by Jon Kiln
Flames were sprouting up everywhere from the repeating-cannon’s explosive shot. Walls of bodies were burning where they had been thrown, and holes through the blackened docks to the hissing and steaming waters of the bay below were revealed.
Vekal-Ikrit turned to see a possessed pirate running at him, his back on fire, axe raised.
It was a simple matter for Vekal to sidestep him, running his sword along the pirate’s side before springing on into the fracas. A sudden stab here to a passing foe; a dodge around a Menaali flailing with axes at a team of possessed pirates.
The deathly rains of the repeating cannon were closer now, and Vekal could feel them vibrating in his chest, the shockwaves almost forcing him off of his feet as fire flooded towards him.
Eyes! he advised himself, in a curiously buzzing and human voice. He held a hand over his face at the last moment as the flames of the explosion washed over him, tumbling him down one embankment of the dead. He could hear his own flesh burn and singe horribly, but he felt no pain as he leaped up, to survey where his enemy might still be.
“Fiend!” he heard a gasp, and was surprised to see who it was. There, in a pockmarked battlefield of wood and body parts, whose foxholes were dark pools through to the water below, crawled the mighty form of Dal Grehb, half of his face burnt off and one leg horribly mangled. But still he clutched onto his war axe, as he tried to drag himself towards another figure, staggering to its feet.
The witch Aisa Desai. Or had been, once. Now, her braids were on fire and her robes were torn, but she still moved with a preternatural grace.
“Marzu!” the priest-devil cried out, and she turned around.
“You! Ikrit,” the demon spoke harshly through the witch.
“I have a new name now. I am Vekal-Ikrit,” the priest-devil said, walking forward.
“You look a bit burned there.” The demon inside of Aisa laughed, casually leaning down to plunge its sword into Dal Grehb’s back.
The mighty warlord shuddered and twitched in pain, coughing up blood as Marzu stepped over him.
“You would have thought that he would be an easy one to possess, wouldn’t you?” Marzu-Aisa said casually, raising the still-dripping sword towards the priest-devil. “But it turns out that Dal Grehb is either a very stubborn, or a very dedicated man. Nothing we could do to possess him.” A shrug from the witch’s bony shoulders. “Now, shall we?”
With a speed that was almost as fast as Vekal’s own, Marzu-Aisa crossed the watery potholes to lunge at him. The priest-devil brought up his sword only just in time, catching and turning the blade.
“You’re good, even after all these years down in hell,” Marzu said.
“I’m better than good,” the priest devil replied, returning a torrent of blows of his own.
“I am unified. We are together,” Vekal-Ikrit said with a dark sort of joy, causing a look of astonishment to cross the witch’s face. Marzu full well knew the implications of that.
“You have been judged.” The priest-devil swung blow after blow at Marzu, pushing her back. “And you have been found…” She gave more ground under Vekal’s onslaught of strikes. “…unworthy.” The final strike was strong enough for Vekal’s blow to sheer straight through Marzu-Aisa’s sword and into her chest, throwing her backwards into a heap.
She landed next to Dal Grehb, who somehow still clutched onto life. “Treacherous witch!” the warlord gasped with his last breath, heaving his battle axe onto her neck. The thump was audible across the massacred battlefield, and with it fell Marzu the Scribe of Hell, and Dal Grehb the warlord both.
“It is done.” Vekal-Ikrit collapsed to his knees amidst the wood, blood, and gore. A sudden wave of tiredness swept up through him, and he realized that he was bleeding. Not only had he been burnt by the explosive cannon, but Marzu, it appeared, had managed to plunge her sword into his side.
“Hah. Well.” Vekal looked at the blood sheeting down his hip. At least it had finally happened now, at the end. The battle appeared to be almost over, and he did not know whether the pirates or the Menaali had won – but he rather thought that maybe both had lost.
Whomever had been in the Tower had pounded them with some fierce new weapon, and now the warlord of the Menaali was dead, as was the chief architect of the infernal plan, Marzu. Dal Grehb was all that was holding the various tribes of the barbarians together, and Marzu was all that held the troublesome demons together. Without the Scribe of Hell, they would cause mischief, but they would also be hunted down as they quarreled amongst each other.
“And Ruthiel-Oberra will see to it that the Lockless Gate is sealed, and that Saphiel is brought to justice,” Vekal-Ikrit breathed to himself as he slumped first to his side, and then onto his back.
His eyes felt heavy, and he knew that he was at his final end. What was it that the Lady Iliya had said? That he had only a little time back on earth, and that was to save the people he’d loved.
“We did that,” he breathed, and didn’t know if it was him or Ikrit talking.
He felt sleepy, and tired.
A noise opened his eyes: the sound of a high desert crow, breaking the sounds of the battle as it soared way overhead. As Vekal’s eyes focused on the sacred albino bird, he saw that beyond it the dawn was breaking, and the light was getting brighter, at last.
Epilogue
Thus ends the saga of Vekal and Ikrit, the Sin Eater and his Devil, and the trial of the Lockless Gate. It is not known whether Vekal found his way into Heaven after unifying with the devil, but it is known that his body was never found. Some, such as Mother Suriyen of the Fuldoonian Guides, claim that Vekal must have been taken up into heaven by the Lord Annwn directly, because of his great sacrifices.
Of Ikrit the Greater Abomination, similarly no one knows if he was forgiven by the Lady Iliya and allowed to return to his love, Eiver, in the afterlife, although there are travelers in the Shattering Coasts who claim that if you travel very far and very deep from all of the recognized routes, then you may find a ruined and ancient city, and in this place you can sometimes hear playful laughter on the wind, like a couple of young lovers caught in an endless dance.
The Menaali Horde soon disbanded, with Chief Vharn taking the largest majority back south and west to their homelands. Others of course stayed, and, as is the way of things, even became citizens of New Fuldoon.
New Fuldoon has been rebuilt, and is once again a center of trade for the entire world. There are some that say it is a place of strange secrets, and a blessed place – thanks to the legend that a mother and a daughter live out their simple lives near it, somewhere in the wilds, and from them flows a peculiar holiness to the entire southern lands.
THE END
About The Author
Jon Kiln writes heroic fantasy.
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Books by Jon Kiln
Blood and Sand Series
Crimson Spear
Desert Forged
Gate of Heaven
Veiled Dagger Series
Assassin’s Quest
Assassin’s Shadow
Assassin’s Winter
Assassin’s Remorse
Assassin’s Edge
Blade Asunder Series
Mercenary
Guardian
Warden
Champion
Sentinel
Honor Bound Series
Forsaken
Betrayal
Dominion
Swordsman’s Gift Series
The Wandering Knight
The Rebellious Knight
Champion of the Gods Series
Gladiator
Arena
Set
