.
Amazingly, Darshun emerged transformed in a different light. Red flames swirled around him like a cyclone and a bright green glow radiated off his body.
Admittedly, even by the Witch’s gaze, he appeared unearthly beautiful.
“Athim Oleru!” he shouted. The vines lowering his companions suddenly stopped and reversed, pulling them back up.
“No, impossible! Hadimundae Nokoroth!” the Witch shouted, recasting her spell. Not only did the evil have no effect on the vines, but something like a set of hands smothered her lungs, as if the magic ricocheted against her, though as something else entirely. She tried a second time, only to get the same results and spat out a mouthful of blood.
Caelestias, Mirabel and Nayland were almost at the top.
Enraged, she drew a knife from an inner lining pocket and began cutting the vines, so the three would fall, except each vine she cut re-grew immediately. “Accursed Nasharin!” she hissed, glaring Darshun’s way. Stretching forth her ugly web-like hands, she fired two beams of static-streaked dark energy at him.
Darshun matched the sorcery by firing two streams of flames. The attacks met in mid-air and since Darshun’s weren’t natural fires, rather Nasharin.
They somehow ‘connected’ against the static dark beams, pushing them all the way back to the Witch herself, burning o
ff three quarters of her arms, leaving little charcoal stumps. She screamed in agony and disappeared in a cloud of green smoke.
His companions finally reached the surface and Darshun suddenly collapsed to the ground, nearly losing consciousness.
By now, the Witch’s magic had little to no effect on the strength of the vines and Caelestias got himself free by tearing them apart. “Darshun, are you all right?”
“I—think so, just weak.”
Caelestias cut Mirabel and Nayland loose. “Can you carry your father?”
“I will try.”
Caelestias helped Mirabel over Darshun’s shoulders and picked up Nayland.
When they turned to walk away the enraged armless Witch reappeared behind them and the snakes within her hair spat acidic venom at Darshun.
Caelestias shoved him out of the way; the venom nearly striking his face. Then with immaculate speed, Caelestias reached for an arrow with one hand, stooping to the ground retrieving his bow with the other, and shot her in the heart.
She fell back and into the pit screeching hideously, plunging into her own cauldron of fire. Flames and decaying black magic erupted as high as the surface and then went out like a candle with a distinct splattering poof.
“Come on,” Caelestias urged and they ventured out of the cave hastily, by-passing the dreadful saddened faces upon the walls, which now appeared joyful and began fading away since the Witch was dead.
Once they were in the forest, they gently placed Mirabel and Nayland on the ground.
“Will they be all right?” Darshun asked.
“Yes, they were poisoned by a spell of the Witch, cast from Arion.”
“I know. The Witch’s words echoed in my mind. That was how the High Wizard Levieth was able to bind me back at Castle Volborg in a room he called the ‘Arion Chamber.’ He mentioned learning the spell from an ‘ancient feminite.’ That Witch must have been her. Yet after I heard your father’s voice in my head—”
“My father’s voice?”
“Yeah, he spoke to me, I think, and all of a sudden the sickness from the Arion vanished and my elvish powers unleashed. I do not even know how I did what I did. At the time it seemed to come natural. What happened to me?”
“You said, ‘Athim Oleru,’ which in elvish simply means ‘to take back.’ You reversed the Witch’s spell upon the vines. Apparently, you have the gift to control elements of nature at will, a rare ancient elvish magic thought to have been forgotten. Mastering this is similar to having the power of a High Wizard. In past times, High Wizards and High Elves were typically mistaken for one another. The weakness you feel is the result of being unfamiliar with the magic. Wow Darshun, amazing.”
“Did the magic make me immune to the Arion?”
“Possibly. The Elves of the Light after all, are a holy and enlightening race.”
Holy, enlightening race. Darshun remembered what he’d seen when Levieth cast the spell upon him back at the Arion Chamber in Castle Volborg—civilization, the world, destroyed. "Caelestias, are the visions the Arion causes…real? Is destruction the true nature of my—my race?"
For a moment Caelestias remained quiet, as if thinking deeply, then he gazed into Darshun eyes. "Trust in what your father has taught you. Dwell not on what could have been, or the tragedies of the past. No individual makes him or herself wicked except that individual. We all have darkness inside of us, we all have light, focus on that light, and the good you know your people have done, the good you have done. This may not answer your question directly I understand, but it is all you are getting out of me."
"I am grateful for your honesty, thank you."
The mist within the forest began to spread everywhere, as though attempting to swallow them.
"We must leave these ruins at once," the elvish lord spoke. "It will be nightfall soon and we will have little chance of exiting this place. Come."
Darshun put Mirabel over his shoulders once again while Caelestias took Nayland and they hastily returned to Minevara and the Aryeh.
“Good heavens!” Minevara greeted, her eyes widened. “Are they alive?”
“They shall be fine.” Caelestias sighed. “Get them some Heloitha.”
Setting the unconscious down, Minevara took out of Caelestias’ sack a special tea with amazing qualities, ingredients that intertwine with the body’s natural healing system and enhance it dramatically. She prepared both of them a hot cup over the fire and Darshun recognized the awful scent at once. “That smells like a drink I was given once with my encounter with Aurelius. I was severely wounded from Abaddon, my entire body thrashed, and the tea really helped wonders. Aurelius called it the same word, ‘Heloitha,’ I think.”
“Correct, meaning ‘miracle flower,’ ” Caelestias answered, “At one time it grew in many locations, planted by a Goddess, so to speak. After she died, the potent among it weakened, and now only grows in its original place of seeding, a meadow just outside of Ashhaven. Even so, the flower, with other added herbs, continues to do wonders.”
Minevara gave a cup to Darshun, so he could carefully drip the liquid down Mirabel’s throat. Then she set Nayland in her lap, opened his mouth and gently poured some in. At first he coughed, opened his eyes and saw her, lost for a moment in her gaze, then fell unconscious again. She dripped the rest of it in and slowly rubbed his brow. “See, I should have gone. Another fighter would have done better against the Witch.”
“Then you would be one of them sister and I would be the one pouring Heloitha down your throat,” Darshun commented. “The might of a Nasharin is nothing against the Witch while in her lair. Although, you are partially elvish so it may have had little effect. That renders me curious.”
“What are you talking about Windtros? Can one of you two please tell me what happened?!”
“When these two awaken I will,” Caelestias spoke. “Therefore, I do not have to repeat myself twice.”
Appearing somewhat annoyed, especially at Darshun, it was, after all, his fault this happened anyway. He just had to go and wander off, almost getting himself killed—along with Mirabel and Nayland. Nonetheless, she accepted to wait. “Darshun, you must be more careful.”
“Yeah, I know. Apologies…” He let out a sigh of shame.
“It is not entirely his fault, Minevara, which like I stated will be explained shortly,” Caelestias said. “No sooner, no latter.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VALNAR’S TOWER
A few hours later, Mirabel and Nayland awoke, then Caelestias explained everything.
Minevara looked shocked to hear about the element Arion dwelling so close by. All her life, she thought it to be myth. And her anger lightened upon Darshun once she realized the Witch had indeed cast a spell to draw him in. He is, after all, like a happy—almost foolish child more prone to temptation than others, especially by the female species, as she was learning, and so he must be watched more closely.
Nayland, on the other hand, seemed infuriated with the entire situation. “You should have let me die!” he shouted.
“Do not say such things,” Darshun shouted back.
“If I am unable to defend myself against a Witch—one mere pathetic inferior Witch! What good am I?”
“She was no ‘mere Witch,’ but the guardian of the Haunted Ruins, a being of great power. There is no reason to become so angry.”
“Ah, so now the mighty guardian of earth speaks wisdom, how absurd. Darshun, you’re a pathetic case of a 'warrior.' ”
“Hold your tongue,” Caelestias snapped. “That is the Guardian you insult."
Nayland turned sharply around to face him. "Far be it from you to say such a thing, murderer!"
“You are angry because the Witch overpowered you,” Caelestias responded while ignoring the comment. “But understand, it was only because of the Arion spell she used, a spell impossible for any Nasharin to withstand, strong or weak. I think you are being far too proud.”
“Unlike some, I am proud of my ‘accursed race!’ I h
ave no regrets for how we Nasharins first came into being. All this talk of a curse has sickened my spirit. You Elves and every other so-called ‘noble’ race cast blame on us continuously. Creatures become what they are by themselves. Tell me, how many vile scum do you think my people have taken out of this realm?” Not allowing him to answer Nayland continued, "And what is the strength of a Nasharin Master compared to a mere Cullach, Dark Elf or numerous other weaklings of wickedness? Ten, twenty—possibly thirty fold. For every brother of mine you have slain, you have allowed an additional cluster of worthless filth to remain breathing."
"You do not know what you are say—"
"Tell me you did not enjoy it, elvish lord, driving an arrow into an 'accursed' one's heart. Tell me that."
Caelestias stared directly into his eyes with never a flinch, or a blink. "Not-a-one did I enjoy. Killing another creature similar in intellect and being is no satisfaction, Nayland Winveil. And those you are calling 'brothers,' the Nasharins I slain, would not have thought twice about destroying your village or your father, just as the Dark had done five years ago."
Whether or not Mirabel ever revealed this to him, or he knew some other way, did not arouse his curiosity, rather the painful memory of losing his family and fellow Loreladians of Magnus' clan hit hard. He grabbed Caelestias by his tunic and lifted him into the air.
At this moment, the Aryeh gathered around while Strizar drew his bow and pulled back the arrow, preparing to strike the fanatic Nasharin down.
Caelestias quickly held up his hand, motioning Strizar to stop; even more strangely Caelestias did nothing to Nayland and allowed himself at his mercy.
"Never speak of my father again," Nayland growled, drawing him closer to his face, fingers tightly clenched around his tunic. "You hear me Elf? Never!" He cast him to the ground.
“How can you say such horrid words, commit such wrongful acts?” Bewildered, Minevara asked, “The Elves of Ashhaven have shown nothing but kindness and respect to us.”
