by Kel Kade
The specter looked into Rezkin’s eyes with gaseous orbs and replied, “Ah’Treyia aduleue.”
“Perhaps if you skip the language altogether,” Wesson suggested. “Just will it to do what you want.”
“How will it know what I want if I do not tell it?” Rezkin asked.
As far as he knew, people were influenced by the spell that lay over him only if he outwardly encouraged them in some way. If he wore a convincing disguise, they would be more inclined to believe it. If he told them to do something, they would be more likely to comply if they were already inclined to perform the action or had neutral feelings about the activity. He did not think he could make people do things simply by thinking the commands in his mind, but he had never actually tried.
“It is not a real person,” Wesson reminded Rezkin. “It is just a spell. The spell recognizes your will whether you speak it aloud or not. I do not have to say ‘create ward’ every time I wish to create a ward. In this case, you are not even creating a spell. You are influencing one that already exists.”
While Rezkin’s knowledge of spellcraft was better than that of most mundanes, it was nearly insignificant when compared with the mages’ knowledge. He wondered why that subject had been so sparsely covered in his training. He thought perhaps it was because he was not a mage, so his masters felt it unnecessary for him to learn.
Rezkin formed a simple understanding in his mind of what he wished the specter to do. He wanted the phantom to understand and speak his language. Once he felt his desire was clearly communicated, he pressed his will against the phantom. To his surprise, he did not feel the sensation of pressing back that usually came with exerting his will on another. He realized this was because the phantom warrior was not an actual living being; therefore, it had no will of its own.
The specter cocked its head curiously, eerily mimicking Rezkin’s mannerism. “Thresia Spirétua Groyt King. Elyiliis alert mirahk. Danger yuolg fresté’imal me queld,” it said.
“I do not believe it worked,” Tieran observed. “What was that? I thought I recognized a bit of Old Channerían.”
“I believe some of it was Pruari,” remarked an astounded Kai. “And Jerese?” he muttered as he scratched at his beard.
“I apologize,” Rezkin said. “It was my error. I willed it to speak my language, but I neglected to specify which one. I will correct the oversight now.”
“You speak Adianaik?” Wesson asked skeptically as he glanced between Rezkin and Mage Yerlin.
Rezkin did not care to emphasize once again how different he was from the outworlders, so he chose to say nothing in response. While at times he felt as though he was starting to make a place for himself in their society, it was increasingly clear that he was not one of them. He pressed his will upon the phantom again, this time with a clear understanding of Ashaiian in the forefront of his mind.
The warrior preformed its strange genuflection and said, “By the honor of the Spirétua Syek-lyé.” Straightening, it continued, “We have been alerted to danger. With great respect, please identify the enemy.”
“Well, that was better, but it is still not completely translating,” Tieran observed.
“It must not be able to find a word in Rezkin’s vocabulary to adequately translate Spirétua Syek-lyé.” Wesson suggested, “Perhaps it is a title.”
To the specter, Rezkin replied, “There is no danger. Stand down.”
The phantom warrior dropped its arms and straightened to what was presumably an appropriate stance of attention among elven warriors. “Your weapons are drawn,” the specter observed. “Do you wish to spar?”
“Fascinating!” exclaimed Mage Yerlin. “The enchantment is capable of observing its surroundings and making conjecture about the intentions of the people around it.”
“I do not wish to spar,” Rezkin replied. “I desire information. What is your purpose?”
“We are shielreyah,” the specter said.
“Well, that clarifies things,” Tieran remarked.
Ignoring his cousin, Rezkin asked, “What is the function of shielreyah?”
“Shielreyah are the protectors of the People, the Guardians of Caellurum,” the phantom said.
“How many shielreyah are in Caellurum?” Rezkin inquired. He had no desire to be overrun with phantom warriors.
The phantom tilted its head curiously and replied, “We are seventeen, and we are one.”
Rezkin considered the answer and then asked, “So there are seventeen entities like you, but you are all manifestations of the same spell?”
The specter paused, and it appeared as if some uncertainty crossed his vaporous features. “We are Eihelvanan.”
“You mean you are elven,” Rezkin clarified.
The phantom warrior frowned. “This human word is crass and means nothing to us. We are Eihelvanan, and this means much.”
Rezkin lifted a brow at the mages in inquiry. “A spell with an opinion. I think it is offended.”
Yerlin rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and said, “Curious. I have never heard of such a thing.”
The specter grimaced and then bowed with reverence. “With great honor to the Spirétua, we are not a spell,” he said with disdain. “No human construct could capture the essence of shielreyah.”
“Wonderful,” Kai barked. “An enchanted phantom warrior that hates humans.”
The phantom turned his attention away from Rezkin for the first time and fixated on the burly striker. “We do not hate humans. It is simply a fact that human spells cannot create shielreyah.” The specter turned back to Rezkin and said, “Spirétua, we are one, but we can become many if you prefer.”
“Explain,” Rezkin commanded.
He had the sense the specter was attempting to be succinct in answering the questions, but the being seemed to be under the assumption that Rezkin, at least, understood more about elven matters than was so.
The specter studied Rezkin for a moment. Appearing to come to a decision, he said, “You are not of our age. Your knowledge of the Spirétua is lacking, even for one so young.” Surveying the corridor with obvious concern, the phantom warrior asked, “Where are the other Eihelvanan?”
“There are none,” Rezkin replied. “At least, none here. The original inhabitants of this citadel departed more than a thousand years ago and have not been seen in these lands since.”
The phantom blinked in surprise, a variety emotions passing across his vaporous visage. “We are alone,” he observed sadly. “You have acquired a new people. You have brought to our land the humans.”
“These people are my subjects and guests, and I have claimed this land,” Rezkin said. “You have yet to explain how you can become many.”
“Pereliou evé Spirétua Syek-lyé,” the phantom said with a bow. “We are now one, but we were once many. Our numbers were seventeen. Seventeen of the LyréRheina gifted to Caellurum, our essence to be preserved in the halls until we may be released to the Afterlife. Our chiandre are attached to this vessel as once they were to our living bodies. We now speak as one, but we may separate to serve as individuals again, by your will, Spirétua.”
“I see,” Rezkin said.
“Then perhaps you can explain it to the rest of us,” Tieran interjected. “I do not understand anything he is saying, even when he speaks Ashaiian.”
Rezkin nodded and then asked the specter for clarification before continuing. “LyréRheina … this means Knights of Rheina?”
The phantom cocked his head in contemplation and then grimaced as he answered, “This is an adequate translation, Spirétua.”
Rezkin kept most of his attention on the specter but spoke to his companions. “The Knights of Rheina, or LyréRheina, were a warrior class of elves.” The specter winced at his usage of the human term, but Rezkin continued, “They were servants and priests of Rheina, the patron goddess of elves and humans blessed with Her power.”
“Rheina? I have never heard of her,” Tieran remarked.
“Rheina i
s one of the three gods that were worshiped in places and times before the settling of this land and are still revered in the old kingdoms,” Rezkin explained. “While none of the gods were technically male or female, Rheina is usually referred to in the feminine sense. She is the Goddess of the Firmament, of all things physical, and the Realm of Life exists within Her essence. All of the physical mage powers, including healing, are Blessings of Rheina.”
“It does not sound as if much is left for the other gods,” Kai interjected.
“Not so,” Rezkin replied. “The other gods are just as important, but we may discuss religion another time. This warrior was a Knight of Rheina, and it seems that he and sixteen of his brethren essentially donated their souls to this citadel.”
“Their souls?” Mage Yerlin exclaimed. “You are saying he is not a spell?”
“Yes and no. The phantom mentioned that the shielreyahs’ chiandre were attached to Caellurum. To put it simplistically, the chiandre is the path of the soul. It is the tether that ties the soul to both the body and the Afterlife. When a person dies, his or her soul leaves the body and the Realm of the Living and travels the chiandre to the Realm of the Afterlife, which exists within the Goddess Nihko. It sounds like the chiandre of these seventeen warriors were disconnected from their bodies and reattached to this citadel.”
“So the citadel is actually alive?” Wesson asked in alarm.
Rezkin tilted his head and considered the specter before him. At times it seemed to be very alive, while at others it was little more than a vaporous statue. “I do not believe so. I would venture to say that their souls reside in the Afterlife but are still able to maintain some of their essence here in the Realm of the Living through the connection of their chiandre to the citadel.”
The specter abruptly bowed his head slightly and said, “Your conclusion is accurate, Spirétua.”
“So they truly are phantoms!” Tieran exclaimed. “I thought they were a spell. How did you influence them with your will?”
Spellcraft truly was not one of Rezkin’s strengths, but he thought he understood enough about the old religion to venture a guess. “A soul cannot inhabit a non-living thing like this citadel. The soul must possess a body capable of sustaining life to exist in the Realm of the Living. It seems that a very powerful spell has been constructed to mimic life just enough to sustain the warriors’ essences and maintain the connection with the chiandre, but it is not strong enough to carry the soul itself.”
“The elves must have possessed power far beyond that of our mages to do such a thing,” Mage Yerlin observed.
Rezkin shook his head and replied, “I cannot imagine they did it by themselves. The Eihelvanan may have had the power to construct the life-mimicking spell, but they had no power over the chiandre.”
The phantom warrior bowed again and said, “You are correct, again, Spirétua, except that we are not a spell. Spells are human constructs. During the unprecedented visit by SenGoka Ga Ka Ahn-Den, the Spirétua and Sen worked together to create the shielreyah.”
Rezkin’s brows rose in surprise. “The Jahartan Emperor came here? With the Eihelvanan? I was under the impression that the Eihelvanan did not care for the Sen.”
“It was so throughout most of our history,” the phantom replied. “But SenGoka Ga Ka Ahn-Den was exceptional.”
Tieran rubbed his jaw and said suspiciously, “Did you not say it was the Jahartan Empire that was trying to conquer this land before the founding of Ashai?”
The specter turned his attention to Tieran who swayed back in response. “It was more than just this land, but it was SenGoka Ga Ka Ahn-Den’s predecessor who was responsible for that widespread death and destruction. SenGoka Ga Ka Ahn-Den brought an end to the Empire’s reign of terror.”
Tieran narrowed his eyes at the phantom and spoke to Rezkin without averting his gaze. “I remember you mentioned the Sen before. They were the necromancers, yes?”
“That is so,” Rezkin affirmed. “The Sen were capable of seeing into the Void, the space between the Realm of the Living and that of the Afterlife. They could see the soul and the chiandre and draw the soul back to the body if it had not already passed beyond the Gates of the Afterlife. I had never heard that they were capable of actually manipulating the chiandre itself.”
The phantom warrior inclined his head. “In general, they were not, but SenGoka Ga Ka Ahn-Den was exceptional.”
“So you have said.” Turning the discussion back to the original topic, Rezkin asked, “The shielreyah are presently of a single mind, but you can separate into your original personas?”
“Yes, Spirétua, but we are a mere essence of our former selves.”
“And if I change my mind?” Rezkin asked. He was hesitant to make any permanent decisions regarding something so foreign and fantastical.
“We shall be as you will,” the shielreyah replied with another graceful bow.
“Then so be it,” Rezkin said as he exerted his will.
The phantom vapors began to swirl madly within the shape of the warrior, and then the entity separated into two identical, featureless forms. Slowly, the vapors morphed into identifiable features until the two beings were obviously Eihelvanan but individual and unique.
Both shielreyah abruptly took to one knee with their swords held in their strange pose. A broad-faced, full-lipped Eihelvanan said, “Thank you, Spirétua Syek-lyé. We were one for too long. I … am thankful to be myself once again. I am Shielreyah Opohl, and I concede to your will.”
The second’s wide eyes looked past a sharp nose and high cheekbones as he said, “I thank you, as well, Spirétua Syek-lyé. I am Shielreyah Elry, and I concede to your will.”
Rezkin nodded, and said, “Thank you. I am honored by the shielreyah.”
Without knowledge of Eihelvanan customs, he was not sure how respond. Most people liked being thanked and honored, though, so he went with that. Both specters smiled and stood. It seemed he had chosen well.
Chapter 15
The ground was hard beneath the thin leather mat. Rezkin reclined against his pack as he closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
“Are you sure we can trust them?”
Tieran’s words resonated through the void of Rezkin’s subconscious. Rezkin’s hollow voice echoed in his own ears as he replied.
“I have no reason to trust them any less than most of the citadel’s current occupants.”
“Gutterspit,” Tieran snapped. “We all owe you our lives, some of us several times over. They, on the other hand, are foreign and … creepy.”
Tieran did not take his gaze off the two silent wraiths standing guard outside the open portal, one that he thought should have held a sturdy door … with locks … many, many locks.
Rezkin did not open his eyes or stir to consciousness as he answered. “They are now an extension of my will, at least to some degree. For whatever reason, the citadel and its guardians have accepted my authority. I am fairly confident they will at least attempt to protect me, if not the rest of you.”
Tieran scowled at his cousin. “And what of us? They could slaughter us in our sleep … or while we are perfectly awake and armed, for that matter. How do you know they do not seek to deceive us? Perhaps they are aware that we know how to dispel them and hope to lull us into complacency.”
“I have considered the prospect, Tieran,” Rezkin said as colors began to swirl behind his eyelids, “but in truth, there is little we could do if they choose to attack. The reports from the first encounter were consistent. The shielreyah can harm us, but we are incapable of mounting an effective counter attack. Therefore, we have little reason to concern ourselves. Either they speak truth and we live, or they are deceiving us and we die.”
“Again with the comforting words of wisdom,” Tieran grumbled.
“Do you propose an alternative?” Rezkin said with minimal interest.
Tieran said, “We could leave, abandon this haunted, albeit extravagant, graveyard.”
In Rezkin�
��s mind, twisting strands of colors separated and then came together into brilliant cords of white, only to split again in a moving tapestry of rainbows, a never-ending dance. At times, during deep mediation, the dance was accompanied by a soft, lulling melody that soothed his tense muscles and eased his aches. Not so this eve. Tieran’s nattering and the multitude of potential threats prevented Rezkin from entering the deeper meditative state that he often sought in lieu of sleep.
“And go where, Tieran?” Rezkin asked, his voice a mere whisper as he slipped farther away.
“We could seek asylum in one of the other kingdoms,” Tieran called across the chasm that separated them. “They are all in a riot over Caydean’s treachery. Surely they would welcome his greatest contenders to the throne.”
Rezkin responded from afar. “Hmm, likely they would capture us for use in a prisoner exchange. Some very important people are held in the dungeons of Kaibain. You should be grateful that we have found such a fortuitous refuge.” His whisper was a shout in the darkness hidden beyond eddies of light.
“Fortuitous?” Tieran exclaimed, the intensity of his anxiety reflected in the green bolt that streaked through a field of orange before Rezkin’s mental gaze. “We are in a haunted fortress infused with who knows what kind of power, guarded, or perhaps held captive, by the disembodied souls of elven wraiths who died over a thousand years ago. Not only that, but there is no game to hunt and no decent land for farming. What a stroke of luck!”
Tieran’s words were punctuated with a dash of yellow in Rezkin’s mind.
“You desire to become a farmer now?” Rezkin said.
“I desire to have a fully belly and a bottle of wine,” Tieran grumbled, “maybe two.”
Pink and red washed over the orange.
“Fear not, Tieran,” Rezkin droned. “I doubt the eihelvanan ate air.”
“They could have eaten rocks for all we know … or these disturbing crystals,” Tieran muttered as he gazed at the pulsating blue gems on the ceiling.
The ebb and flow of light within the crystals seemed more synchronized around Rezkin. It almost reminded Tieran of a breath … or a pulse … and he could not help but wonder if somehow Rez was driving it. An icy chill ran through him as he thought of the alternatives. What if the citadel was feeding off Rezkin? What if an unseen spirit was trying to take over Rezkin’s mind and body? It made sense for the spirit to target the strongest among them, and the rest of the refugees would be trapped on the haunted isle until they, too, were consumed. The dead were recruiting.
