by Mark B Frost
“Long ago, it is said that the ultimate technique of warriors of the Church was not Holy Wave, nor even Holy Light, but a far more powerful ability called simply Holy. Legend holds that the Trine Lance is capable of unleashing the move, but only for a worthy paladin. I never believed it was real.”
The lich kept screaming in Cildar’s face, trying to bring leagues of powerful spells into play, but everything was swept away in the hurricane of power that raged from the Dragoon’s body and Lance. Chunks of the lich began to explode and disintegrate, and freed black ether was scattered everywhere. Cildar took a small step in closer, reaching up with his left hand and pulling the lich’s phantasmagoric face down close. “I promised you I would take your face, and I did. Do you remember my other promise, about drawing my Lance? The word of a paladin is a sacred bond. Now you die.” A final blast of green wind erupted from his body, the aura surrounding him faded, and the lich was no more.
The Dragoon collapsed to his knees, his reserves of energy drained, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to fall onto his face. From where he stood in the Cainite ranks, Stratas’ face was contorted with such wrath that the soldiers near him began backing away. He repressed himself—though only barely—and headed toward the clearing. Cildar looked up and saw him, then forced himself to rise to his feet.
“Stratas Ezul,” he declared loudly, somehow finding the strength to shout. “Your lich is destroyed. As I forewarned, it’s your turn now.”
The Lord Commander did not counter this provocation, but stared at the man with tight lips. When he stopped seeing red, he turned his back and walked into his army’s ranks. “I’ll make a king out of the man that brings me the Emle’s head,” he declared loudly, and the Cainites charged.
Chapter 41.
Debts Made, Debts Owed
Atheme sat next to a small campfire late one night, protected by the silver barrier Serene had erected. Abaddon lay unconscious on the ground a few feet away, and Serene sat at the edge of the campsite fretting over something, though Atheme knew not what.
They had marched far beyond the Ashelon River through a barren wasteland with no name. They had made good progress for about a week. The scenery had not changed, save becoming sparser in signs of life. The ground became dead and loose, eventually transforming into a thin blanket of sand, and harsh desert winds whipped their faces. The men had turned dark with sun and windburn, though the Saint’s skin remained pale and flawless as always.
In time they had come upon a strange area, where giant rock pillars rose from the ground like fingers of the earth. Serene said she did not think there were any creatures to fear this close to the ether pole, so they had entered the stone forest. They had walked for scarcely half an hour when Abaddon collapsed with a scream. Atheme rushed to his side.
“Abaddon! What’s wrong?”
“I can’t take anymore. I just...” His voice died out with a gurgle and he clutched at his friend’s shoulder, nearly breaking his collarbone. It was all the man in red could do to keep from screaming, then Abaddon’s eyes had rolled up into his head. As he lost consciousness, his hand fell limply to the ground.
“Serene, how serious is this?”
Her eyes lit silver and she cast a scanning net over him. “He won’t last long. Whatever these rock pillars are, they seem to be making the currents here more vicious. Abaddon’s spirit is at its breaking point.”
Atheme’s mind raced, then he pushed his hands down hard into the unconscious man’s chest and started pouring his own shields out around his friend. The only purpose of grey magic was to enhance or protect one’s own body, and it had never before been applied beyond that use. Nevertheless Atheme refused to watch his friend die again, and would not be bound by his limitations. He continued pouring out his energy, tricking the currents into believing that he and Abaddon were the same body. As he wrapped the two of them deeper in his grey magic, he felt the intensity of the currents beginning to berate his own spirit.
Serene sensed it too, shouting, “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t block the currents out with grey magic. If you could, Abaddon would have already been doing so. You’re only putting yourself at risk, and you don’t have the strength to survive these currents any more than he does. You’re just going to get the both of you killed!”
“I don’t care! I’m not going to stand idle and watch his life ebb away. If I can just buy him a few seconds of respite, maybe he can recover on his own. Besides, of the three of us I’m the only one whose death doesn’t mean a complete forfeiture of our mission here. So if you have a better idea, tell me. Otherwise, shut up and let me concentrate!”
She had not bothered arguing further, but instead had floated a few feet into the air, thrown her arms out, and erected a huge silver barrier that wholly blocked out the currents.
Afterward Atheme had apologized for his gruff behavior. She had accepted this apology almost too quickly, then wandered over to where she now sat fidgeting. Since then the Lord Councilor had watched over Abaddon diligently, always concerned that his friend was trying to bear more than he could take.
The mystic seemed to be resting peacefully, even snoring lightly, protected by Serene’s powerful magic. Atheme turned and looked at her as she fretted, and he felt a wave of depression slink over him. He was accustomed to being the one to bear the responsibility of a matter, accustomed to having people depend upon him for their success. But here, on this journey, it had dawned on him that there was nothing he could do to make certain their mission succeeded. Even when Abaddon had pushed himself too far, Atheme had not had the power to help and Serene had been forced to step in. Not since he had been a young squire, and Calvin had been forced to save him from powerful enemies, had he felt so utterly insignificant.
Suddenly he missed Relm painfully. He stared at Serene for a few seconds, thinking over his past. He remembered plays, dancing, romantic meals, all of the memories aglow with Relm’s beauty and pleasantness. He checked Abaddon’s pulse one last time and, finding it stable, slowly headed over and had a seat next to his love.
“Sorry again about yelling at you earlier.”
“Hm?” She did not look up, but stopped fidgeting with her hands. “Oh, please, don’t apologize for that. It’s nothing.”
“No, I mean it. You were really trying to help out, you really knew what you were doing, and I unfairly assumed you were being domineering and trying to lecture me. I know we’ve had our disagreements here, but I shouldn’t have discarded your wisdom so casually.” She offered no response, sitting silently with a pained look on her face. He stared at her for about half a minute, trying to see any hint of Relm. There was none, but nonetheless he reached out and placed an arm across her shoulders. “Are you okay? You seem agitated.”
She closed her eyes and hung her head even deeper, but began talking. “Remember when we were still in Felthespar, when I wanted to hide Kargaroth away from Abaddon and let him die so the Hell Knight couldn’t come back, but you said that you would not kill him in order to save the world?”
“Aye,” he responded with a touch of uncertainty.
“I played along with you then because I didn’t know if that idea would work, and I had no better plans. Then Kinguin and Leprue helped us come up with this idea, a way to permanently destroy Kargaroth, and I was exhilarated. I told you there were risks, but that I knew how to handle those risks, so you accepted the mission. But I lied to you. I told you that Abaddon simply has to lure the gods out of the sword, but that’s not true. He will have to lower the barrier that Aveni used to protect him, lure the dark gods into his own spirit, then seal off the barrier once more, locking the gods in his body and merging them with his spirit, holding them relatively powerless long enough for me to cast them into the ether pole. In other words, Abaddon has to die as well.”
Atheme pulled his arm away from her and his mouth shrank to a thin line. “And exactly where do you play into this whole scenario?”
She took an unstea
dy breath. “Abaddon cannot come into contact with the ether pole before drawing the gods into himself or he’d be killed immediately. Once the gods have been drawn, it will by my task to lure them into the pole. They’ll be locked away behind Aveni’s barrier in a delicate state of equilibrium, so it would be dangerous to simply pick him up or push him or something like that. My job will be to surround his physical form in a stasis barrier and use my power to move him to the center of the pole. When this happens, all enchantments will be torn apart—including Aveni’s barrier, the gods of Kargaroth, and Abaddon’s mystic spirit.”
He stared forward at the silver dome and said nothing more. For several minutes the two of them sat there in silence. When Serene could take no more, she begged quietly, “Please say something. I know that you’re angry with me, but I need to hear you say something.”
Atheme stood, but would not look in her direction. “I need time to think about this. Even I don’t know how angry I am right now.”
He stepped through Serene’s barrier and out among the pillars, walking deep enough into the earthen forest for her to lose sight of him. She gave a depressed sigh and stared at her feet.
Soon the campfire began to burn lower, so she went over and searched through their packs. Atheme had possessed the foresight to collect firewood when they had first entered the Fenrir Forest. When night fell on the desert the temperature dropped quickly, and fire was proving to be a necessary commodity. She threw the log to the flames, and accidentally caused an ember to fly over onto Abaddon’s cheek. She hopped up with a small scream, but his eyes opened and he quickly brushed it away. He rose to his feet and looked around the campsite, then stretched himself out until his back gave a series of pops. He reached up over his right shoulder and, finding Kargaroth still there, let his hand drop back to his side.
“Where’s Atheme?” His voice was steady and his eyes were clear. It was the first time in a while he genuinely seemed to be feeling well.
Serene pointed in the direction the man had disappeared. “He went out to think for a while. By himself.”
He started to move in the direction she had indicated, then stopped and turned back to her with a strange look. “I missed something, didn’t I?”
She gave a sad smile. “It’s nothing. He’s just angry at me again.”
He nodded, but made no move. After several seconds of the two of them waiting in silence, he moved to a nearby rock and sat down, laying Kargaroth carefully to his side. “Don’t let his words cut too deep,” he cautioned. “We all struggle on this journey, each in our own way. As I wrestle with the demons of Kargaroth, and you with your demons of uncertainty, Atheme is wrestling with his own. His pillars have been taken from him. In the past few years he has been forced to kill a good friend, and watch his love change into another person. It has reminded him of a time in his past, when he lost Calvin and was again on his own. It is hard for Atheme to stand alone. His love for those around him is perhaps his only true weakness.”
“It’s not important,” she said with a shrug. “All that matters is destroying Kargaroth. The world is at stake, I don’t have time to play games to appease his ego.”
“A strong sentiment,” he responded. “I would expect no less from Sinjuin Serene, Saint of Pecoros.” He grew silent and continued to stare at her. For nearly a minute she tried to ignore him, until finally her patience snapped.
“What is it?”
“Do you love him still?”
She glared in response. “Of course I love him!” Her voice grew soft, as she was caught off guard by the suddenness of her own answer. “Of course I do. I love him now for every reason I loved him before, and perhaps more. With the experience of my many previous lives, I know how rare and unique Atheme is. He’s wonderful, Abaddon—brilliant, kind, fearless, and full of such lovely, joyous life. He is the only man who has ever made me question my loyalties, who has ever made me doubt the conviction of my beliefs.” She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, then looked up and locked eyes with him. “What if Pecoros doesn’t know best? I have seen the gods make mistakes before. I have seen them misread situations. In a way, my entire journey to Morolia has been a mistake, else the Hell Knight never would have lived. How do I even know if I’m following the right path if I cannot place my faith in my god anymore?”
“I can’t answer that for you. The gods that I know,” he reached down and gently touched his fingertips to the hilt of Kargaroth, “I would not trust. But I believe that as you contemplate your situation, you should not be so eager to drive Atheme away.”
“There’s little I can do to help that,” she argued. “He grows to hate me.”
He shook his head sadly. “Why do you hold Relm back?”
“What are you talking about?”
“She is within you. I see flashes of her, moments of joy when Atheme sweeps you away and you let her leak out. But you work so hard to repress it, to deprive both him and yourself of the joy she presents.”
“The girl that you called Relm Sarin was just a figment of imagination, a daydream that happened after I suffered head trauma. She does not exist.”
“Yet I can recall her well. She was a unique, vibrant personality, well defined and with complex depths—very much unlike a daydream.”
She shuffled uncomfortably for a moment. “What do you want me to say?”
“I cannot be certain, but I believe that you are Relm. I do not believe she is some daydream, as you suggest, but your true self given an opportunity to shine through. When you were given amnesia, you were stripped of memories and experiences, your burdens of responsibility and status. Once you were no longer pretending to be what you thought you needed to be, who you force yourself to be every day, Relm was born. Or rather, reborn.”
Serene drew a deep, unsteady breath. “Perhaps she represents a younger version of myself. The me that I was in my first life, before I became a Saint. But we all grow up, we are all changed by our experiences. Are you suggesting that I should become a facade just to appease the one I care most about?”
“Absolutely not,” he answered confidently. He retrieved Kargaroth from the ground at his side and stood, returning it to his back. “I am suggesting that you have been doing that for centuries. Saint Sinjuin Serene is the facade, created to appease your god Pecoros. Let her go, and you can live a happy life as your true self, with Atheme at your side.”
“It sounds so wonderful when you say it like that. But do you know what you’re asking me to give up?”
“Eternity, perhaps. If you reject Pecoros now, he may not restore your Sainthood when next you pass. But would you rather live eternity as the facade, or shine for one more life as your true self?”
She bit her lower lip, remembering that she was marching this man to his own death. “What would you choose?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
He looked to the sky for a moment and drew a slow breath. Then he looked back to her and stated, “Abaddon Daemon will not bend for gods. Never again.” With that he headed to the edge of the circle, moving in Atheme’s direction. Right as he was about to step through he stopped and turned back slightly. He reached up and removed Kargaroth from his back, stabbing it into the ground beside him. “I know you don’t want the sword out of your sight. I’ll leave it here.”
Once he was gone Serene moved to the rock nearest the campfire, focusing on renewing the blaze for a few minutes. Then her emotions got the better of her. Her eyes faded from silver to light blue, the barrier around the camp flickered and died, and she began crying into her hands.
* * * * *
Abaddon found Atheme easily. He walked softly to his side, and stood there silently for a few moments. Normally Abaddon’s presence had a visibly calming effect on the Lord Councilor’s bad moods, but this time there was no response. Finally the big man opened the conversation.
“She misses you as well.”
“What?” he responded dryly.
“We all know that Serene grates your nerves. She
cares only for her task, not for the lives or concerns of others. You can’t take that, especially when it’s coming from the face of the girl you once loved so much. But don’t let yourself give in to hate. Don’t give up your love for her.”
“I could never love that woman. Not if I had to share all of her future lives with her could I love her.”
“There is a battle within her. It rages with each step we take. The Saint Sinjuin Serene, indomitable servant of Order, is being overcome by Relm Sarin’s love for you. I cannot make any promises, but I believe at this time it is only Serene’s fear of Kargaroth, and her responsibility for what it represents, that keeps her from letting go. Once the Unholy Blade has been destroyed, she may well return to the girl you love. I beg of you, do not drown yourself in hate while there is still hope.”
Atheme seemed to grow calm for a moment. Then he gave a sharp roar of anger, and spun about and pointed back at the campsite. “Do you know what she did? She brought you here to die! She intends you to be a sacrifice!”
He gave his old friend a soft smile. “I’ve always known.”
“What? How? And why? Why did you come here if you knew?”
“The gods of Kargaroth are many times older than Serene. She is not nearly clever enough to deceive them. Since this journey began they have been whispering in my ear, talking of her treachery, telling me that I should kill her and be done with it. But why? Why did I still come along, knowing it was to die a horrible death?” He turned and stared up at the sky, his eyes lingering on no particular star. “That day in Felthespar, when you broke the spell of the dark gods and allowed me to have control of my body again, I felt hollow. Like something inside of me had been scraped out violently. Ever since, the closer I get to feeling again, the less I feel of myself. There is no path to recovery remaining for me. There is broken emptiness, or there is Hell. I can never be free of the sword and what it did to me.” His voice grew quieter as he continued. “I do not wish to live thousands of years as a monster. I want to die soon, quickly, while there is still a piece of me that is left untouched, untarnished by evil. Perhaps in that last second, when I know that I have died and the gods have died with me, I’ll feel like I have atoned for some of my sins. Perhaps for one brief moment I can feel human again.”
