by Kel Kade
Aaslo knew that at any second, he would become one of them. He and the other sad souls who had had the misfortune to enter the swamp would dwell together in this quagmire of death until all the world joined them. In that moment, he felt a kinship with them. He was almost glad for their company—just as he now realized he had been glad for Mathias’s company these past months since his death. Death was inevitable, but it was not the enemy. Comfort could be found in both its solitude and the embrace of the others who had fallen before him.
With that thought, something inside him stirred. It wasn’t the angry, vicious monster that had joined with him through the dragon’s arm, and it wasn’t a memory of spells that begged for recollection. It was something new—something ancient and powerful, something that reveled in his newfound understanding of death. He felt it grin and stretch within him; then it uncurled to fill his mind with knowledge of who it was—and it was him.
No longer eager for breath, for he had all the time in the world, Aaslo reached out and snatched Greylan by the throat. He spoke in an arcane language—one he’d never known but that came to him as if he’d spoken it all his life.
Death binds in chain—
I bear the key.
Mine living reign—
Your soul be set free.
Protector of light,
By power of Fate,
I call thee to fight,
The far Sea can wait.
CHAPTER 24
The tether that tied Myropa to Greylan was suddenly ripped from her. It snapped toward Aaslo, then wrapped around his torso and began cinching tighter until the light began to bleed over him. His deep emerald-green eyes began to glow with the luminescence she had only seen in the fae creature and the gods. Then the black plague that had been filling Aaslo since he first fell into the swamp began to leach from his pores and slither down the tether toward Greylan’s corpse. As it progressed, it ate at the power that had been the guard’s path to the Sea of Transcendence. Once it finally reached his corpse, it soaked into him, sending tendrils of black hyphae sprawling beneath the skin. The hyphae crawled up his neck, which was pasty white in death, and over his face, where his eyes took on the filmy whiteness of death.
Greylan’s body began to spasm. His head turned toward Aaslo, and he blinked. The thing that used to be Greylan swam toward Rostus, glancing toward Myropa as he passed. It seemed as if he could see her, despite his cloudy gaze that never settled on anything specific. Greylan grabbed Rostus and dragged him toward Aaslo. Once Aaslo had hold of the second guard, he repeated the ritual, and Rostus’s corpse became as drearily animated as that of Greylan. Aaslo then dug his hands into the debris-strewn mud of the mire and released an unconscionable amount of power as he mumbled the foreign words from earlier.
Drakvik ji shoudvin—
Houlin kyost.
Kyetrieg priasa—
Pondashá soriak.
Comménua,
Kwes Meleahn,
Kyfayaso brigatta,
Questissa oure mouduatapen.
Even though she knew not what he said, the words spoke to Myropa. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Yet, she knew she could not. Those words were not for her. They never would be. But they were for others—for many, many others. The ground throughout the bog began to shift and shake. The water churned with such turbidity that silt and clay rendered it opaque.
Myropa stepped to the surface to glean what was happening. The tree corpse continued to spew its vile curse across the land and into the air, where it was swept afar by air currents. Aaslo’s friends, tiny specks on the horizon, must have been watching through bewitched eyes, for they mourned his loss. Teza had collapsed, and Peck and Mory tried to comfort her. Ijen, though, looked terrified, as if he were witnessing his worst nightmare and knew that even greater horrors were to come.
All across the bog, corpses began to breach the surface of the water, some with recognizable faces, others lacking heads altogether. They verged on the monstrous tree and began hacking at the root that held Aaslo with the weapons, now rusted and pitted, that they had held in death. The towering monstrosity gushed oily resin and powder all over the animated corpses, but they did not succumb to the deadly pestilence. The corpses hacked through one of the roots until it began leaking a viscous black liquid. The monstrous entity released an otherworldly shriek, its boughs crackling and whipping in every direction as the root was torn from its trunk. Finally, after what felt like an eternity even to Myropa, Aaslo rose from the water. His skin crawled with black hyphae, and his dragon arm gleamed with black and blue power that radiated from it in wisps of black smoke.
“Saléhua shoudvin brigattsores!”
Aaslo’s army of the dead responded to his command. They converged on the tree, hacking at its trunk as it ineffectually spewed black powder over them and smacked them through the air with great swings of its tendrils. Some of the corpses battled the cadaverous saplings from the seed bombs. Others fended off flailing limbs and roots. Aaslo charged forward and sank his heavy axe into the trunk. He hacked at it and ripped away chunks with the powerful claw of his dragon arm. When he tired, he stood back and muttered a spell Myropa had seen him cast against Verus. A tangle of black vines shot through the air to dig into the notch he had created. As the notch began to split wider and ooze black sap, Aaslo commanded his monstrous soldiers to focus on the scar he had made.
With the effort of hundreds of dead soldiers and travelers, the tree began to split up the center, and black liquid poured from a bright red heartwood. Aaslo stepped forward and pulled something from his bag. Myropa moved closer so that she could see what he was doing. As his dead minions battled everything the enemy threw at him, Aaslo paused to look at her. She thought she had never seen such depth of pain, clarity, and compassion in one expression. His vivid green gaze was so mesmerizing, she nearly forgot what was happening. He opened his palm to reveal the black seed the high sorceress had given him. He looked at it fondly, then gripped it in his dragon paw and shoved it with all his might into the deepest part of the split in the tree.
Aaslo stepped back and stood there calmly as if the world weren’t in chaos around him. A whiplike tree limb swept toward him, but it was intercepted by Greylan and Rostus, who hacked it to pieces without the slightest disturbance toward Aaslo. Myropa watched as a change came over the forester. The black hyphae that squirmed under his skin receded, and the black smoke that fumed from his dragon arm was replaced by a golden glow reminiscent of the gods’.
He placed his hands together in front of him, then thrust them forward, and outward. His right hand drew back, and his first two fingers came to rest on his lips, while his left arm was thrust forward, palm flat, as if imploring someone to stop. Suddenly, that hand clawed at something that wasn’t there, and made a ripping motion as the other hand surged forward and upward. Aaslo whispered something unintelligible, and the dreadful tree began to shake. The trunk started to expand, and as it did, the bark split and oozed black liquid over the swamp. The splits became gaps between splinters, and new branches grew out of them. The new branches bore leaves of brilliant green, the color of Aaslo’s eyes. Suddenly, the horrid black tree burst apart, sending sharp chunks of wood through the air for hundreds of yards, forcing Aaslo’s friends to erect protective shields so they wouldn’t be impaled.
In place of the dead monstrosity was a beautiful, living entity that twisted far into the sky. From the ground at its base, Myropa couldn’t even see the top. What surprised her most was that it wasn’t silent like the rest of the trees on Aldrea. It hummed, the bass loud enough to vibrate through her chest, which resided mostly in another realm. Then the tune changed, and it began to sing. Although Myropa could no longer feel its song, it brought her warmth.
Aaslo walked up to the tree and placed his hand on the trunk. The tree’s song changed again. It elicited such sadness that she felt tortured by her inability to cry, to relieve the pain. Aaslo hummed back to the tree,
then sang a strange tune that almost seemed familiar. The tree’s tune changed, and Myropa felt hope once again. She glanced around the battlefield. With the death of the dead mother tree, the corpses were able to destroy the last of the cadaver saplings. The bodies of the risen dead, however, remained. They stood eerily still, their milky gazes staring hollowly toward Aaslo.
Aaslo withdrew his hand from the tree, checked the sack at his waist, secured his sword and axe, then began walking toward his companions. Myropa started to follow when she felt the familiar tug. It became more than a tug, and she was suddenly ripped into the realm of Celestria.
Trostili and Axus sat beside Trostili’s viewing pool, while Arayallen sat on the divan petting a furry creature from which Myropa probably would have run screaming had she encountered it in the wild.
Axus slammed his fist into the stone that lined the pool, crushing it under the force. He stood and rounded on Myropa. “What happened? How did he defeat the grashtighaton?”
Myropa opened her mouth, but Trostili interrupted. “You just saw what happened, Axus.”
“Yes, I saw what happened. I want to know the parts I couldn’t see.”
Arayallen laughed. “You did choose a tree to go up against a forester. It’s almost as if you wanted him to win.”
Axus scowled with fury. “I thought it would be ironic. My laughter would have been great if he had died by one of his beloved trees. What I want to know is, how did he get that power? Why are the dead rising, and why do they heed his call? How does he know that language?”
Trostili said, “We watched him make the deal with the fae.”
Axus turned to him. “The fae creature possesses the power of growth, of invigoration, of reproduction and fertility.”
“Well, he did invigorate them,” said Arayallen.
Axus turned his ire on the goddess. “Ina cannot invigorate the dead! They are mine!”
Arayallen shrugged. “Then you must have blessed him.”
“I did no such thing,” he snapped.
Trostili said, “That’s an interesting hypothesis, Arayallen.” He turned toward Axus. “What game do you play now? Do you intend to make him your general?”
“No! I wanted that forester dead!” said Axus.
“He seems to carry the power of the dead,” said Arayallen with a smirk. “Is that not good enough?”
“He’s carrying my power, and I won’t have it! He killed that idiot Verus and his team. With Obriday’s team dead as well, Pithor will need new generals in the west. I’ll have to bestow another blessing.” He turned to Trostili. “This is your fault. You told me to start with Uyan.”
“You forget, Axus, I’m the God of War. Do you not think I know the best strategy? The chosen one—”
“Lightbane,” said Axus.
“—was in Uyan. Killing him guaranteed the outcome of the prophecy in your favor. Besides, Pithor is your chosen one, and you didn’t send him to Uyan, did you? No, you did what you wanted as usual.”
“Well, there is no reason to stay in Uyan now. I can start sending my forces across Aldrea, and without the magi, the humans will fall without the slightest protest.”
Arayallen put the creature on the floor, then strode over to gaze into the pool. She looked up and said, “Why don’t you just send a plague across the world? They’ll all die quickly.”
“Are you willing to give me one?” said Axus. Upon seeing Trostili’s furious gaze, he said, “Never mind that. I’ve promised Trostili a war. It’s the only way he supports my endeavor.” Looking at Trostili, he said, “Did you have something to do with this loss? Is this your way of prolonging the war so that you get more power out of it?”
Trostili laughed. “I’ll not deny that I’ll be happy for the war to last forever, but I had nothing to do with the forester’s ability to raise the dead. How could I?”
All three gods abruptly looked at Myropa. Trostili said, “You look different—a bit brighter?”
Arayallen huffed and stepped between them. She eyed Myropa as if sizing up livestock at auction. She turned back to Trostili. “Since when have you paid her enough attention to notice a difference?”
“True,” he said. Then, to Myropa, he said, “Stay with the forester, and let me know if he causes any other trouble.”
Myropa hadn’t even gotten a word out, and she was already whipped back into the Realm of the Living.
* * *
Teza attacked Aaslo as soon as he reached them. She threw her arms around him, gripping him so tightly he thought she might be trying to strangle him.
“Aaslo, I was so scared. We couldn’t see you for so long. I thought that thing had killed you.”
“It might have,” said Aaslo, pulling her arms from around his neck.
She said, “Where did that army come from, and why are they just standing out there like they’re frozen? Who do they belong to? I can’t see them well from here.”
Aaslo shook his head. “We’ll get to that later.”
“How did you do it?” said Mory. “How did you defeat the tree monster?”
“I’m not really sure what happened,” said Aaslo. “I was drowning, and then I just—understood. I knew my power, and I felt connected to it.”
“That’s wonderful!” said Teza. “You’ll be able to help us—help the world. Maybe we really can stop it from dying.”
Aaslo looked toward Ijen. The prophet tapped his book slowly and gazed back at Aaslo knowingly. To Teza, Aaslo said, “I’m not sure that I can. I think I made a terrible mistake.” Tears welled in his eyes as he considered the horror of his newfound power. “I want to give it back. I need to give it back.”
“You cannot,” said Ijen. “It is your blessing and your curse—and that of your entire bloodline.”
“How is this a blessing?” said Aaslo.
“What is it?” said Teza.
“I don’t understand,” said Peck. “Look at what you did!” He pointed to the tree, which looked to be as high as a mountain from where they stood. Its massive branches appeared as if they could house a city, and its green leaves shone brightly in the sun. It possessed more color and life than anything else for as far as the eye could see. Golden pollen puffed into the air, scattering and covering the blight in dazzling flecks.
Teza said, “It’s gorgeous. Just listen to its song. It’s so peaceful.”
Aaslo shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s not the nature of my power. Yes, I was able to grow the seed, but that’s—how do I explain it? It’s just not who I am.”
Ijen said, “I can cast a shield or knock a boulder out of the way, but I’m a prophet. It’s who I am. It’s what I must do. Teza can do any number of things, but her primary power is healing. It’s her strongest, and it’s what she needs to do to feel balanced. Aaslo is a different kind of magus.”
“Well,” said Mory, “what is it? What kind of power do you wield?”
Aaslo raised his arms and motioned forward. The army behind him began ambling toward them, some dropping into the murky depths to rise again on the other side of the pool. When they were about ten yards away, and Aaslo could see the horror on his friends’ faces, he held up a fist for the corpses to stop. He waved two fingers, and Greylan and Rostus stepped forward, coming to stand next to him.
Aaslo said, “I raise the dead.”
END OF BOOK ONE
Aaslo will return in
Shroud of Prophecy, Book Two
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Aaslina—Teza’s donkey
Aaslo—forester of Goldenwood
Adne—admirer at the feast
Akirini—master of the wardrobe at the palace of Uyan
Anderlus Sefferiah—Marquess of Dovermyer
Arayallen—Goddess of the Wilderness
Arohnu—God of Prophecy
Axus—God of Death
Azeria—Goddess of Women
Balene—Magdelay’s horse
Barbach—God of Desire
Baron of Yebury—accused Sir
Ciruth of sneaking into his daughter’s bedchamber
Bayalin—God of the Sun
Brontus—manservant at palace
Byella—healer
Caris—thief that betrayed Peck and Mory in Tyellí
Catriateza (Teza)—server in the Wooden Spoon Tavern
Sir Ciruth—shot down for drawing his sword in the throne room
Corin—little boy in audience
Dia—assistant (twin) at Silver Sky Inn in Yarding
Disevy—God of Virility
Enani—Goddess of Realms
Wizard Everly—wizard at the palace in Uyan
Fin—palace stable boy
Galobar—caretaker of the Forester’s Haven
Master Gerredy—herbalist in Tyellí
Gertridina—former classmate of Teza’s
Sorceror Goltry—Magdelay’s greatest rival and avid supporter
Mr. Greenly—bookkeeper of Goldenwood
Greylan—personal guard for the Marquess of Dovermyer
Helania—Keeper of the Keys at the palace of Uyan
Ielo—Aaslo’s father
Ijen Mascede—prophet Aaslo and Teza meet on the road
Ina—fae creature in Ruriton
Iochtheus—God of Consciousness
Jago—thieves’ boss in Tyellí
Jennis—shop assistant
Jessi—young woman in Goldenwood
Kadia—Queen of Uyan
Keila—ladies’ maid at Dovermyer
Lena—herbalist’s assistant in Tyellí
Lopin—captain of the royal guard in Tyellí
Magdelay Brelle—Mathias’s grandmother
Maralee—Galobar’s deceased wife
Captain Marius Cromley—captain of the Goldenwood town guard
Mathias—young man from Goldenwood
