by Lakshman, V.
Sonya had said for him to wait, and wait he had for the rest of the afternoon. Now dusk approached and he grew tired of being at the constant behest of others. His impatience for finding Arek grew with his worry. The boy would doubtless attract attention with his unique talent. Had he not already done so in Edyn, as Rai’stahn and the Conclave had so amply demonstrated? Still, he was careful to shield his thoughts, letting nothing become so consuming as to draw real phantasms from the ether of the Way.
The sun dipped to shine through the henge gate posts, casting long rectangular shadows across the center of the barren circle it inscribed. These described short semi-circular arcs, and to pass the time Duncan began postulating what rotation the island would have to have in order to describe such arcs.
He’d just come to the conclusion that the island must rotate along two axes when the henge flared to life. From the blue-white burst of energy from the circle’s interior strode a squad of men, no elves, he corrected himself. Their distinct blue skin and silver armor looked black as they stood silhouetted by the bright light of the tunnel behind them. Once that was gone, the loss of light at dusk painted the scene in an unrelenting monochromatic orange.
Duncan raised a hand in greeting, watching carefully to determine who the leader was. He emerged within moments, his hand raised as well.
“We offer ourselves as escort,” he said in a clear voice. His men moved to either side, half a dozen or so, equipped for moving quickly. He dipped his head and added softly, “Sonya bids you farewell.”
Duncan’s heart skipped a beat at the reference, but he kept his face carefully neutral. Still, the revelation did confuse him. These elves acted as if she were not a shade and some undercurrent of hope flared to life at that. He also watched the men carefully. Betrayal had been a bitter companion of his for centuries. Vigilance, he reminded himself, was the key to survival. For him, that at least had always been true.
He turned to the leader and asked, “And you are?”
“Captain Tulien Galadine of the Queensguard,” he replied, saluting with fist to chest.
“Well met, Captain.” Duncan looked at his men and then asked, “You have served the queen for how long?”
The captain smiled. “Each Queensguard may only serve for three years, sir. I am lucky to have just been appointed.” The pride was plain in his voice.
Duncan nodded at that. Smart to send him someone new to the ranks, someone who would not question orders for fear of losing his newly earned commission. He looked at the captain sidelong and asked, “You call yourself a Galadine?”
Again that pride when he answered, “We are all children of the one Father.” As he said “father,” the men all thumped their chests once and punctuated it with a ‘harummp’.
Duncan smiled, “I’m lucky to have been given such men and accept your sacrifice with honor.”
The captain tilted his head, something in the tone of Duncan’s voice not sitting right with him. He could not know that for him and his men, it was already too late.
Lightning burst from Duncan’s hands in a conflagration that encompassed the entire squad, flooding the area in blue-white brilliance. The energy ran through them, locking muscles rigid, clenching jaws so hard more than a few teeth broke. One man screamed until it was cut short, a spasm so violent it cracked and broke his ribs, but the horror befalling these men was not done.
Duncan looked at the group, satisfied they were held fast, then approached the captain. “Your highlord has much to answer for,” he said, with acid in his voice, “but know that your men sacrifice themselves so that my son can live.” He gestured and Captain Tulien floated apart from his squad, watching in horror as events unfolded before his eyes.
Slowly, Duncan brought his hand up and closed it into a fist. As he did so, the lightning tightened its grip and the sound of bones snapping began, like branches breaking. At first there were more screams, wailing sounds forced out of the men as their bodies were crushed and air driven out of tortured lungs. The screams slowly gave way to moans and wet popping sounds as joints dislocated. The elves were slowly crushed, their forms jerking like puppets on strings.
Duncan brought his other hand up and clenched it over the first, squeezing as he drove the spell to its ugly conclusion. The bodies of Tulien’s men were pressed together, so hard that blood and fluids spilled out of them as if squeezed from a sponge. It collected below, hanging in the air in a ball of red and milky white fluid mixed with bits of bone, flesh, and hair.
Duncan shook his hand and the bodies mirrored his motion, shaking the last drops from the now empty husks. He flicked one hand and the carcasses were flung away. He then concentrated on what was the most important part of the bloodspell and looked at the captain, whose only possible reaction was for his eyes to widen in fear.
Duncan grabbed Tulien’s face and pulled him closer to the ball. Closing his eyes, he dived into the Way, separating what was Tulien with what was animal instinct. The elf was surprisingly easy to mold, as if he’d been made for that very purpose. Duncan had suspected as much from his conversation with Sonya and the revelation that Valarius had crafted these creatures, not unlike the blood gholem he now sought to create.
He ripped whatever was uniquely Tulien from the man’s mind, drinking in the knowledge in such a way that it could never be returned. He understood now more of what Valarius planned, more of how these elves came into being, though only from the elves’ point of view. The knowledge made his next act easier to carry out. Valarius’s blood flowed within these things, and he meant to have it.
It had been the key, the moment he knew a way to find Arek. Even the most basic lore of the Old Council warned of blood magic being used against its creator. Yes, using it had safeguarded Avalyon, for who besides Valarius and Sonya would know how to do what he was doing now? It had been a safe bet on the highlord’s part, given his foe of Aeris, but one Duncan was now using to his advantage. If there was some part of Valarius in the making of Arek, then it stood to reason that there was some part of Arek within these elves. Duncan would use that connection to find his missing son. He drew his knife and in one quick motion cut off his smallest finger.
The shock of pain gritted his teeth, but no sound emerged. His lucidity gave him a control over himself, something he’d not felt in years. No blood magic could occur without sacrifice. He ignored it, bending his hand into a fist so that the blood welled into his cupped palm.
There was a danger here, he knew. In order to use blood magic, he too would have to open himself to the same hazard Valarius did. His blood would mix with the blood used to seal the gates. His blood would also act as a key, making him susceptible to any counter spell Valarius might craft. Once he unraveled what Duncan had done, the highlord could move quickly to neutralize him. Duncan would have to act swiftly and decisively. Thankfully, two hundred years of betrayal had taught him well.
Duncan focused his considerable might, bending the blood to his purpose, infusing the elven captain’s body with a combination of the blood of Valarius and himself. The body filled, the skin peeling off as it stretched to almost three times its size. Then the archmage began the arduous process of molding it to his purpose. He drew out the limbs, shaped the beast that was within. When he was finished, a creature of blood and raw flesh stood towering over him, a creature that would grow stronger and wilder with each thing it killed.
No life stirred its hulking limbs, no breath moved its massive chest. It was a creature born of violence and sacrifice, and looked able to inflict its birthright upon others without thought. He looked upon it and raised his uninjured hand, lightning dancing on his fingers. First, he cauterized his still bleeding hand. Though he could heal it, the Way demanded he live with the loss for as long as he wished the blood gholem to survive. Then, breathing deep, Duncan channeled his full might into the creature, his power magnified by the sheer purity and abundance of the Way.
The blast hit with a concussion that shook the ground and a circle of for
ce spread out from the impact. Lightning danced over the creature’s form, arcing over it until it gathered at its dead black eyes. Those now began to glow, a pure blue-white that promised pain and violence. Two vertical slits that were nostrils opened below those eyes, widening.
Slowly, the creature breathed in, the sound a dead rasp of air that filled something within its chest. A mouth split open, revealing bone daggers as teeth. Fists clenched and tightened, with bone spurs growing from the knuckles and forearms, lengthening into deadly sharp shards. More bone spurs erupted from the thing’s forehead and down its back and bone armor appeared, covering the naked blood flesh in its protective embrace.
Duncan opened his eyes and stepped forward without fear, touching the creature’s arm with his blood-soaked palm. He followed the ritual, filling the blasted mind he’d consumed with thought and purpose of his own. Any command could be given at this delicate time, but only one, and it forever shaped the gholem’s purpose.
He gave this thing its bonding command—“You will obey only me, wherever I am. I name you Vengeance.” His blood ignited against the skin, infusing and calling to that which ran within the creature’s body.
That command and thought raced throughout the gholem, aligning it with his sinister purpose and power. Gholems were extremely difficult to create in Edyn, the Way flowing less strongly there. Duncan considered the things he could do given the bounty of power around him and a wry smile lit his face. He finished his creation by adding something akin to a finder’s spell, allowing the gholem to come to him wherever he might be in Arcadia. It was a luxury of power he would not have ever considered in Edyn.
The blood gholem bowed and rasped, “I obey only you, Master, wherever you may be. I am Vengeance.”
Duncan stepped back, looking at his handiwork. Most gholems had been forged of mud or clay, and for those with true power, rock or iron, their only purpose to fight against the Aeris. This time, he had a far more satisfying thing in mind. In a place like Arcadia, so resplendent in the Way, this gholem would be truly unstoppable.
In the Demon Wars, gholems such as this had been shaped for many reasons, but never using blood. The power required was too great. Further, blood gholems were strictly forbidden, mainly because they grew stronger as they killed, soon becoming uncontrollable. Duncan gave a soft laugh. He had no intention of trying to control Vengeance, only to unleash him. A sudden understanding of Valarius crept in as the heady strength of the Way flowed through him, making him feel equal to a god.
He turned to the creature and said, “Where is the son of our blood?”
The gholem looked at its master, then crouched slowly. It closed its eyes, smelling the currents of the Way, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air like a sky serpent. It spun slowly in a circle, still searching, then looked back at its master and said in a guttural voice, “There.”
It pointed to the henge, to which Duncan approached. He turned to the gholem made of the blood of elves and said, “Open it.”
The gholem made its way into the circle and placed a bloody palm on the center stone within. A moment passed in silence, then two, then a whirlpool of energy sprang into being, a tunnel leading to wherever Arek was, using both Duncan and Valarius’s blood to unlock it.
Duncan planned to intercept his son before he came into contact with Lilyth, then get them out of this accursed land before it was too late. He took a breath, then stepped through. In a wink and a flash, he disappeared, leaving behind nothing but Vengeance standing like a statue honoring carnage and death.
The transition was sudden and cold, leaving afterimages spotting his vision. When Duncan opened his eyes, he saw dozens of armed elves clustered about. He looked around in confusion, fighting sudden vertigo, and realized he stood upon a platform of wood.
“Avalyon is breached!” someone yelled in a stentorian voice, the words sounding like a call to arms on the battlefield. Blue shapes moved along the edges of his vision at that, dangerous and quick.
What could only be a Galadine torc snapped around his neck, and for the second time in a few days he could feel his connection to the Way disappear. Along with it went his preternatural clarity of thought, and he found himself on his knees, not remembering when he’d collapsed.
Avalyon? What was he doing here?
He looked up, just in time to see an elf raise the butt of his spear. Then the end smacked him somewhere hard enough that his vision went black, accompanied by a sudden ringing that seemed to come from between his eyes. Mercifully, Duncan never felt the impact of the ground as it rushed up and hit him full in the face.
The Turning
Service in the benefit of your master
Is better than life itself.
- Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades
Cainan pointed to a dark ravine that cut through a line of hills, like someone had taken a knife and sliced the earth open in aV. “The Lady’s stronghold lies just beyond where that ravine opens.” He banked, following the ravine from the air, the straight dark chasm an easy guide to their ultimate destination, and perhaps some answers.
They had made their way from the island where they had appeared, flying in and around other floating lands. Some were small, no bigger than the Spring Festival square back home. Others were gigantic, as large as his own Meridian Isle. A quick thought about Jesyn and Tomas flitted through his mind. He wondered how his friends had fared since he’d departed. No doubt they would have tested by now, and perhaps be wearing the black robes of an Adept. A few days ago that would have filled him with jealousy. Now, he knew he was far more powerful than they would be, even as Adepts… and the sudden shock of how much had happened in such a short time hit him. Had just over a week passed since he’d last seen his friends?
Then his attention was drawn to one island as its shadow fell over them. It sat like a behemoth, so large that it made the many islands floating about, even the large ones, seem like small orbiting moons. He could not see the other side, but what he could see was both enormous and majestic. It grew like a wedge, wide and immense at the bottom, and slowly tapering up to a plateau that had a shining citadel on top. Nothing had prepared Arek for the sheer scale of the sight before him.
“Olympious,” Cainan said. “Is she not magnificent? A city made for the gods, for Lilyth is truly the eternal Eye of the Sun,” he added.
Arek had to admit that the land before him was unlike any other within view. The pyramid built upon the central part reminded him of the same one he saw under Bara’cor, but this one was immense.
The sun flared out from behind the structure, rendering it a black triangular monolith against the burnt orange sky. Arek squinted, shading his eyes, and looked down. Pointing, he said, “Land us there.”
“We have not yet achieved Olympious, my lord.”
“I know, but we need to talk before I present myself before the Lady.” Arek knew his request was reasonable for anyone who followed decorum, as these Aeris had demonstrated they did during their negotiations at the henge. He was pleased when the warrior tucked his wings and they plummeted downward, the sudden rush bringing a strange feeling to Arek’s stomach. It was, in a word, exhilarating.
As they neared the ground Cainan’s wings flared and they touched down softly in a small clearing at the top of one side of the ravine. The young adept took stock of his surroundings automatically, noting the gash that was the ravine ran straight and true to the pyramid in the distance, no more than half a morning’s walk. From the ground its true height could be gauged, and Arek had to admit Cainan was right, it was truly magnificent.
He didn’t waste any time, but immediately asked, “How did you and your men come across us so quickly?”
Cainan looked up, hands on knees, his eyes level with Arek’s in his half bent-over stance, “Forgive me, my lord, but for some reason I tire more quickly.” Recovering, he pushed himself erect and smiled, saying, “The Lady sent Furies to every henge within sight of her lands, and some even farther beyond. Your app
earance where I guarded was the Lady’s blessing.”
The young adept looked around, then asked, “You’re known as Furies?”
“We are the arm of the Lady’s justice,” Cainan replied, “and hold the line against Sovereign or any other that threatens our world.”
Arek thought about that, cataloguing it automatically with half a dozen other facts that helped him paint a more complete picture of Lilyth and her people. He turned to Cainan and asked, “Those armored warriors who appeared at the henge. They were like you, but different. Who are they?”
“They are malcontents, choosing to side against the Lady. One I know goes by the name Orion. The other, by his armor, looked to be either Vulkan or Helios, though I could not be sure which.”
Arek thought about that, then asked, “What do they call themselves?”
At this the giant warrior laughed. “The ‘Watchers,’ an apt name for those who stand at the sidelines of battle. It is cowardice, for only possession provides us a life with choice. Had they stood with us, they would already know the taste of true power.”
“How do you know they haven’t possessed someone?” Arek asked, curious.
Cainan looked at him with a mix of confusion and annoyance. “If they had, they would no longer be here, but rather in Edyn in a mortal’s body.”
He understood Ascension, or at least he thought he did. Taking Adramelek had been a purer form of what he supposed all the adepts did. They possessed their bond brother and gained their powers. In a perverse way, they did exactly what they hoped to stop the demons from doing. It was an interesting interpretation that may explain the conflict between Edyn and this realm of Aeris.
