by R. M Garino
Logan opened his eyes, and stepped away. He raised his sword before him in an effort to still the flutter in his stomach.
Gone were the trees. Gone was the fog, the sprite swarm, Obsidian and Cormac. Gone was the Sur.
He stood in his own spacious apartments at the Gates complex. Every detail was crafted with an exactness that lent weight to the illusion. These were his rooms.
“I am also not accustomed to being ignored.”
He knew that voice, and his stomach dropped upon hearing it. He closed his eyes and wished it away. Not here. Not her. Please, by all that is holy and right, not her.
She touched his shoulder, and his heart swelled.
“Logan,” Arielle said. He heard the concern in her voice, and he did not need to see her sin’del to tell it was genuine. He possessed no will to deny her request. He turned to face her, and opened his eyes.
She wore two swords now, one at her waist, and one at her shoulder. Her clothes were rumpled, as if they had been slept in, but otherwise they were clean. Her hazel eyes gave an indication of fatigue, but her face was scrubbed and her silver hair brushed.
“You changed your hair,” he said.
Arielle touched her loose mane, giving him a nervous glance.
The movement, her beauty, gave him pause and dulled his senses. The scent of her filled his nostrils and awakened a surge of energy that tingled across his skin. His thoughts grew sluggish, and his throat constricted.
This happened before. The night before he left for the Sur. He had those exact thoughts, said those exact words. She responded the exact same way.
He stepped away, backing into the pillar. His desire warred with his reason. What he knew and what he wanted were at odds, and his emotions proved to be the stronger.
Arielle wore a melancholy expression while she studied him. Her face made it difficult for him to think. Why was his sword drawn?
“I could not let you face the trials without speaking to you,” she said. “You caught me by surprise earlier. I was shocked to see you, and the lo’el were picking up on that. I do not have the control I need with them yet. But I am learning.”
The lo’el. He remembered the lo’el. He went to the A’gist, the pastures, to speak with her. She turned her pup on him. And then somehow she turned his own lo’el, Dusk, against him as well. The memory darkened his countenance and he moved around the room. It was not supposed to have happened that way.
“How are you, Logan?” Arielle said.
But it had. He stopped his circuit. It already happened. This all happened already.
So what if it did? What did that mean? Was he forced to repeat the same boorish behavior, the same arrogant banter? How many times did he replay this very night, this very conversation over and over in his mind? The things he wished he said? The things he should have said. The ideas he wanted to impart onto her before she left that would make her understand.
“I love you.” The words leapt from his lips, and he held out his hand to her. “I love you, and I am nothing without you. I cannot live like this. I want to die. The thought of being without you… how empty I am… the thought of you with him. It enrages me… I want to kill him… Its wrong, but-”
“There’s nothing wrong with your anger.” Arielle touched his arms and silenced his outburst. His thoughts stilled. “It is yours,” she said, “is it not? It is how you feel. What could possibly be wrong with that? Your rage is pure. It clears away confusion. It makes you strong.”
She touched his face and drew her finger down his jaw. He flinched from the contact. She wore no gloves. Her skin was bare. Her touch ignited his clairvoyance. This too happened last time, and he cringed. He knew what was to come. Images of her and Angus together in their bliss.
But it was too late.
Images and sensations flooded his mind. Pictures of hatred, of rage, of violence bombarded him, and Logan reeled with the impact. FLASH. A being fought against the stone of its imprisonment. Villages burned. Bodies lay broken amid a thickening haze of si’ru. Blood covered walls. The depictions of destruction and brutality continued unabated, growing in intensity. And underlying it all, threading through every scene of cruel debauchery was an ardent, unbridled hate. Logan felt small in its presence, insignificant beneath the scope of its intensity.
Screams filled his ears, cries of pain and pleas for mercy.
His sword fell from his fingers and he battered at his ears to silence the cries. His own scream added to the cacophony, but he failed to notice. He scrubbed at his eyes to darken them to the horrors he beheld.
They did not stop.
On and on they came, driving all hope, all sense of kindness and decency before them. The sheer magnitude, the tremendous potency of the emotion bore down on him and shattered his very core. Wisps of his enmity drifted up from the wreckage. His own malice whirled into the chaos, and added to the conglomerate.
His hatred reared.
It filled him.
He luxuriated in the sensation even while it repulsed him.
And from the scenes of ferity came a shaft of light, brilliant in its elusive splendor. A presence engulfed him, embraced him and pulled him back from the charnel pit that subsumed his mind. A voice, soothing in its persistence, beckoned him and called his attention. His fury rebelled, but to little avail. By degrees the illumination increased and Logan’s soul quieted.
The monstrosities fell away, and with their departure, Logan beheld within their depths a suggestion of pure luminescence. A fleeting figure, a remnant of the original Aesari buried deep, shone within the maelstrom surrounded by a flailing mass of shadowed appendages. The construct flittered across his awareness and departed.
There is still a hint within them, Logan thought. They can be saved.
“Push away the hate, Logan,” it said. “Push past the fear. Push past the pain. They are illusions that cloud your mind. Ground yourself in who you are. See who you are.”
Logan clung to the voice with a fierce desperation, soothed by the deep confidence and command it carried.
A conflicting array of images battered aside those that fled his mind. FLASH. He watched himself standing in the sanctum, a superior swagger to his gait when he moved. His speech, confident and sure. He flowed across the ground before the Gate of Fang and Thorn, danced among the shrulks and ripped them asunder with Cormac at his back.
“See who you are, Logan.” Obsidian held him, his arm wrapped around him from behind. His other was raised, and emanated a brilliant shield. Darkened bodies struck and sizzled across the barrier. Logan pitched and convulsed, still in the grips of the clairvoyant onslaught. He bit down on a piece of wood between his teeth, the severity of the episode decorated his tongue with fragments of bark.
"You are a Blade of the Areth'kon. You are heir to House Fel'Mekrin." Obsidian held him fast throughout the seizure. Each truth he spoke ignited a chain of associations in Logan's mind. “You are Lethen’al! You fell from Heaven, in defiance of the Creator's wishes! You chose to become a steward of the earth! But peaceful communion is not enough for you. You want to be counted against the darkness and the destruction of your kind.
“So you became an Areth’kon Blade and learned to be the greatest warrior this world has ever known. But it is not enough for you to lay down your life in service of your kind. You want to do more!
“You wish to join the Elc’atar Guard. You wish to stand with those who hold to the memory of Prince El’Cain Tu’renthien by their every breath and action.
"You are Elc'atar, Logan," Obsidian said. "Remain true to who and what you are."
The world swam in and out of focus, and Logan fought to adjust. The fog thinned to a dark mist, with shapes churning within.
He removed the stick and spat out the debris. He was nauseous and his head swam with the after images, but with each second that passed he improved. He recalled where he was, and the sight of the trees reminded him of what was happening.
“Let go.” He swatted at Obsidi
an's arm and surged to his feet. Obsidian clapped a restraining hand upon his shoulder.
“Patience, Fel’Mekrin,” Obsidian said. He pointed with his chin, indicating the area just outside the shield. “You are Areth’kon. Mark your enemy. Study the terrain.”
Logan looked beyond, into the milling horde of shrulks. He noted their placement, their lines of attack and egress. The shrulks held the middle and high ground. He and Obsidian were outnumbered, in a declivity and with limited visibility.
“Can you move this shield?” Logan looked at the forces arrayed against them with no emotional reaction.
“Its stationary.” Obsidian shook his head.
“How far in are we?” Logan said. “What is our direction?”
“A few hundred yards or so. We need to move northwest, to our left. That will take us out of his domain.”
Logan scowled.
“What of Cormac?” he said. “We cannot forsake him.”
Obsidian stood.
“We need to head northwest,” he said.
“Where is Cormac?”
“Northeast,” Obsidian nodded his head in the indicated direction. “But that is not a wise course.”
“I do not run from my responsibilities, E'ine.” Logan stepped up so they were face to face, even though he had to crane his neck to meet his gaze. “When you drop the barrier, I head northeast.”
Obsidian watched him. His dark visage betrayed no expression.
“Your friend is gone,” he said. “Cormac is dead. We need to get out of this area.”
“I do not give over so easily.” Logan clenched his fists. “Drop the shield.”
“Will you listen to -”
“I will save my brother!” Logan shouted and shoved the E'ine against the barrier.
Obsidian ignored the assault on his person. It did not even register in his sin'del.
“Then you will need this.” He held Logan's sword aloft. “Use the trees to break up their charge. Head up the next slope. That is where I last saw him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Lo'ademn
Logan and Obsidian crested the rise, and were met with yet more shrulks. Without pause, Logan dove forward. He drew the dagger from his waist and used both hands to deliver death. Obsidian ranged into the periphery of his vision. The edge of his weapon was encased in a silver light, and whatever it touched parted like the mist.
His sin'del tingled and announced the presence of approaching magic.
A blue sphere of energy burned through the vapor, and Logan stepped to the side. It sailed past and raised the hairs on his arms with its discharge. It impacted with a tree, which inverted its colors, and fell away in a puff of ash. Another sphere shot out, and Logan bent to the side.
A shield appeared before him, and a fourth ball of energy smashed against the bulwark.
They entered a clearing were the haze parted.
Cormac stood in the center, ablaze in ethereal light, his hands poised for another strike.
Logan stopped, stunned by the sight.
“Down!” Obsidian shoved him from behind, just as a bar of blue energy sprang forth from Cormac’s hands.
Logan clawed his way out of the dirt. Obsidian was wreathed in a white blaze, and threw himself forward.
“No,” Logan screamed. “We need to help him.”
Obsidian and Cormac met in the center of the field. Cormac met the downward swing of Obsidian's sword with his own, and a shockwave blasted forth. Tendrils of wayward energy flailed about with each impact. Trees burst. Shrulks shattered into millions of tiny pieces. Logan dove for cover, somersaulting over a stray blast.
He rolled out of the explosion and regained his feet, just as Obsidian was thrown backward. Logan charged forward and stole Cormac’s attention with a swift kick to the sternum. Instead of doubling him over, Cormac regarded him, an insane smile decorating his face. His eyes were black. His sin’del was enormous and arrayed like six dark wings behind him.
“Wait your turn, meat bag.” Cormac swiped at him, but Logan dodged with ease. “I have history with this one.”
“Remember yourself.” Logan ducked beneath the next swipe of Cormac's blade. He refused to turn his weapon on his friend. “You are Cormac of House Fel’Mekrin.”
“I am Aenir.”
The pronouncement made Logan slow to avoid the next attack, and the tip of Cormac’s blade nipped his shoulder. Fire raced down his arm from the slight wound, and he knew the truth.
His brother was gone.
All reluctance left him, and he pressed the attack. An upswing carved a channel in Aenir’s face, though it was Cormac’s visage that bled.
The Lo'ademn swung again, his anger and hatred roiled out ahead of him. Logan met the attack and parried, opening the outside of Aenir’s arm.
The Lo’ademn charged and knocked Logan over with his shoulder. His blade fell from his grasp with the impact, and he rolled out of the way. He avoided a chopping strike and struck out with his foot to shatter Aenir’s kneecap. The blow did not faze him. Cormac’s body shifted, but the leg snapped back into place with an audible crunch of bone.
A blast of white light struck Aenir and sent him tumbling to the side.
“You need to leave.” Obsidian helped Logan to his feet and handed him his sword. “Now.”
“I gave him my word I would bring him home.” Logan wiggled to get free, but the damned E'ine held him fast. “Let me go!”
“You cannot fulfill your promise now,” Obsidian said. “You are Areth’kon, Logan. Think like a Blade!”
Logan ceased his efforts and appraised the situation. It was as Obsidian said. Aenir controlled Cormac now. Regardless of the form it wore, that thing was a Lo’ademn. If he brought that back, the Patresilen would fall.
His friend was dead.
He failed him.
“I’m not leaving him with Cormac’s body.” Logan pushed away his failure and readied himself in the first position.
Aenir regained his feet. A flow of shrulks surrounded him.
“I would rather Aenir not have a body,” Obsidian adjusted his grip on his sword. “Lead on. I will follow.”
“Boots in the blood,” Logan said, his ears laid back against the sides of his head.
The shrulks charged, and they rushed to meet them.
A flurry of blades crashed against the onslaught of teeth and claws. He felt Obsidian's sin’del surround him, and seconds later, his own energy field snapped tight against his flesh. A rush of vitality coursed through him.
The satyagraha.
The perfect armor.
Shrulks shattered beneath his fists and his blade cleaved them in two. They were an afterthought. They were an obstacle, placed in his way to prevent him from reaching his true target. To his side, Obsidian fought and demolished everything in his path. Logan forged his way forward.
Aenir stood weaponless. He watched them and waited.
Logan crested the last pile of foul bodies and threw himself headlong.
Aneir swatted aside his attack with a bare hand. Logan twisted and slashed his blade across Cormac’s belly. The Lo’ademn grabbed him by the neck and crushed the air from his throat.
Logan sliced the Lo'ademn's arm, its torso with repeated strikes, but was unable to find the leverage he needed. An array of clairvoyant images flooded him through the physical contact.
The blast of a silver edged sword blew through the flesh of Aenir's other arm and he dropped Logan.
The E'ine placed himself between them and drew the Lo'ademn's ire. Aenir struck out with a frenzy of blows Obsidian was hard pressed to parry, but he held his position. Obsidian's head snapped to the side from a punch to the face, followed by a spray of blood and teeth. The leader of the Lost Guard stumbled.
Logan forced himself to his feet, the pictures and emotions still roiling through his soul.
"You wish to stand with those who hold to the memory of Prince El’Cain Tu’renthien by their every breath and action," Logan mutte
red beneath his breath. His arms shook with the experiences he held at bay, but he kept his grip on his sword. He forced himself to take a step. "I am an Areth'kon Blade." He took another step. "I am an Elc'atar Guard."
An explosion of magical energy threw Obsidian into the darkness.
Aneir's gaze pivoted to Logan, who was closer now. A malicious grin spread across what was once Cormac's face. He stepped forward to meet his foe and raised a single finger.
A shaft of energy leapt forth. Logan felt the passage of it through the air, the potential for what it was and where it wanted to go. He knew the exact direction, just as he knew what Aenir felt when he inflicted those horrors. It was an aspect of his clairvoyance, and at the moment, he was thankful it was a part of him. The knowledge allowed him to step to the side and let it pass by him.
Aenir shot another bolt, and Logan moved away from that one as well.
The Lo'ademn chuckled and spread his arms in welcome.
"Impressive. I stand at the end of all things," Aenir said. His words were slurred, as though unsure how to use the finer skills of his new body. "Let me receive you."
Logan forced himself to close the last bit of distance. He held the clairvoyant chaos close.
"Swords will not avail you," Aenir said. "I am beyond the confines of the mortal coil –"
Logan touched the Lo'ademn on the chest.
The area of impact detonated in a soundless expanse of white light.
The images he cradled, the volatile emotions that sought to consume him were released, projected back at Aenir. The Lo'ademn staggered, stunned by the psychic assault.
Logan was quick to thrust his sword into Aenir's chest. He withdrew the blade, swung it around, and cleaved the head from its shoulders.
Cormac’s lifeless body crumpled. His head bounced and rolled away. A spray of si'ru erupted from the wound, and sprites darted in from the periphery of the forest. An ethereal cascade of images played out between and around them.
Logan wrenched Obsidian to his feet and pushed him. Shrulks crept forward from beneath the trees and scented the air.
“Move,” he commanded. “You have to leave. Now.”