Finn felt as if he’d been bowled over by a vat-worm. He could no longer breathe at all. In fact, it was as if his insides were being sucked through his mouth and skin. The pressure sliced through him and tightened every one of his muscles. In a final spasm, he lifted his scythe far enough to avert the mace’s blow from smashing into the side of Salt’s face. The scythe flew off into the distance and the mace slipped from Portious’ hand. Finn’s fingers were bent the wrong way and his arm was electrified. His hand was broken.
Portious howled and tackled Finn. Finn fell into the water backward, unable to defend himself. His body was a stiff wood board, clenched in unimaginable pain. With one hand, Portious sucked all the air from him while with the other he punched Finn in the nose, shattering it. Finn couldn’t even scream as there was nothing in his body to make noise. Water swamped over him as Portious held him under. The nobleman’s eyes bugged out red in desperation and rage. His straight teeth were clenched and spittle flew from his lips.
Then the man was gone and the power no longer assaulted Finn. He floated up, gasping and groaning as tears escaped his eyes. His lungs inflated at agonizing speed. Finn choked on the blood pouring from his nose and rolled over, belly-down. His good hand pushed up and he adjusted into a sitting position. His body was too weak to stand, so he waved about, eyes filming over.
Portious was stumbling back, shrieking at the top of his lungs, blood rushing down his face. A section of his scalp was gone, exposing skull-bone. He tripped and fell into the water, his robes swirling over him. Above them, Altin flew by, a bloody dagger in his hand. Portious clawed back up, gasping. “RETREAT!” he bellowed.
The remaining Ventri turned in place and ran, Portious joining in a zig-zag drunken line. The cult members, thieves, and murderers scattered in every direction, screaming in terror at the turn of events. The only battle that remained was of the golems, who were now being surrounded by groups of Coalition members. Quickly they were one by one demolished, overwhelmed by the Star-Children. Gem hearts cracked. Wood and stone flew like rain.
“Don’t let them escape!” Salt gasped out, also sitting in the water, only a few paces away from Finn. The man looked half-unconscious, rice-stalks around his body.
Leeya, along with Altin, Antina, and Cion gave chase after the five Ventri and Mole-Face. Ribbons of blood rose out of the water like living paint and solidified into a path beneath the Ventri’s feet. They ran at greater speed, no longer hindered by the sloshing environment. One of the Ventri, a small bald man, had activated his bracer once again, using his ability to make a way for their escape. Antina shot a controlled bolt of lightning through the water but the Ventri, protected above the current, weren’t hit. The move brought the warrior woman down and she shook in exhaustion. Cion and Leeya tried to climb up the blood path but the Ventri turned off his power behind him. The blood returned to liquid form, no longer a platform. Only Altin continued, but he too stopped after a while, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion. His suit retracted and he dropped. With visible pain, he got up and trudged to them, his long hair dripping water. The Ventri were soon specks in the distance, running to the North where they knew their master continued his march, with-or-without them.
A cheer rang out behind Finn and he turned in his head, vision losing all color and going misty. Dizziness fought to swallow him as he watched Goblin topple the weapon golem. The gypsy boy was tearing at the creature’s chest with the ferocity of a wild animal. He exposed the gem heart and brought down a broadsword, smashing it again and again until with a final crunch, the golem sagged, no longer humanoid in shape, but a large bundle of wire-wrapped weapons—inanimate and dead. The battle was over. The Coalition had won.
Finn tried to stand but fell back into the water, landing in Salt’s lap. The sailor smiled at him, the veins on his body still pronounced and sticking out. Finn was sure he looked the same.
“We did it.” Finn mumbled, his vision fading. Salt’s eyelids were fluttering as well, consciousness leaving the man. The leader of the Coalition was staring off into the depths of the horizon, perhaps thinking of the sea, wishing for his old life, yet stuck with a destiny he did not want. Finn realized that like he had once been, Salt was now: a slave to a fate he did not want.
“The war’s just started, Finn-for-Finn’s-sake.” Salt croaked. “We have a way to go before we get to Mal’Bal.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:
A Quest Given
—Circa 5,600 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): Finn SunRider, StreamCrosser and holder of many other worthy titles, is born in unknown circumstances and to unknown parents.—
Although having won, the aftermath of the battle was terrible. Many floated belly-down, dead in the water, marking the terrain red. The still bodies of lifeless Coalition members and slaves were separated from those of the cult. Tears were shed for friends lost and vows of revenge were shouted. The numbers were counted while Petreamus did everything he could to heal the Coalition survivors. Soon, apart from the three horses, no animals could be found alive in a five-kilometer radius. Nineteen of the Coalition had been killed.
Many chased after the escaping cult members. For the ones caught, there was no mercy. Of the cult army, only the few Ventri lived. There were over two-thousand dead in all.
Once healed, instead of continuing their pursuit of Mal’Bal, Salt declared they were to travel West to the city of Nthum, where dry land, food, and warm beds could bring them rest. It was also a means to escort the remaining former slaves to safety. They left behind a large mass-grave made of golem stones where they buried their brothers-at-arms. The bodies of the enemy were left out to rot, too numerous to deal with. The sky turned black with vulture-snakes and crows as they cawed and fought among themselves for flesh. In turn, Petreamus had more animals he could use for healing. The land had turned into a place of death.
Although only taking two days, the journey was difficult for the battle-weary men and women. Salt took the horses and gave them to the slaves. Finn and Altin didn’t mind. The Coalition was commanded to keep their pace slow: the slaves weren’t as strong as the Star-Children and wouldn’t be able to keep up otherwise. Salt was quiet for most of the march but at one point he sang out, his voice a sweet tenor. It brought fire to their steps and got them the rest of the way to dry land.
By my deathbed there stands Death with the rags of a travelin’ man,
he speaks softly “Don’t ye cry, life’s doors close, but do not slam.
“Go calmly to yer voyage beyond Lenova’s blue-tinged edge
“There laughter hugs yer bosom, warmth eternal, that I pledge.”
Death’s comfort was a songbird who landed on my sill,
it flew into the sunlight to the next life with a thrill.
Death tapped my hand in waiting, saying “I am busy, we must go.
“I cannot accept denial; I cannot accept yer no.
“Tell the ones ye leave behind to not cry nor shed a tear,
“For ye go to golden meadows, unmolested by pain or fear.
“Say goodbye to mother, father, say goodbye to yer old friend.
“For ‘tis not ‘til forever, one day we’ll all ascend.”
Near Finn, Cion sobbed. In his hand he held the bracer of someone he’d known—one who’d been with him for a long time. “T’was beautiful, it was—that song.” Finn agreed, tears in his own eyes, thinking of all those who’d died in the Crust and in Kazma. His hands clenched and unclenched in sadness until Leeya wrapped her fingers through his, her face as emotionless as ever. To the side, Altin stepped away, sullen and with eyes downtrodden.
They arrived in Nthum and separated ways with the former captives. The city was a hub of medicine and orchards, a welcome for the broken slaves. Mal’Bal had missed Nthum only by a few kilometers. The city was well-hidden within their own groves, the entire outer edge surrounded by a variety of trees and thorn-bushes. Only those who knew their way or were guided could navigate inside. The former slaves ran out into the stre
ets, shouting praise and sharing stories of the brave Coalition. After that, the populace of Nthum welcomed them with open arms.
On his first day, Finn rented out a room for himself, Goblin, and Leeya. He offered for Altin to join them but the boy denied, having found a separate place to rest. Finn took those few days to spend with his friends, reminiscing on the past and wondering over the future. They spoke of everything: the wonders of Lenova, their dreams, what Finn’s power might be, but not of Mal’Bal. They didn’t allow themselves to talk of dark subjects.
They’d all survived incredible odds, beaten terrible enemies, and seen horrible events—yet each time Goblin prepared a home-cooked meal, Leeya taught them a new sword move, or Finn attempted a joke to see if Leeya would laugh, they grew a thicker skin, mentally preparing themselves for whatever else would come. Finn knew as long as he had his friends around him, he’d be able to do anything.
When nights came, he would fiddle with his Solar stone wristband, mind wandering back to Tuliah’s prophecy and her nectar. The words rang through his head in concentric circles, confusing him. The prophecy sounded as if it should be simplistic, yet was far from it. If there was one thing Finn knew, it was one day—maybe far in the future or possibly soon—he’d face Mal’Bal again, regardless if the prophecy held even a grain of truth to it. The prophecy told him Lenova would be threatened with destruction, and that had certainly been correct.
When Salt knocked on their door, Finn had a feeling he was about to be given an opportunity to continue his dream. Goblin answered and both Salt and Altin stepped inside. Together, they dragged a closed chest into the middle of the room. Finn startled. Salt’s bracer was no longer on his wrist, but activated. It’d formed into a simple metal cover over his right index finger, sticking out over the tip like a long thin stick. It closely resembled a quill.
“Sit, my friends.” Salt asked. Finn, Goblin, Leeya, and Altin obeyed. Salt drew a key from a chain around his neck and unlocked the trunk. Inside were many thin brown books. Salt clicked his tongue and pulled them out, carefully stacking them in piles. “Hmm, seems I’ll have to buy more journals in case we recruit more for the cause.” He spoke as if talking to himself. “Granted I have no idea if I’ll be able to write more names.”
Each journal contained an inked name on the cover, all written in the same jittery, looping scrawl. Antina, Petreamus, Justice… It went on. At the bottom of the chest, beneath all the brown thin volumes were five thicker red tomes. On them Finn spotted five names: Salt, Goblin, Leeya, Altin, and Finn. The two thickest belonged to Finn and Altin.
Finn was perplexed. What was he seeing? Apart from Goblin, his friends looked at a loss for words. Finn remembered Goblin had been told what Salt’s power was.
“As an old sea-dog, I have two treasure chests.” Salt began. “One of bracers, and one of books. Neither contain normal items: they are not regular bracers; these are not yer regular reading material.” The Coalition leader yawned. The man had hardly slept since arriving in Nthum, but instead had kept busy sending out spies to watch Mal’Bal’s progression.
“I bought all these books on impulse after activating my bracer for the first time. What a strange activation that was. While others go on a mad fighting spree, trying to kill those around them, I went on a mad shopping spree. Does that reflect my personality? Damn, I hope not.” He chuckled. “No idea what I was doing—the bracer had control. I sat in the dark of a tavern and grabbed each book one by one, writing names with this here quill-finger.” He wiggled his suited finger, the strangest thing Finn had ever seen in his life.
“All the names I wrote were unknowns to me except my own. Strangely enough, five of the books I bought were red. No idea why. Still don’t know. Perhaps the people whose names are written on them have some higher calling to attend to—I’m not sure.” He tapped the quilled finger on one of the books. “We still know nothing of these bracers or their twitchy-tempered, furiously-frustrating mystery.
“I spent all night writing names and in some of the books, I wrote on the pages as well. The words made no sense to me at the time but are now growing clear in my head. Ye wondered why I was so trusting of ye Finn; when yer group first came to Jakitta I knew ye were to be a great man. My bracer had foretold it.”
Finn’s mouth dropped as Salt spoke, his mind trying to understand the man’s power.
“Don’t mistake what I can do.” Salt warned. “I can’t see the future. The journals are a means of communication with the select people whose names have been written. Watch.”
He grabbed Leeya’s red book, opened it to a random page and put his quill-finger to the surface. On it, he wrote in red ink Salt is the most handsome man in Lenova. Leeya startled and stared at her bracer. On it, a faint carving of the words appeared, then faded. In Leeya’s book, the words disappeared as well, the ink no more. “My bracer grew warm.” Leeya told them.
Salt nodded. “I’ve only used the technique with Petreamus and the twins. No one else knows. It’s limited—I can only communicate with Star-Children whose names have been written.”
“What about Goblin? You have a book with his name.” Finn asked.
Salt winked. “Yer a spry one ye are. I wondered if Goblin counted as a Star-Child. Had to test it, me being a scholar and all. ‘Tis why the boy knows of my ability.” The sailor grabbed Goblin’s red book and wrote in it. Salt’s a charming fellow with a perfect body. Goblin stared at the scar on his wrist where he’d attempted to don a bracer. Words were fading from his skin.
“It-doesn’t-hurt.” he shrugged. “But-I’m-glad-they-don’t-stay. Imagine-me-with-love-poems-written-to-this-vat-pig.”
“Ye know ye’d love it.” Salt spoke, a fake look of hurt crossing his face.
“Was there anything written in my journal?” Finn asked, remembering back in Jakitta when Salt had let slip about a book. Back then, he had no idea what Salt had been talking about and had forgotten the conversation. Salt grew quiet and retrieved Finn’s book. He opened it to the first page and handed it over. Finn read the words multiple times.
Men become Gods, and Gods become dust. Rise SunRider, Rise!
Salt closed the book and took it back. “From that, I knew ye wouldn’t need much from me in the way of guidance. Yer path seems to be laid out Finn. There are grand events in store.”
Finn swallowed. “Why are you showing us this?”
Salt put all of the books back into the chest. He took his key out and locked it back up. The man beckoned them to stand and he grabbed them each by the shoulders in turn. “The Coalition will continue forward, preparing cities for Mal’Bal’s sieges, gathering wild Star-Children, and fighting the Lich. But ye are not to come with us.”
“What?” they exclaimed.
“There’s a quest I can only entrust to those most loyal to Lenova. I have a feeling that they be ye four. We must find a way to stop Mal’Bal. The man cannot be killed in conventional ways—his power’s too vast. So that’s why I am sending ye all to Lyria, the floating island-capital of Lenova to meet with the king. There ye will find my brother Darius, Captain of the Paladins.” Finn blanched. He wasn’t the only one. Salt raised a hand. “I know, the family history is crazy, it is. Save the questions for another day. He’s agreed to help ye convince the king to join us in battle against the cult’s mighty forces. We need the king on our side. We can’t afford a three-way war. But that’s not all.
“Altin, ye hail from Lyria. There’s a library there: The Library of Lenova, full of books and magical relics. Lead yer friends there. With so much information stored in one place, I would hope ye will find what kind of gem this is,” Salt pointed to Goblin’s chest and pulled out another shard—one taken from the weapon golem. “and if there’s a weakness to them. With information like that, we can greatly increase our ability to defeat Mal’Bal’s dreaded creations.”
Salt stepped back from them and gave a large proud smile. Finn had been correct: he was about to embark on a quest; one which would help fulfil
his dream.
“Go forth my friends! Ye mange-ridden, wobble-necked, rump-dancers! The wonders of Lenova await ye! When we meet again, it’ll be upon the great battlefield, where we shall hold Mal’Bal’s corpse in the air and smell the freedom of a new dawn! Perhaps when that day comes, we’ll finally solve the mystery of these sky-fallen bracers!”
Wahala staggered behind the Lich-Lord, her exhausted body trembling. She was alone now. None of Salastine’s people had come forward after his death. No one showed her any support. There were no whispers of Queen or Lady Silver-Heart. Sweat coated her striped skin and she swayed. The Golden Puppet pushed past her and she fell to her knees. Mal’Bal halted, standing on the peak of a grassy hill. Behind them, the vast cult army slowed, tired and worn—but it was alright, there were many farms to their right and left, full of fresh food and farmers who’d become their slaves. Ahead were many cities and kingdoms to conquer, behind them lay the ashes of those they’d defeated. Thousands of golems shuffled about: Mal’Bal had made a goal to create as many as possible every day. Wahala pitied the men and women that were tasked with harvesting materials for Mal’Bal to build his creations.
Wahala knew there was something Mal’Bal wasn’t telling them. He had a greater plan. A larger vision. He’d seen all possible futures and yes, he wasn’t right in the head anymore, but he knew. And he was unstoppable. Far ahead, merely a dot on the horizon a thousand kilometers away, the tops of an enormous three-peaked mountain could be seen. Mal’Bal looked to Wahala and grinned, his eyes tiny pinpricks. He pointed to the distance.
“Anti-life.” he spoke.
His voice was chilling and promised a great annihilation to Lenova.
THE END
SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga) Page 39
