Word of Truth

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Now he was here. It was then that he realized he had no idea where “here” was. Was that his final failure? Was this the afterlife?

  “Hello?” Rand asked, his voice carrying.

  Everything was white. But as he started to walk, shadows took the shape of buildings and streets. He saw the Glass Castle rising high above them, even taller from down in sunken Dockside.

  That was where he was. He recognized the couturier on the corner. Spinning a slow circle, he noticed that the entire district was empty. But not only that—every building burned. He could smell the seared wood and ash, taste the smoke, and feel the heat.

  He coughed, then shouted. “Hello!”

  No one answered.

  His weary feet carried him along Port Street into the thicker smoke that forced him to cover his eyes. The blaze wasn’t spreading or destroying, just crackling in place. He turned down the stairs toward the North-End Harbor. Stopping by the water and searching from side to side, he spotted a lone figure seated down on the dock, veiled in smoke.

  “Hey!” Rand called out. He started to jog, his feet bare against the wooden planks that’d given him so many splinters as a boy. In fact, he was now dressed in rags as he used to then.

  “Hey, what are you doing! Can’t you see the city’s burning?” He kept pushing through until the smoke cleared. His heart skipped a beat, and he skidded to a stop, no doubt earning one of those infamous splinters.

  It was Sigrid sitting just in front of old Gunter’s oyster stand, which was also on fire.

  His Sigrid.

  “Let it burn,” she said. Then she raised a fishing rod and cast her line into the inlet.

  “Sigrid, is that really you?” Rand whispered.

  “Ye never were very observant, big brother. It’s a miracle that ever ye made Shieldsman.”

  Tears welled in Rand’s eyes. He couldn’t even feel himself walking, but somehow he wound up directly behind Sigrid, watching as the breeze tossed her curls. And they were red as the fire across all of Dockside, not upyr-white as he’d come to know them in recent days.

  “They must not have had high standards.” He half-laughed, half-sniveled.

  Sigrid’s fishing rod jerked. “Got one.”

  She struggled for only a few moments, and then like the expert Rand knew, she pulled in a fish. He shuffled up next to her and slowly crouched, eying her in disbelief the entire way. She held up the fish to observe.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Rand asked.

  “Nothin,” she said. “Absolutely nothin.” She gave it a wriggle, then unhooked the line and tossed it back in.

  “Sigrid, is this a dream?” No longer able to control himself, Rand clutched her shoulder and turned her to face him. Her stunning green eyes looked back, only, there was no light in them. It made her almost unrecognizable, despite her appearance. The Sigrid Rand knew could always make his days seem brighter—cheer him when all the world seemed to be ending.

  “No,” she said. “It’s the purge. The real one. Not the one that got me killed the first time. Do ye want to see the spot where I bled out? Where that controllin wretch Kazimir found me?”

  Rand sat and let his legs dangle over the water.

  “I should’ve never left you here with them,” he said. “I know that now.”

  “Yet here we be. Can’t be undone, it can’t. Just like that Tessa of yers can’t be brought back to life. Or any of the people ye killed.”

  Rand bit his lip. “No, they can’t. But this? We have to at least put the fire out.”

  “Why? What did any of these people ever do for us? Force us to murder. Make us work so they can toss a few bronzers our way and move on? Let em all burn with it. Maybe somethin better will grow from the ashes.”

  “You know it won’t. Not with her in control. I see that now. I know you do too.”

  “Can’t be worse.” She turned away and started fixing another worm on her hook.

  “It can be. I promise you, it can.”

  “What do ye care anyway? All these people, they cursed and betrayed ye, then call ye the traitor. Even Torsten, coming day after day to check on ye. Where was he when Valin took us? Where was he when I died on the streets? They abandoned us all.”

  “That’s not you, Siggy. That’s Nesilia, taking over your thoughts.”

  “It ain’t her. They’re all food, Rand. No different than the fish.” She cast her line in again.

  “You’re lying to yourself. Look at you; look at your hair.” He ran his finger through one of her curls. “You’re no upyr in, wherever this is. You’re you.”

  “Go back to all the people ye chose over me, Rand.”

  “No. I’d rather let them all burn than leave you again. It was the worst mistake I ever made—not following Oleander’s orders when I knew it was wrong. Not deserting the shield. Leaving you. And I’ll stay here an eternity if that’s what it takes to show you how sorry I am.”

  She bobbed the fishing rod but said nothing.

  “The world sent us both down paths we never wanted,” Rand went on. “But it’s not too late to make a difference.”

  “There’s no redemption, brother, don’t ye understand that? There’s no changin what we done. The people we killed, they’ll always be dead.”

  “I know. I know. You’re right. Redemption is a dream, and I don’t want it. I don’t care what they think of me anymore. Let them blame me for killing a King, and you, for a Queen. All I care about is what you think of me.”

  “I think yer a gods-damned coward,” she snapped.

  “I am,” he replied, choking on the lump in his throat. “But I’m here.”

  He stroked her hair again, and this time, he noticed how she struggled to not look at him. Her head tilted slightly into his palm before she straightened out.

  “I made you terrified. Valin made you a prisoner. The upyr made you a monster. Nesilia made you something so much worse… All I want is for you to be you again. The sister I loved. The sister I—I…” He choked up again. “The sister I looked up to all my life, even though you were younger.”

  Sigrid’s throat bobbed. She lowered the fishing rod, and the line went slack, but still, she didn’t turn.

  “The truth is, my dearest Sigrid,” Rand said. “Without you, I’m nothing. I’m a coward—worse even. A deserter, a traitor—all of it. Without me, you’re still the strongest woman I’ve ever known. So, I sit here, begging you to realize what I did the moment you caught our first dinner. You never needed anyone—not even our parents. And you don’t need Nesilia.”

  Sigrid sniffled. Then, just as Rand was about to keep going, she turned and threw her arms around him. It caught him off guard at first, but as his head fell against her shoulder, it was the pillow he’d always needed.

  “I just want to stop bein so angry,” she whimpered.

  Her chest heaved against his. Her heart raced. Rand squeezed harder and let himself feel everything, tears running down his cheeks as he fought to breathe.

  “I know,” he said. “I know, Siggy. But don’t blame the world. They don’t know what they’re doing. Just blame me. Only me.”

  Rand peered through the strands of her messy hair and saw the fire throughout Yarrington starting to extinguish. Embers flurried all over the horizon in a way that he found surprisingly beautiful. It was like they were dancing to some unheard melody. He could almost imagine the notes… like from a Glintish bard playing her salfio.

  “I forgive ye, brother,” she whispered into his ear, and never was there a sound sweeter.

  “And I’m here for you, Siggy,” he replied. “Whatever you want to do.”

  “Let the world, let Nesilia, let all the monsters and the men fend for themselves. I’m done fightin…”

  XLIX

  The Knight

  It was a split-second decision. While Nesilia reeled, first from Rand’s attack, and then Sora’s, Torsten could have gone for a blade. Instead, he grabbed Rand and saved him from the fury of his enraged ma
ster.

  He didn’t do it to save Rand. It was something from Whitney’s story that spurred him—unbelievable as that was. Using Sora’s connection to Nesilia through Lightmancing hadn’t worked, but when they tried last time, it was Whitney’s connection to the body Nesilia stole that gave them a chance, not the goddess, herself.

  That was Rand.

  “You should have aimed for the heart,” Nesilia spoke, and a burst of energy helped throw Torsten and Rand forward, close to Lucindur. Just where they needed to be.

  “Torsten, you…” Rand muttered as Torsten rolled him over and dragged him even closer. His eyes pled for forgiveness that would never be offered.

  Torsten shook his head. “You can save your sister, Rand,” he said. More than once now, he’d had the chance to kill Rand and get revenge. Part of him wanted to, but another… it felt the mercy of Iam’s light.

  “Lucindur, this is Sigrid’s brother,” Torsten said, sitting Rand across from her. “We need you one last time.”

  “I can’t…” Lucindur groaned. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” Torsten released Rand and crawled to her. “I believe in you.” He cradled her broken body, lifting the salfio into place and holding up her arm. She was so exhausted from Nesilia breaking free, her muscles barely seemed to work.

  “Pantego needs you now,” Torsten said, ignoring whatever Nesilia was saying. She was irrelevant now. He knew what needed to be done—why he’d spared Rand all those times when every part of him wanted to put him out of his misery.

  Lucindur closed her eyes and drew a ragged breath. “Talwyn…” she muttered as she moved her fingers into place on the strings of her instrument. Torsten held it upright and supported her arms the entire way.

  “You can do this,” Torsten urged.

  “I think I’ll kill you all now,” Nesilia said.

  “Sigrid, you have to be in there,” Rand sniveled, the Brike Stone lying right beside him. “Please… don’t…”

  Nesilia made her move. Torsten had been in countless battles, and his heart had never stopped like it did then. He held his breath. He’d have closed his eyes if he had eyes to close. He focused, feeling the muscles of Lucindur’s forearm tense as she strummed a chord, as if channeling his own strength into her.

  When he breathed out, Nesilia was directly in front of them, the Brike Stone in her grip. She’d squeezed it so hard in that fraction of a second, it began to crack, releasing ribbons of dark energy. But she couldn’t break it because, like Rand, her eyes were rolled back, and she was completely frozen in place. Lucindur continued to play, and Torsten didn’t dare move lest he disturb her harmony.

  Whitney and Sora stumbled over, supporting each other while Whitney held his injured hand. “She’s the sister Rand talked about when we were together, isn’t she?” Whitney asked.

  Torsten nodded.

  “You yigging genius. I could kiss you!” Whitney exclaimed. He went to hug him, but Sora barred him.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t disrupt anything.”

  “Aye, ye remember last time?” Tum Tum said. He leaned against a column, clutching his wounded leg with Aquira on his lap. The little wyvern seemed to have passed out from pain, wheezing with each unconscious breath.

  “Aquira,” Sora blurted, running toward them.

  “She’ll be fine, Lassie,” Tum Tum said. “Focus on what needs be done.”

  “Now, there’s a good question. What now?” Whitney asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Torsten replied. “You both did this last time.”

  “The bar guai magically stabbed right into her!” With his good hand, Whitney reached for the Brike Stone nestled in Nesilia’s hand, then stopped. She couldn’t move, but the dozens of twisted bodies lying all around them had him justifiably cautious.

  Whitney turned to Torsten. “This is just a stone.”

  “You useless—“ Torsten’s jaw clenched. “Do we kill the body then?”

  “No,” Sora said, circling around behind her. “She’s trapped while Lucindur plays. But the moment we do that, she’ll take over another of us.”

  Nesilia’s eyes twitched. Her fingers shifted slightly.

  “Well, we better hurry,” Torsten said.

  “Oh, thanks for the tip,” Whitney said. He looked to Sora, opened his mouth to ask a question, but nothing came out. She too looked baffled.

  Worse still, the roar of the wianu echoed. The sound was so close now, Torsten could do nothing but imagine them like they were in the streets of Latiapur, flouncing through the city, destroying everything, and wheezing for water. The clamor of stone crumbling and the shaking floor suggested just that.

  He could also perceive the distant cries to “hold the walls” and “fight to the last breath.” Sir Mulliner was a capable commander, but there was no holding back the tide of her horde. Eventually, it’d break through.

  Torsten returned his focus to Whitney and said, “If Rand gets his sister to reject her, and we’re not ready—“

  “She’ll kill us all and take back the body she treasured,” Sora finished for him. She gazed sullenly down at her own hands as if picturing the blood that stained them while Nesilia was in control.

  “I won’t let that happen,” Whitney said. “Never.”

  “That’s not up to you,” Torsten snapped.

  “No, it isn’t,” said a voice from the door behind the Royal Council chairs.

  All their eyes snapped up to see Dellbar, strolling across the dais. He tapped along with his cane, calm as ever. His head turned from side to side as though he could see the slaughter throughout the room.

  “Dellbar, where have you been?” Torsten questioned.

  “Waiting. Until the time was right,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, what he said,” Whitney added, puffing out his chest.

  Dellbar strode by Whitney like he wasn’t even there. He stopped beside Nesilia, empty eye-sockets set upon her.

  “The bar guai would have failed,” he said. “There was no light in it. She would have broken free in moments, with the help of this upyr or not.”

  “Hey, you weren’t there!” Whitney jabbed a finger, clearly forgetting his hand was injured. His face corkscrewed in pain, but he didn’t back down. “If we’d stopped her then, all those people out there would still be alive. They’d all be alive!”

  Dellbar rested his hand upon Whitney’s shoulder. “No, there was nothing you could’ve done,” he said softly. Then he moved around in front of Nesilia. “This is the moment it was always meant to be. Iam’s great mistake, redeemed by the unbreakable love of those born into the darkness of this world.”

  “Dellbar, now isn’t the time for your riddles,” Torsten said, his arms growing weak from supporting Lucindur’s. She wasn’t heavy, far from it, but in her state, her entire body felt like dead weight.

  “I often asked myself why Iam chose me when I cursed Him so,” Dellbar said. “Now I know. That is His truth. The darkness cannot exist without the light, and so too, can it not die. So long as she remained buried, the feud endured. Now, it shall end, and this land of Pantego will finally be left in the hands of men.”

  A fiendish shout sounded above. Torsten looked up and saw a goblin skittering in through the broken spire. One, then two, then so many more. They hurled rocks and shot their poison darts as they crawled down the walls, many of them falling to their deaths as pieces broke away under their combined weight. More grimaurs joined them, squawking like vultures over corpses.

  Sora quickly jumped forward and raised her arm. Fire arced from it, but not as a weapon. The very flames Torsten had watched destroy so much formed a protective shield over them, vaporizing all the projectiles before they could hit.

  Her limbs all shook. Blood leaked from her nose.

  A deafening roar was followed by a crash of stone. One giant tentacle broke through the ceiling, slithering down with the other beasts, followed by another—all Nesilia�
��s enslaved monsters abandoning the war to protect her.

  The barks and growls of hellhounds emanated from the back entrance leading to the castle undercroft and the destroyed crypts.

  “Do something, you rambling fool!” Whitney shouted.

  Dellbar dropped his cane, then closed his hands around Nesilia’s, both sets covering the Brike Stone. He whispered under his breath, and with all the racket of creatures closing in around them, Torsten couldn’t understand the words—only see the way his mouth formed Iam’s name.

  Nesilia twitched again, stronger this time. Dellbar held tight, and that same aura that formed around the brave priests outside formed around him. It swirled over their hands, mixing with the darkness of the Brike Stone. His empty eye-sockets turned to light like they had on the fields of White Bridge when Iam took over his body.

  The air started to tingle. Everything shook. Sora screamed as she pushed her powers to the brink, her fiery shield pushing outward to repel falling goblins and diving grimaurs. The hounds scampered through the door and charged. Tum Tum hobbled forward on his injured leg and smashed one in the head with his hammer, then engaged another.

  The wianu shattered the glass spire completely, and more tentacles thrashed in as its soulless eyes and terrifying maw appeared above.

  Rand and Lucindur gasped at the same time. The latter’s body fell limp in Torsten’s arm, her hand slipping down, and she stopped playing for a moment. He feared the end had come. Then, a ghostly presence rose from the bosom of Sigrid’s body. The shape of a women’s face formed.

  “You will not take this world from me, Iam!” Nesilia roared, now without any of Sigrid’s voice in her own. It was all-encompassing, making even the roar of the wianu seem small and harmless.

  “None of you will!” she went on. “Pantego is mine. You are all mine.”

  Sora was forced to her knees as more creatures, including the wianu, crashed upon her shield. It seared and burned, but slipped down to ground level. Some of its tentacles still gripped the ceiling, casting them all in shadow, closing in around them, one slowly wrapping Sigrid and Dellbar themselves.