An Elegy of Fate

by S. R. Laubrea

  Yonathael covered his face with his arm and shrank back. "No!" he snarled. His eyes were flashing, and gradually, he could feel it — like the stab of a thousand needles in sensitive oculars, the color was turning. "S-stay… just stay back. Stay away, Prince, keep away from me!"

  With arched brows and bright eyes, Vandlorael gave Rollond a surprised, and somewhat apologetic glance. Rollond narrowed his eyes in response, and lowered his head in a slow half-nod. And with that, Vandlorael shuffled Yonathael back the way they had come.

  That instance was a collage of different things: unanswered questions; time cut too short; lost thoughts; and embittering tears.

  The huff of the cell door was a false comfort for Yonathael. He crumpled to his knees on the hard floor, clutching the cold bed frame, holding on for dear life as the whites of his eyes dribbled down his cheeks, mingled with violet and burgundy that turned plum and pinkish red. Even the auburn color of his stringy locks tumbled from him like hot wax, making way for the raven black.

  Finally, his tremors settled, and he rose from the floor. He glanced around his small quarters, turned, and sat on the cot. A broad grin shaped his features.

  The Trial's beginning was more of a ritualistic formality than an actual proceeding. It had more to do with titles and stations, allegations and accusations rather than getting to the bottom of what really took place. They brought in the bullet and the staff, although unsure how to demonstrate how the two worked to kill Arlen.

  Then, finally, they brought Yonathael before Mylisto. He was not the same man she had remembered, even from so long ago. How those polished golden eyes in those black-rimmed, pale sockets were remorseless and ever distant sent chills down her spine, like fingers of ice raking along her skin, touching her even to the marrow of her bones.

  "Did you do it?" the prosecutor asked.

  Yonathael tilted his head back like a sleep-laden man. His lips hung open, and he shut his eyes.

  The prosecutor stepped over to the small island in the center of the court, where Yonathael sat, his hands cuffed behind him to the back of the chair. The prosecutor got in Yonathael's face, and in a tone so serious, almost commandingly sinister, he pitched the question once more: "Did you do it? Did you kill the Arch Ganton —"

  "Yes," Yonathael said, his tone placid, cool, monotonous. "I killed Arlen."

  "Why," the prosecutor asked. "What reason — what 'reward' was there in taking his —"

  "He was a means to an end." Yonathael sat up. "To come here and have this trail, something I've plotted since the start. The whole reason I bothered with Sara was to get under his skin; to entice him into thinking he had to come after me, to convince him it was his destiny."

  Yonathael sought Mylisto's gaze, and held her diamond-hard eyes. "Because that's what you humans all 'Fate', is it not? How everything must happen for a reason, leading to one specific, undeniable, inevitable end."

  "Who are you?" Mylisto asked. "Since it is demonstrative that you are not Yonathael, he would never — say — such things!"

  Yonathael arched his brows, as a grin slid across his lips. "Yes, Yonathael would not," he said. "I am Mokallai, and this body — Yonathael's body — is my tent."

  The silence, it was speculative silence; a peculiar quiet where Mokallai could feel the cogs of each individual mind hard at work. It was something hard for them to understand. But Mylisto, as she boldly maintained his gaze, knew. She fathomed it flawlessly.

  "Spirit," Mylisto said, "what do you want?"

  "What is rightfully mine," Mokallai said, through Yonathael's lips. "The power and glory that belongs to me. I am Destiny, I am Fate; I deserve absolute eminence, as no one can escape my power. When I deafened the ears of the blond man, he came running to me — so, too, when I turned your heart to stone you broke the warding bond between this vessel and his dearest love for me!"

  Mylisto's face changed, and Mokallai watched with a sweet-salty grin on Yonathael's lips. She gripped the arms of her throne, and sank into the seat, as if something wrenched her down. "Ts-tsuboha," she gasped.

  Anileon flattened back his ears and scowled at Yonathael. He bared his teeth, snarling. The audience gasped to see him like this, his visage becoming wilder with each passing second; shocked to see the Executor-Prefect lowering himself to the floor like a rabid beast.

  "Yes, it's hard to believe, isn't it?" Mokallai sneered. "Had you left him and that She-beast alone, I never would have had the opportunity to overpower Yonathael out in the marsh. Neither would Arlen be dead, or your boy an obtuse, wayward, son of a —"

  "Shut your rotten mouth!" Anileon bellowed.

  "Oh-ho, but these revelations are formidable, aren't they? It's disquieting to know that all of this was orchestrated by my own hand; quiet and subliminal, eluding even the most skillful critical eye." Mokallai chuckled. "But alas, my dear, your end has come."

  It seemed that time slowed, as the whites of Yonathael's eyes drained to pitch blackness. His hellish gaze sparked an uncanny, infectious terror, that, as Mylisto watched the members of the audience rise to flee, she was paralyzed.

  It was that staff of his, sitting innocently on the evidence table, that lifted into the air. It turned until its two ends aimed at Mylisto, and with violent speed, screaming through the conditioned air, it hurtled towards her, twisting like a drill.

  She looked on with wide eyes, her arms and legs trembling, as — Anileon lurched forth.

  He shoved Mylisto aside, and snapped the staff between his jaws. He flung the halves back at Yonathael, satisfied that the blunt end was aimed to pierce through Yonathael's throat. But that half veered left.

  It swung around Yonathael, and before Anileon could register what happened, a hard gasp, then a low groan broke the tension. All Anileon could hear was the ring of Yonathael's cuffs, once they slid off his wrists and clamored on the floor.

  Yonathael stood. "I desire so much to see this through," Mokallai said. "Suffice it enough to know that your death is not in vain." With that he turned, and with a high stature, as when a young, maned lion patrols his pride, he departed from the judicial chambers.

  This was the first time in his life that Anileon could not stop his hands from trembling. He hovered over Myliso, who clutched the blunt end of the staff in her blackened, bloodied hands. It had run her through, speared her navel, and she as bleeding profusely, both front and back.

  Anileon took hold of the halved staff and started to pull.

  "Nngh! No!" Mylisto panted, "leave it!"

  "M-my Grace…" His voice was soft, and shivered with him. Yet his eyes were severe, as he watched the black-silver gushes trickle down her stomach and drench her dress.

  Mylisto tilted her head back, exhausted. She heard the soft hiss of the doors sliding open, but couldn't see who came in; her eyes were useless, her vision little more than indistinguishable pitches of black and the occasional faded gray outline of motion.

  "By Dyiij!" Vandlorael exclaimed. He moved Anileon aside and knelt down in front of her. He ripped the sleeves of his robe, wadded them around her wound, and pushed.

  "It's too late for me," Mylisto said.

  "Not if you shut your mouth," Vandlorael grunted.

  She chuckled, weakly pushing his hands off of her. "You don't command me, Xei!"

  "If you would just listen and live —"

  "Silence!" She snapped. Then her eyes rolled upwards in their sockets, and she panted; snarling took much from her. She reached under the collar of her dress, and pulled out a braided reddish-white-and-yellow gold chain. Its pendant was the symbol of the Forty-Four, but the insignia of the Forty-Fifth lay etched in the smooth, pristine, diamond-like Ra'ol stone. She held it out to Vandlorael.

  He hesitated to take it.

  "I trust you will know what to do," Mylisto said, her voice fragile. She could see the blurred, gray motion of Vandlorael's nod. Then she reached for Anileon. "Come here, Tsuboha."

  Anileon was still heated, as he crawled over to Mylisto, and curled arou
nd her like a beast comforting it pup. His shiver was soothing, because he was especially warm.

  She heard the door slide open, then shut.

  Vandlorael spared no haste as he strode down the halls. He looped the chain around his belt and tucked the stone under his robe.

  The elevator dinged, and Rollond stepped out. Utter confusion marked Rollond's features. He looked at Vandlorael, who pressed on into the stairwell. His skin rippled at how empty Nexus was. It would have been different if blood was smeared all over the walls, and corpses were strewn about among debris and fire. But the governing complex was pristine and silent.

  As he came to the judicial chamber, the quiet was particularly unnerving. And as the doors parted, the hairs on the back of Rollond's neck stood on end. He wasn't sure which was more concerning: the elongated body of Anileon, who was shifting as certain Kyusoas do, or the sight of his mother, pressed to Anileon, clinging to him like a child would a large pet.

  "You…?" Rollond's eyes stung with his every step. "How…?" He couldn't form a single, whole thought. Down on his knees, in that black-silver puddle, he gripped his mother's shoulders, and gently, carefully, pulled her off of Anileon.

  Despite how much they despised one another, Rollond couldn't retain his hot, salty tears; he was still her son. He cradled his mother, who was still cooling, even though her pulse had long since stopped. Rollond struggled to hold his composure.

  Whether minutes or hours passed him by, he wasn't sure. Furthermore, he couldn't care. His core had gone cold, and he shivered, his skin steaming from an anger so intense.

  He didn't hear the internal cry for help from Ashenzsi, his Brother. Nor did Rollond take note when the great, uniform window of the chamber shattered, and the bits of glass were rapidly sucked out by a fierce wind; a power of air so potent, that like the fingers of a gigantic celestial hand, it curled around the roof and tore the ceiling off.

  At last, he had no choice but to let Mylisto go. Carefully Rollond peeled Mylisto from the stain of her blood, stood, and steadied himself with her in his arms. The wind torrent, dense with wet desert sand, threatened to rip Rollond off of his feet, as it snatched the body of his mother up from his arms.

  It was then that he noted Ashenzsi's shrill, dual-toned cry from Highbar, below the broken-open judicial chamber:

  Ashenzsi lunged forth. Even in such a short burst, his speed was more than enough to rip a man in two, except, Yonathael wasn't that man. With a flat palm and straight fingers, he caused Ashenzsi's violent momentum to instantly halt. Like jumping into a brick wall, Ashenzsi shrieked in pain.

  Yonathael pinched his thumb and middle fingers together, rolled his hand, and then swept the back of it towards Ashenzsi. And Ashenzsi, in his great beastly form, but as if made of paper, was flung over the end of Alekzandrya city.

  Yonathael cocked his head side to side and popped his neck. Such weak aelyth; Ashenzsi couldn't even touch him —

  He failed to notice that Ashenzsi anchored himself to the city's edge with a handful of magnificent, fearsome talons. He swung his lengthsome body around, and lashed Yonathael's backside with his tail.

  Yonathael screamed and fell to one knee. He curled his fingers and his hands shook. The burning sting was so intense, he couldn't move.

  Not even a second later, a tremendous force smashed between Yonathael's shoulder blades. Rollond, with both his fists tightly wound, descended from the devastated judicial chamber and landed a blow on Yonathael that, normally, would have turned his spine and spleen to jelly and killed him.

  But Mokallai's aelyth absorbed the force of Rollond's blow; Yonathael tumbled to the ground, only to bounce and stagger back onto his feet.

  Rollond's fury was upon him. He didn't pause. Even as Yonathael bounced and staggered, Rollond was on him. His fist burst onto Yonathael's frame, again and again, beating Yonathael down.

  Until Yonathael snatched Rollond's coming wrist, and twisted his arm, breaking his elbow. Rollond yelped, but before he had time to retaliate, Mokallai's aelyth slashed through Rollond. It wasn't like a manifestation of light, fire, or the strike of thunder. It simply distorted the world around them, like the clear waves of intense heat. And yet, it was terribly painful, so much so that Rollond's body couldn't register it. But he collapsed to his knees all the same, weakened and faint.

  Ashenzsi bolted for Yonathael a second time, and Yonathael half-turned, snatching Ashenzsi's lower jaw in his free hand. He clutched the low-maw of the beast in an infallible grip, paying no mind to the fact that Ashenzsi's massive, serrated tooth cut his hand, and he bled. He wenched the beast down onto his side, slamming Ashenzsi's head, thrice, to the floor.

  Mokallai snorted. He may be a decayed Aelythian being, a spirit brought low. But even in his weakness, he reveled at how superior the remnant of his power was.

  For Rollond and Ashenzsi, it was baffling. How? How was this possible? That they overcame every obstacle, rose to every challenge, subdued their every enemy, resolved every conflict, but they were helpless against Mokallai.

  "You know," Mokallai cooed, by Yonathael's voice. "You did well for beginners. I will give you this much: you marred my vessel, this body. But you are still powerless, frail, fleshbeings. And it is time for you both to see your ends."

  Seeing the two of them defeated, Rollond and Ashenzsi, So'yi dashed for Yonathael. "Let them go!" she screamed, as she sailed through the air, fangs and claws bared to claw Yonathael to pieces.

  He released Rollond and caught her by her neck. "Ah, the little one,~" Mokallai cooed, with Yonathael's grinning lips. "I remember you, yes, from that one time, when you were peering into Rollond and found me." He tightened his grip, gradually crushing her throat. "Die."

  So'yi choked and thrashed to no avail. Her struggles grew weaker, and weaker, and as her strength failed, her eyes, her milky gaze, locked onto Mokallai's thick rings of polished gold.

  The spirit looked on, unable to stop himself. And as he did, Yonathael's hands began to tremble. His whole body, this vessel, his tent, jolted, and flung So'yi away. He screamed and covered his eyes that were flickering uncontrollably.

  There was something about her eyes, something damaging that made him writhe on the floor, thrashing and kicking. Mokallai couldn't think what it was, but staring into her pearl-white eyes strengthened Yonathael, somehow, giving him courage to try and expel Mokallai.

  It was strange to watch, because as Yonathael flailed about, something like gelatinous, coagulated blood oozed from him. The black mass wrestled with Yonathael, who kept tearing away from it. But his struggles quickly turned into a fight he couldn't win.

  "Your contemptible eyes!" Mokallai hissed, having regained Yonathael. He kept his eyelids shut, and groped around for So'yi.

  She scattered over to Rollond and tapped his cheeks. "Wake up," she panted. "Wake up, please, please!~"

  Yonathael was coming closer.

  She gripped Rollond's shoulder and shook him. He was like a lead slab, and her jostling did nothing to rouse him.

  Yonathael crept up to them. He was a hand's reach away from So'yi, when a bold light emanated from Rollond's chest. It was the Ra'ol stone Dyiij put inside him. As if now coming to life, its light pierced through the sky, shattering the eye of the wet-sandstorm. Then its radiance filled the entirety of Rollond's body, until he appeared to be a bright beacon, and then it spread over the floor of Highbar.

  The power of Dyiij, by her stone in Rollond's chest, caused the entire structure of Alekzandrya City to split in two.

  The city straddled the river. And it separated exactly the way the river flowed through it; one half of the city was intact on one bank, and the other likewise on the opposite side.

  Rollond, and So'yi, were on the edge of the split. He fell into the river — a drop so far that when he smacked into the rushing waters, he should have died. And So'yi with him, because she fell too. But she landed in a net on the end of a pole, half way down the split.

  Vandlorael pulled her in, and gestu
red for her to stay quiet. He cautiously carried her through the halved city, and he didn't stop until he reached a pair of Kyusoas who were waiting for him. He mounted one, and set So'yi in front of him between the Kyusoa's shoulders. And swiftly, quietly, they went north.

  So'yi tapped Vandlorael's knee. "What about Shenzsi? What about Rollond?" she asked. "We have to go back for them!" she said, weakly, her voice tiny.

  "No," Vandlorael said.

  "But, why?" So'yi demanded.

  — Because this very matter is out of your hands, Dyiij said. Though you are quite noble, little Xeigon, I will not tolerate you perishing over your stubbornness. I have plans for you, just as I have plans for them, too.

  So'yi glanced back over Vandlorael's thigh. Alekzandrya was a towering silhouette, ominous and foreboding. There was a presence, invisible, yet tangible, spreading over the rolling dunes faster than they could travel.