A staff swing came at her. She raised her staff to block it and it was knocked from her hand as a consecutive blow to the side of her face spun her and left her tumbling to the floor. She managed to catch herself in time, coming to rest sitting with her legs beneath her. She was so tired…
“Little Pila.”
Wearily, she raised her head and looked with one half-closed eye on the monster masquerading as her uncle.
“It is time to end this,” he said again.
Mara no longer had the energy or will to resist. All she could do was drop her head and weep. All around her hands moved towards her. Her uncle’s reached her first and sank into her skin. The feeling of ice returned along with violation so intense, she wanted to wretch. Yet, she had not the strength. Instead, her body just convulsed and her soul screamed as, one after the other, the beings moved closer and began to meld into her skin. She could sense their consciousnesses. Their presences were terrifying and horrible to behold as though born from the darkest of pits and more horrible than anything she could imagine. She could still see through her good eye, but she no longer had any control over her own body. She was trapped in her own body with the constant torture of a thousand cruel beings of pure spirit.
Then, a fresh wave of terror ran through her…or was it through them? She could not quite tell. But she felt some of the consciousnesses withdrawing from her. She felt her head move, her eyes looking around frantically. The beings were drawing away from her and degrading into the chaos of a frightened crowd. Then her eye caught the sight she guessed it was looking for. A figure moved swiftly among the Kru-iss. She could only see flashes of movement at first, but the crowd was thinning. The longer her eyes stared and followed the figure, the more she could see. The figure was white, of the purest kind. She glimpsed flashes of green and silver, blades whirling as the figure moved through the crowd, ducking, swerving, and…dancing? As she stared she could see that the figure was engaged in some sort of graceful, elegant dance, her blades slicing through Mara’s assaulters as easily as stacks of dried leaves.
Mara felt herself rise then, her face contorted in anger. Her hands took up her staff. Against her will, she moved forward, the others yielding before her, attempting to move away from the dancing figure. The figure’s eyes looked to Mara who saw a flash of emerald green and a feminine face before the figure turned her attention back to the Kru-iss. Despite the efforts of the remaining Kru-iss, the figure danced expertly away from Mara, slicing through the beings which fell before her like stalks of wheat before a mower. Mara saw their bodies disintegrate in mid-air as they were continually cut down. The figure continued her deadly dance, slicing through their mutual enemies until there were none left but two. Mara’s body charged the figure that moved to engage the two remaining Kru-iss. The figure saw her and spun at a maddening speed, her blades outstretched. Her enemies separated at their midsections just as Mara was about to reach the figure. Mara felt her body leap into the air. The figure completed her spin with an outstretched arm and an empty hand, which caught Mara’s body in the throat, halting her momentum and sending waves of pain through her.
The figure, which Mara could now see was a white-skinned elf in armor, closed her emerald eyes. A second later, Mara felt pain and anguish ripple through her, though it was not from her, but rather from the creatures that inhabited her body. One by one, she felt their presences wane and disappear, her body convulsing with each one. At last, the final one vanished and Mara felt little strength return to her limbs as the elf set her gently on the floor.
Sitting upon her legs, Mara looked up at her with her one good eye. The elf was beautiful beyond any human she had seen. Her skin was of a pearly white, her similarly-colored hair long and straight. She wore armor of plate upon her chest, elegant and decorated, and a skirt of plate covered her upper thighs. Soft, leather boots covered her feet. In her right hand was a long, curved sword of matching decoration as the armor. The other sword Mara had seen lay sheathed at the elf’s side. Though she did not recognize the armor, she knew the elf from the many stories she had heard. And what she had just witnessed did not diminish the truthfulness of those stories.
“You are Lilliandra,” Mara stated, finding her voice very weak. “You are-“
“I am a slave of the Godking,” Lilliandra cut her off as she knelt before her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing more.”
“You saved me,” Mara said, a tear falling from her eye. “Were there something more than a lifedebt I could give, I would gladly give it. You have saved me from…”
She shivered, unable to finish. Lilliandra placed her free hand on Mara’s cheek and smiled gently at her. The touch of her hand sent a soothing sensation through Mara as though peace flowed from the elf’s touch. Mara sighed and visibly relaxed.
“Fear no more,” Lilliandra told her. “They shall not return to torture you further. You are safe.”
Mara’s tears began to fall in earnest and she leaned in and embraced the elven woman who returned the gesture.
“Thank you,” she said.
Mara held her for a long moment. At last, she felt her emotions stabilize and she leaned back.
“How may I repay you?” Mara asked. “Please tell me. Whatever it is you ask I shall do it with all my being.”
Lilliandra was still smiling as she reached to floor behind her, picked up Mara’s staff, and presented it to her. Mara looked at it, confused, and hesitantly took hold of it.
“You called upon the Godking to save you,” Lilliandra told her. “You did well. He is the one who has saved you, for it is he that has sent me to you. Therefore the debt of your soul is truly to him. Thus, I charge you, Mara Dregsdaughter of the Eastern tribe of Dira-Din, to seek the Godking, his kingdom, and his righteousness; for he is the answer to all that you seek.”
Mara stared at her, unable to speak. The elf’s words cut to her very heart, as though she knew her deepest thoughts and struggles. Indeed, she had challenged her to truly and finally turn her back on the gods of her homeland and embrace this unknown god of Gash, Marian, and now Lilliandra. She swallowed, nodded, and spoke, her voice dry in her throat.
“I will do as you ask,” she said.
Lilliandra suddenly dropped her smile and her eyes seemed to grow vacant, as if she were looking off at some distant object.
“I must leave you now,” she said, standing, edge clearly in her voice. “You are safe here. Stay here until either Gash or I return.”
As she spoke, she walked over to what appeared to be a pile of fresh leaves sitting near the entrance to the chamber. Grabbing the pile, she lifted it from the floor, revealing it to be a cloak, and donned it. She then turned away from the open doorway and stabbed at the air. Mara watched in amazement as the tip of Lilliandra’s blade sank into…nothing! She then watched in more amazement, as Lilliandra pulled her sword downward in a deliberate stroke, cutting a slit in reality itself. Removing her sword from the slit and drawing her other sword, she looked briefly to Mara, a serious look on her face.
“Do not forget my words,” she said.
She then stepped into the slit and was gone.
**********
Gash was aware of the sensation of falling- not the feeling, for he had gone numb. His vision made him aware of a sea of flame far below him, but growing in size. Grot’s still re-assembling form lay between him and the sea. Gash’s thoughts had nearly turned to mush, yet he was still somehow conscious. Not understanding fully what he was seeing, but knowing his fate to be sure, he organized his thoughts as best he could into a thought of resigning himself not to his fate, but into the hands of the Godking. At that moment, the increasing of the sea slowed and Grot’s momentum seemed to increase as the monster fell away from him. Then the sea became static in size while Grot continued to fall away from him. He watched in a daze as Grot’s cloaked form fell from view and disappeared into the flames.
And then Gash felt something. He was vaguely aware of warmth seeping into his chest
where Grot had pierced him. He noticed the sensation of fingers touching the skin around the wound and a palm pressing against flesh where a gaping hole should have been. Strength seemed to be returning to him and he managed to look down at his chest. He saw a hand- a distinctly human hand- pressed against his chest. Further down, he saw an arm wrapped around his waist, a scar upon the wrist of the arm.
With a suddenness, he was jerked upward, the sea of flame and the world around him vanishing into a blur. And then, there was stone beneath him and he was still. All his senses were with him. He could feel the frigidness of the air. He could see the ambient light around him and hear his own breathing and the scuffing sound as he moved his limbs along the stone. He sat up and looked. He was back in the portal chamber of the tower, still in Grot’s realm as evidenced by his senses. The rubble from the broken portal lay a few feet away. Between him and it lay his axe, the white sheen having gone from its blades. Gash reached for it and gripped the haft.
Standing, but allowing the axe-head to remain resting on the ground, he searched back through his memories, attempting to make sense of them. He reviewed what had happened since entering Grot’s realm and was surprised to learn that he remembered all of it, even his bleary, weakened state and what he had been able to perceive within. Yet now he saw it with a refreshed mind. His hand went instinctively to his chest where Grot had punctured him. He felt a roughly circular patch of skin that had the same feel as his other scars. It hadn’t been a dream or a vision. He had battled Grot and survived, but not by his own power. Someone…caught him.
A flash of light and movement caught his attention. His grip on the haft of his weapon tightened and he snapped his head to his left to see an odd sight. The tip of a sword was sticking out of thin air and moving in a slow, deliberate movement downward. In its wake, it was leaving a wide slit of what might have been natural sunlight. Gash watched the phenomenon, his stance and his grip not slackening. The blade halted just above the floor and withdrew into the slit. Then Gash relaxed a little as Lilliandra’s pale form stepped into the chamber.
She stood as she had many times before, except that she wore beneath her cloak of leaves a decorative breastplate and skirt of plate armor. In her hands were two swords, one short, the other long. Both swords lacked crossguards and the blades of both held a slight curve relative to their length. They were clearly meant to match both each other and the armor with the decoration on the blades, and, Gash suspected, on the hilts as well. What both interested and concerned Gash, respectively, was the familiar white shimmer on the edges and the fact that he saw no signs of battle upon them.
Seeing Gash standing there, Lilliandra turned to face him. Gash wondered. Was this another apparition? Was this another setup for torture by Grot? Had the monster truly died? Gash stared on at Lilliandra whose face was tentatively hopeful. After several lingering moments, she spoke.
“You are well,” she said as if speaking it made the fact more real to her.
Gash nodded.
Lilliandra stood there, looking as if she could not decide how to react. At last, her face broke into a tearful smile and with two swift strides, she was before him, embracing him with a gasp and choked-back tears. The scent of lilacs and lilies, and of fresh summer mornings filled the air and wafted around Gash.
“I am glad you are well,” Lilliandra said her voice full of restrained emotion. “I feared for you.”
Gash did not know how to respond. Tentatively, he put his hand on her back. He still was not convinced she was real and her oddly emotional behavior made him all the more suspicious.
“Oh, forgive me,” she said, pulling back and wiping her tears with the backs of her hands. “I must very much seem not myself. The Godking told me of Grot’s destruction long ago, so I knew when it would come and that it would be by one of your race. But He did not reveal to me if you would survive. And I did not even think to ask.”
She gave a short laugh and shrugged her shoulders.
“We have not because we ask not.” she said. “We all have much to learn.”
She smiled, her eyes still a bit teary, and Gash could see pure joy dancing within their soft pools. It was that mysterious joy that had driven him onward and given him hope. And it was that joy that he knew was now his. Yes, he decided, she was real.
At last relaxing his muscles, Gash stood a little taller, then sheathed his axe. He then asked the question that he had desired to since he last saw her.
“Mara?” he asked.
“Mara is safe,” Lilliandra responded, sounding closer to normal, though there was still relief in her voice Gash had never before heard from her. Lilliandra pointed to the slit with her short sword. “She awaits you in the tower. Fear not to ascend it. Grot’s hold has been shattered and the evil spirits that inhabited the tower have been banished. She will not be assaulted again.”
Gash nodded and then continued to stare. There were many questions he had for her, but at the same time, he felt he should not delay. As if reading his thoughts (which would not have surprised him in the least) Lilliandra again wiped her eyes and spoke.
“You should go,” she said. “Take Mara and reunite with the dwarves. Your friends will be wondering at your fate.”
“What of you?” Gash asked.
“I must remain and destroy this realm. But I will return thereafter.”
Gash looked away, not wanting to say goodbye after so short a meeting, but reluctantly gave a nod and moved to walk past her. He stopped abreast of her and looked her in the eyes.
“Thank you,” he said.
Her smile broadened slightly and she inclined her head.
“Will I see you again?” Gash asked her.
She shook her head, her smile not diminishing. It seemed that nothing could dampen the joy that danced in her heart at his well-being.
“Who can say?” she replied. “But if ever I am able I would gladly speak with you again. Remember what you have learned. Hold fast to the Godking. Do not stray to the right hand or to the left. Always look to love and serve him.”
Gash nodded. “I will remember,” he said. “May I see you again.”
He then turned and stepped through the slit. Instantly, he found himself in the chamber in which he had left Mara. The chamber was empty save for Mara’s lithe form sitting in the ruined external doorway. Gash looked to the stone doorway that had been hanging from the ceiling and found it broken and partially fallen into a loose pile of rubble on the floor. He turned and looked to where the slit should be, but saw nothing. Worry crept up in him for Lilliandra and if he would truly see her again. He shoved the thought aside, turned and walked over to stand next to Mara. The teenager sat with her legs dangling over the edge. Her staff was placed horizontally across the doorway and she leaned upon it as she looked on at the scene far below them. Bruises covered her in several places, yet her face oddly held a grin. She nodded towards the distant ground.
“Your kin are fleeing,” she said without looking at him. “They have broken up and are terribly disorganized. They are abandoning their contraptions and are being scattered to the four winds.”
Gash looked out over the landscape and saw the green mass splitting and dispersing in every conceivable direction. Some of them even seemed to be clambering up the mountain. Gash saw Mara move and turned his head to see her looking up at him. One of her eyes was bruised shut. The grin was still on her face.
“You did it,” she said. “You saved your kin and Sylrin. There will be songs sung about you for this. You have done a great deed, Gash Bloodaxe.”
“Let them praise the Godking,” Gash replied. “I have done nothing.”
Mara’s countenance dropped and she looked back out over the landscape. He realized something he had said to her had disturbed her. He thought better than to pursue the matter and so let it lie as he too turned to look back over the fleeing army of the orcs.
After some moments, Mara said. “I cannot return there until I have found righteousness and attaine
d it, but…”
She looked at Gash who returned her gaze.
“…I mean…do you still plan to come with me…I mean, to visit my people?”
Gash nodded, though he was confused as to why she seemed nervous about the matter. After a few moments hesitation, she gave a reluctant smile and said, “Good.”
She then pushed against her staff, sliding herself farther into the chamber and stood, again taking up her staff in the mode of a walking stick. Turning to face him, she asked, “Are we done here?”
“Almost,” Gash replied.
************
It took them some time. The work was dangerous and they had to be careful, though it was not physically difficult. The stone and mortar that made up the tower was crumbling and the ropes were half-rotted which made the work that much easier and that much more dangerous. But at last, as the sun began to set behind the mountain, Mara, seeing the rope she was sawing begin to come undone of its own accord, ceased her action, sheathed her knife, and reached out her staff to Gash who was hanging from the handholds on the upside-down pathway. Gash reached out and gripped the staff with one hand. Making sure his grip was tight, he lifted Mara from the open doorway of the tower. A snapping sound was heard as the rope Mara had been sawing severed itself. It was followed immediately by a groan and a low rumble. Gash carefully maneuvered Mara so that she could clamber up her staff and onto his back. He then gripped the handhold again and the two watched as the tower lurched. The mountain shook, but Gash held his grip tight. More groaning and snapping was heard as ropes on the other side began to give way to the tremendous weight pulling down upon them. Finally, the last supports gave way and, without much more than a slight grinding sound, the entirety of the tower plummeted toward the wide base of the mountain where it impact and rolled, crumbling into a million pieces with the sound of distant thunder.
Half-Orc Redemption Page 43
