Jessilynn glanced at him, envisioning a golden crown upon his head. Dezrel could do far worse than Jerico as its new ruler…but then, no doubt many had thought the same of Azariah.
“Gregory will be king still, won’t he?” she asked, unable to shake her fears and hoping that perhaps the other paladin might put them at ease.
“That so far seems the consensus,” Jerico told her. “With Harruq returning to his role as regent until he comes of age. Not everyone is happy with this arrangement, of course. Some blame a lack of leadership for allowing Azariah to consolidate his power so quickly and easily. They prefer Ahaesarus to rule as regent over Harruq. Given how badly angelic rule devastated Mordan, I doubt that plan will gain much momentum.”
Jerico cleared his throat, attempting to address something he knew would be awkward.
“I heard about what you did to Ahaesarus, by the way. He’s fine, just a little worse for wear. It’ll take a lot more than a holy arrow through the shoulder to bring a monument like him down.”
Heat flushed up her neck. “Should I be ashamed or proud of what I did?” she asked, earning herself a laugh.
“Perhaps a little bit of both? Though from what I heard about how Ahaesarus had begun behaving, I think you saved him from walking down a path similar to Azariah. Perhaps a little bit of humbling was exactly what the big oaf needed.”
“Is that what this oaf needed?”
They turned to find a very solemn Ahaesarus climbing the stairs behind them. He sported a cloth bandage tied around his bare left arm and side.
“I’m surprised you didn’t fly up here,” Jessilynn said, turning back to the balcony and fighting off a fresh wave of embarrassment.
“The movement of my wings angers my side,” the angel said as he exited onto the tower balcony. “Not to say I don’t deserve it, but I’d prefer not to seize up and plummet to my death when I try to join you.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Join me? Or kill me?”
“I do not bring my sword, Jessilynn. And if we are to judge by recent events, my life is more in danger of you than yours is of me.”
Jessilynn laughed despite her exhaustion and heartache. Whatever pleasure she felt, it was short-lived when staring at Devlimar. The surviving fallen had fled Mordeina upon Azariah’s death, and they holed up in rooms and mansions scattered throughout that beautiful city. That they still lived robbed whatever joy she should feel. Not that she wanted them slain, whether or not they deserved it or not. No, what bothered her was knowing that the war wasn’t over yet. More bloodshed lurked upon the horizon.
“I hear we’re to attack Devlimar tomorrow morning,” she said.
“That was my plan, yes. Do you disagree?”
“Do you care what I think?”
His enormous hand settled upon her shoulder. She flinched. She shouldn’t be afraid, she knew she shouldn’t be afraid, but it didn’t change her instinctual reaction. She grimaced, but when she glanced his way, it was clear that Ahaesarus saw her fear, and it was him who felt ashamed.
“I believe you are a voice I should have listened to from the very beginning,” he said. “Yes, Jessilynn, I do care what you think. I care greatly to hear it, because right now I fear I am in danger of becoming my brother. I do not seek to use humans to wage my war, nor their bloodshed to prove my own righteousness. So speak your heart, young paladin. I believe I am finally ready to hear it.”
Jessilynn looked to Devlimar. Her mind swam through a dozen different memories. Darius’s words echoed in her ears. That’s all that matters now to him. Not salvation. Not the love of his children. Only victory in his name. She remembered the dead paladin’s fears, his beliefs, even as he sat beside her as no more than a shimmering soul. Against those memories she cast the sight of Ahaesarus lording over his army of beast-men, angels, and soldiers. The sight of him threatening to kill her if she did not step aside so he might slay Azariah. Of the two, she knew who to trust, and who to believe.
She turned to Jerico, who crossed his arms and nodded to her.
“Speak freely. Neither of us are here to judge you.”
Jessilynn’s attention returned to Devlimar. Speak freely, he tells her, as if it would be so easy. As if she herself fully understood her heart.
“I don’t know what I believe,” she said. “I know only how I feel. I see Devlimar, and my heart breaks. We fight, and we die, and it seems to never end. The war is won. Karak has been defeated. Azariah is dead, his undead army broken, and his few surviving fallen retreated into hiding. And still it isn’t enough. Come the morning, we march again to bleed and die for Ashhur. We’ll cover the streets of Devlimar with blood, and to prove what? That Ashhur is better? That Ashhur is stronger?”
Jessilynn clutched her bow tightly to her chest and closed her eyes. Tears threatened to overwhelm her.
“I have always believed Ashhur cared for us. I have always believed that our god—our kind, forgiving god—loved us. Yet now it seems we do nothing but battle for his amusement. We suffer so he might be proven superior. We wage war. We kill. Tomorrow we march into Devlimar with banners held high and our swords sparkling as we commit yet another slaughter. Does Ashhur love us, Ahaesarus? Does he truly? Because he abandoned us when we needed him five years ago. He abandoned us on the Night of Black Wings. Yet again, Karak’s followers rise up. Yet again, we fight a Gods’ War. I don’t feel loved. I don’t feel cherished. I feel used. I feel like a weapon.”
“You would blame Ashhur for the actions of his fallen?” Ahaesarus carefully asked. She could sense his stubbornness surfacing, his refusal for Ashhur to accept any blame.
“Look at what he did to them,” she said, fighting off a fresh wave of tears. “Look at what monsters he made Azariah and his angels when he commanded them to fall. But only to fall, damn it, only fall. Why not kill them if such a curse is within his power, Ahaesarus? Why leave them so wounded and furious? To teach them a lesson? To make them suffer? But while they suffered, we suffered! We, the children he professes to love above all else. I grew up listening to stories of the sky splitting, and angels flying forth from the Golden Eternity to protect us. How do I put that side by side with a god that cast down his fallen, and then did nothing as those fallen took out their hatred and fury on the innocent? As tens of thousands needlessly died in a slaughter that will haunt us for generations? I see no answer that does not horrify me. We are all dying, and for what? Games, Ahaesarus, all I see are games and wars and chances to prove Ashhur is better. But he’s not better than Karak, not if that’s all we are to him. Not if he stops caring for us.”
She gestured to Devlimar and the waiting fallen.
“Is Ashhur master of this world, or are we? Because all I see is us dying to prove him its master. It’s a cruel joke. It’s everything backwards. And tomorrow morning, we will suffer it all over again.”
The angel fell silent. She could not read the expression on his pristine face. What she said, it teetered close to blasphemy, at least in how she understood it. But was she wrong? She didn’t think so. She wished she were, so deeply that it made her heart ache. That she might believe Ashhur’s grace surrounded her, protected her, and held her as if she were the most important thing in all the world. A wounded part inside her still believed. Another part believed the power of her shining arrows, and the destruction they caused, was more important to her god than any forgiveness or wisdom that might pass through her lips.
“Heavy words,” Jerico said quietly to break the silence. “But are you willing to listen, angel?”
Ahaesarus stepped closer. Something about his demeanor changed. His voice softened. His eyes flickered, and they suddenly shimmered gold.
“Jessilynn,” he said. “Take up your bow.”
The air thickened about her. The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end.
“It’s broken,” she said.
“Take up your bow, Jessilynn, and ready an arrow for flight.”
Jessily
nn lifted her bow in her left hand and grabbed the string with the right. A deep crack ran along the wood just above the grip, and it split open as she pulled the string. Not much, but just enough so that she could withdraw the string even farther than normal before the resistance heightened. At the touch of her fingers, an arrow of light materialized, soft blue wisps of what seemed like smoke rising off its arrowhead. Jessilynn held the arrow at ready, pointed toward Devlimar, but she did not release. It wasn’t time. She felt it in her bones.
“Death was never my intention, yet it always seemed my path,” Ahaesarus said. “Tonight, let me make amends. I leave this world to you. I leave it to my children, whom I still love.”
The arrow on Jessilynn’s bow flared with light. A distant song rang in her ears, the words indistinguishable but their meaning crystalline. Hope. Change. Determination. Wind blew across her, as if a thunderstorm were brewing about their tower. The walls between the worlds were thinning.
“What’s happening?” she whispered, for she was no longer alone. Two women hovered to either side of her, mirrored reflections of one another. One she recognized, the woman named Tessanna, her billowing dress blacker than the night, matched in hue only by the hair that flowed behind her with such length it rivaled a floor-length cloak. The other woman appeared the same in face and hair, though her dress was white, and her skin a healthy gold compared to the pale, almost porcelain hue of Tessanna.
The two most recent daughters of balance, Jessilynn realized. This was Mira, whom Lathaar had told her stories of during her childhood. The woman who gave her life fighting Thulos.
Both daughters extended their hands. Orbs grew from their fingertips, one black, the other white. They crackled with lightning. They shimmered with power so deep the heavens rumbled. When they spoke, their voices carried undeniable authority.
“Let the unending war see its end,” said Mira.
“Let my proclamation be unmade,” said Tessanna.
Then, in unison, “Mother has seen enough.”
Jessilynn felt the arrow threatening to slip from her fingers. The ringing in her ears reached its crescendo. The tower shook beneath her feet. She caught sight of movement from the corner of her eye, and she glanced over to see Darius standing nearby with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. Blue light shone about his body, and upon his arrival, Jerico staggered in surprise.
“Cast down the golden city,” spoke Darius. “Let this war end, and Dezrel belong to the mortals who walk its lands.”
The moment had come. Jessilynn looked to Devlimar, and within its extravagant halls she saw every horrid sin Azariah had wrought. She saw his need to rule. She saw his ambition to be a king, if not a god. Above all, she saw his aching desire to be superior to those he was meant to serve. When the armies of the beast-men were devouring the north, too many angels had remained behind to build their monument to their flying city, as if the marble and gold were more important than the lives they were sworn to protect. Now the survivors hid within it, and they would kill any who came for them. Even in defeat, they would kill. They would spread more suffering.
But no more. Cast down the golden city. If it must be done, then let it be done.
Jessilynn let fly her arrow.
It streaked across the night sky, and it did not travel alone. Mira and Tessanna unleashed their own tremendous blasts of energy, twin beams of darkness and light that made a mockery of mortal limits. The night sky did not split, not like the stories Jessilynn had listened to all her life, but it did crack in a long spiderweb of light. Angels hovered in the air above her, first dozens, then hundreds, then thousands. They all held golden bows in their hands, and they pulled back their strings to manifest holy arrows so very familiar to her.
Jessilynn’s arrow was not the greatest, but it was the first of a thousand that followed. The earthbound city of angels collapsed under the assault. The ground roiled as if Dezrel itself were enraged. The twin beams of Celestia’s daughters shattered buildings. Arrows of light battered down rooftops and walls. The gold withered and broke. The city twisted and tumbled. The assault was mercilessly complete. Jessilynn watched it with her broken bow in hand, tears streaming down her face as the stone beneath her trembled. Her ears ached from the depth of noise, greater than any storm, louder than any thunder.
Arrow after arrow, swirling around the twin blasts of the daughters. Nothing halted its flow. They carved deep grooves into the soil. They collapsed the city’s great spires. She saw faint black-winged dots scurrying like ants, but there was no escape from the arrows that fell like rain. What remained of the fallen were buried with the rubble, the twisted wreckage of Devlimar forever their tomb.
Mere seconds passed, but witnessing the destruction felt like it took an entire age. Part of Jessilynn wished to break down sobbing. Part of her was too empty and drained to offer anything for the lost city but a weary sigh.
When it ended, the silence was frightening to her ringing ears.
“No more false balance,” Tessanna and Mira said in perfect unison. “No more wars. Peace, if humanity may keep it.”
Jessilynn dropped her bow and looked behind her. Ahaesarus was gone. So too were the daughters of balance. Darius remained, and he stood there grinning at a stone-faced Jerico, saying nothing, only waiting.
“Shouldn’t you be busy being dead?” Jerico asked.
“I made a promise,” Darius answered, and he laughed. “I’m still waiting for you, Jerico. It’s not my fault you’re too stubborn to die.”
The men embraced, yet even as they held one another, Darius faded into mist and memory. Jerico dropped to a knee on the balcony floor, and only then did he let his emotions break. He bowed his head low, tears starting to fall, and wept in prayer to his god.
“Jessilynn?” cried a familiar voice. She looked to the eastern side of the tower to see Ahaesarus flying up to join her. Despite his injured side, he seemed quite capable of flight. There was no hiding the shock and surprise on his face. “Jessilynn, what have you done?”
I fear I am in danger of becoming my brother.
Jessilynn looked to the stars, and the fading silver lines that had broken the heavens. The angelic brigade of archers had long since faded, and they left behind only a peaceful, twinkling night sky. Nothing remained of Devlimar. It was a brutal crater, a smote land of upturned earth, broken marble, and buried gold. She trembled at the realization that swept over her, of a truth she should have realized sooner.
Ahaesarus had no brother.
“Peace,” she whispered, and she bowed her head in prayer to the god that watched over her, the god who had stood at her side in the guise of a loyal angel. “Yes, Ashhur, we will keep it, and cherish it. We have no choice, lest we be buried with the city of your fallen.”
33
Tarlak stood at the cusp of the crater that now marked the burial grounds of what had been Devlimar. It was the morning after the victorious siege of Mordeina and the defeat of Azariah’s fallen angels. Tarlak looked upon the ruins for the first time in the morning light and shook his head in awe.
“Makes one feel quite small, doesn’t it?” he said.
Harruq stood beside him, hands resting comfortably on his sword hilts. “It’s definitely a lot more than I could ever do with Salvation and Condemnation.”
Nothing remained of the city. It was as if the fields of Dezrel were a mouth, and they had opened up to swallow the gold, silver, and pearls of the tiny shard of the Golden Eternity. No grass remained, only upturned earth. If it had been flat, it might have resembled a recently plowed field in preparation for planting. Instead, it was drastically uneven, with jagged hills rising up to cover crumbled spires and deep pits marking where chasms had swallowed entire buildings. The very tips of various spires poked through in places, like faint landmarks of a bygone age. Despite their presumed value, no citizen of Mordeina had dared venture forth in an attempt to pillage its wealth. Maybe one day, Tarlak presumed, but not yet. Everyo
ne alive was deathly, and rightfully, afraid of these ruins.
“Why not do this from the start?” Tarlak wondered. He gestured to the complete and total devastation. “Why have us bleed and die in warfare? Was it really so important we meet on the battlefield?”
“Why did Ashhur wait until I knelt alone to send us his angels?” Harruq asked in a somber tone. “Why did Celestia grant Tessanna her power if she’d use it to let in the war demons at Veldaren? Why let us live our lives at all, since we’re certain to fuck it up and make a mess of things?”
“And so the alternative is a painted, static world with no changes or decisions of any kind,” Tarlak said, following the thread of logic. “Huh. Sounds like something Karak would be proud of.”
The half-orc’s mouth crooked into a half-smile.
“I don’t think these questions have answers we’d like, Tar. Certainly not if you want to keep wearing that pendant of Ashhur around your neck.”
In response, Tarlak pulled out the golden mountain looped by a chain he kept with him at all times. The wizard held it up, letting the morning light reflect off the gold.
“Did you see it, when it happened?” he asked, referring to Devlimar’s destruction.
“Not well,” Harruq admitted. “I was down by the castle, so I only saw everything that happened above the city walls.”
“I opened a portal to outside the city the moment it started.” He shuddered at the memory. “I had to witness it for myself. It was terrifying, Harruq. The wrath of god and goddess, unleashed upon a city. They could break us in moments, if they so desired. With a wave of her hand, Celestia could unleash both Karak and Ashhur from their prisons, and all we’d know is endless warfare. Even the line between life and death feels so loose. So arbitrary. This world of Dezrel they created, and all of us saps that fill its cities and rivers and valleys...we’re just playthings. Do our decisions even matter? What importance do our lives hold against such cosmic significance?”
The King of the Fallen Page 33
