A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine

by Quaintrell, Philip C.

  Turning on his heel, he was encircled by the sandy rock of The Undying Mountains, deep into Illian’s south. It was dark except for the torches that illuminated the elevated dais that had been carved out of the rock. A new sound reached his ears and Sarkas looked up to see the shattered remains of Paldora’s Star.

  The magic that radiated from the heavenly rocks kept the pieces afloat, there to collide for evermore.

  A sharp squawk turned the young wizard to the dais. There, perched on the edge, was a crow, its feathers a deep black. Again, the knowledge of what was happening escaped him, as if the spell was refusing to reveal the truth of the event.

  Sarkas cautiously approached the dais, his sight drawn to the crow’s dark eyes. The bird watched him intently, never flinching. A few steps from the dais, his feet rooted him to the spot. Slowly, but surely, the world around him faded from his vision, leaving only those bottomless orbs.

  A horrible feeling crept over Sarkas, opening a pit in his stomach. The crow pulled him in until the darkness swallowed him whole.

  The winds of time returned with a blasting vengeance. Sarkas screamed but the sound of it was lost, drowned out by the wind in his ears. Nameless colours imprinted on his mind, keeping his eyelids from closing.

  The future assaulted him like the crack of a whip, the power of it threatening to undo him.

  He saw himself standing in the middle of The Wild Moores, surrounded by his brothers of The Black Hand, a cult of his own making. He could feel that this particular place, hidden deep in the heart of the woods, was drenched in old and powerful magic. Sarkas winced when the older version of himself plunged a dagger into his own heart, dropping him dead into the snow.

  Time swept in and ravaged the landscape. The young wizard saw people flit in and out of the site where he had been buried but they were naught but blurs, specks in the canvas of time. Sarkas could only watch, sure that his skin was soon to be stripped from his body by the savage winds.

  The same landscape returned to him with clarity and he knew he had just watched the world move on ten thousand years. Now, his long dead corpse was surrounded by men in black robes - The Black Hand. Following the instructions he would leave, they used the magic of the Jainus to resurrect him so that he might continue his work.

  The winds of time increased and he could no longer hold on to the moment. Dragged away, he gritted his teeth and let the currents take him where they would. What bombarded him was difficult to comprehend. Images, sounds, and even smells washed over him as he was thrown from one moment in time to another.

  He saw pale monsters, crowned with horns, rising from The Under-Realm to greet him: orcs, beasts still unknown in Sarkas’s time. They were cruel and barbaric but they served their purpose he saw. Illian would fall to their wrath, only to rise up, stronger than before. The kingdoms, long fractured, would be brought together under one banner, though Sarkas saw two competing for the throne.

  The Fated War. The house of Galfrey pitted against the house of Draqaro. The dragon and the flaming sword.

  The outcome of this war would reshape the realm forever, changing not only the way people lived but also the way they thought. It was true peace. Reaching this point would be arduous, leaving a trail of death and blood in history’s wake. But the peace he observed was shatteringly beautiful and worth all the sacrifices.

  It all hinged on one single event in the Third Age: the birth of a boy and a girl, twins. Their fates would clash and determine the world that would rise from the ashes of the war.

  Great turmoil was added to Sarkas’s pain when he saw the events that would lead to their birth; events he would orchestrate. The War for the Realm would claim thousands of lives over thousands of years, but it would bring a princess and a knight together. The love between Reyna Sevari and Nathaniel Galfrey would change all of Verda.

  The pain intensified.

  Sarkas would have fallen to his knees but he wasn’t really standing on anything; simply existing. He saw western armies marching on the east as Erador’s ancient warriors were raised from their graves and set to the task of restoring order in Illian. He saw dwarves, the mysterious children of the Vengoran mountains, flattened by Reavers and undead dragons. He saw an elven fleet burning on Adean waves, though he had never heard of or seen such fair creatures.

  Malliath reigned above it all.

  The fire beneath him grew until the dragon and the ocean itself disappeared. Sarkas was drawn back from the blaze by unseen forces until he was granted the image of a burning tree. It was mountainous. The white bark was slowly being charred black by the ravenous inferno. Its magnificent red leaves were reduced to ash on the breeze. With every inch it lost, the world lost a modicum of its magic.

  What came next was heartbreaking, bringing more tears to Sarkas’s eyes.

  Then, like a child discarding a toy, time rejected its observer and spat the young wizard out. His eyes opened to the real world and he immediately lurched to the side and expelled the contents of his stomach. His heart was pounding in his chest and his muscles ached from the tension.

  Seated on the floor, he collapsed back against the wall and let his head loll to the side. In the quiet of a long-abandoned storage room, Sarkas wept, his emotions scattered. There was a way, however convoluted, that he could create a future where the strong held up the weak. It was a contrasting world to the one he knew. But to get there, to bring peace and prosperity for endless generations, he would have to become something far worse than anything that had come out of The Echoes order or even their predecessors, the Jainus.

  He would have to become a monster…

  Sarkas shut his eyes but he could still see all the things he was going to do to that poor boy. But Alijah Galfrey would unite the world - he had seen it.

  Feeling warm steel in his hand, the young wizard looked down to see a knife clutched in his fingers. It was red with blood.

  Lying beside Sarkas was a man, perhaps his own age. He had recently been initiated into The Echoes priesthood, along with hundreds of others. No one would miss the wretch, destined with the rest of his order to achieve nothing with his life. His blood, however, had served the entire realm.

  Sarkas looked to his right, where the book of the Jainus lay with its pages open. His eyes ran along the title, translating the older language.

  The Winds of Time.

  It was the most powerful spell in the whole book, in all the books. Sarkas wiped his mouth before ripping the page out and stuffing it into his robes. Thinking of everything he had just witnessed, he could already feel particular events fading, their edges losing their details. He would need to use the spell again: and then again and again if he had to. He would get every piece of the tapestry right in his mind.

  He would see it done.

  Part I

  1

  Home

  Darkness. That was all that awaited Alijah Galfrey. Beyond that, the unknown. Such was the fate of any who fell into a portal, a pitch-black maw hungry to consume him like quicksand. There was nothing he could do. In the same moment he heard the crystal shatter at his feet, the magic therein tore through the fabric of reality with terrifying ease.

  The shock of it instantly robbed the half-elf of his rage. There was barely time to think, but he still managed to consider what awaited him on the other side and wondered if it was death.

  Adilandra, his grandmother, watched his descent into the abyss. Disappointment and heartbreak ruined her fair features. One more step and he would have brought his wrath down upon her, striking at the betrayal that broke his own heart.

  But all that rage was gone, taken by surprise and fear of the unknown. Had she doomed him? Had he doomed himself with such rash action? His questions fled with all haste when the world returned to him with despairing clarity.

  Emerging from the portal, he could see The Hox churning as he plummeted towards it: an ancient beast of a sea that took no prisoners. Turning inward, Alijah sought to erect what he could of a shield, anything t
o soften the blow. He could feel the magic swelling inside of him, but he was still exhausted from the Jainus’s spell.

  The shield flickered, its strength fluctuating in harmony with Alijah’s faltering will.

  I’m coming for you!

  Malliath’s voice was the only thread of comfort before the ocean accepted the king into its icy embrace. There was pain, but there was also peace. The shield saved his life if not all of his bones, leaving Alijah to drift deep beneath the surface. Had he claimed victory? Had he done what the Jainus had failed to do so long ago? These questions, and many more, faded away.

  He sank into the icy depths, weighed down by his scale mail. Somewhere between life and death, he saw a monster gliding towards him. The Hox itself birthed the dark creature as it grew in size, encompassing his vision.

  What remained of his mind wondered, without fear, if it was the fabled Leviathan that stalked these cold waters. There was no fight left in him. Even now he could feel himself succumbing to the call of death.

  Hold on… Malliath beckoned, his voice strained with pain.

  That dark creature, the Leviathan that had come to consume him, revealed itself to be a creature of beauty and hope. Malliath scooped up Alijah in his front claws and made for the surface. The waves gave way to the dragon and he flapped his powerful wings, clearing The Hox altogether.

  It was only seconds before their flight came to an end.

  Alijah felt wet sand beneath him as Malliath’s claws released him onto the beach. He turned his head as much as his fatigue would allow and laid eyes on his eternal companion. The dragon appeared just as exhausted as he did, his purple eyes struggling to stay open.

  Malliath… he called across their bond. Take us home.

  * * *

  Alijah opened his eyes and awoke with a start. Dream and reality bled into one, colliding with dizzying effect.

  There were memories, just beyond his reach, that beckoned his attention. He could hear clashing steel in the passages of his mind, then the staccato of devastating spells. Galanör Reveeri’s voice called out to him, though his exact words escaped Alijah’s grasp.

  It all felt so surreal.

  Before sitting up, his fingers investigated the ground beneath him - wet sand. He could smell the ocean, hear its crashing waves. He lay within a cavern of stalactites, each glistening like the stars.

  Alijah knew instantly where he was. Sanctuary. The king sat up, aware that his surroundings were a construct of his mind, a place where his bond to Malliath was given physical form. As always, it was beneath the ruins of Korkanath, in the cave where ancient mages had forced Malliath to dwell while he guarded their island. It had also been the first place Alijah had made real contact with the dragon, beyond the machinations of The Crow.

  Something darker than the shadows stirred in his periphery and he knew it to be Malliath. Alijah picked himself up, ignoring the sand that clung to him - it wasn’t real after all. On his feet, the king glanced at the cave entrance where The Adean leapt at the island with an incessant rhythm. He paid the view no heed, instead turning his attention to the dark corners of the cavern.

  Two purple eyes looked back at him.

  I have no memory of coming here, Alijah confessed.

  That is because I brought you here, Malliath answered, his voice the perfect resonance inside the king’s mind. Just the sound of it slowed his beating heart and steadied his breath.

  Alijah inspected his fist before clenching it. I am hurt, he deduced in a softer tone.

  Yes… You nearly died, Alijah. Malliath’s tone took the king back to his youth, reminding him of the way his father would speak to him after doing something foolish or dangerous.

  But you saved me, Alijah replied with a swelling heart. As always, he added.

  You weren’t prepared enough, the dragon chastised. It nearly cost you your life. Malliath drew in on himself, his thoughts and feelings his own for a moment. I could not live without you, he finally declared.

  Alijah welcomed the words and the emotions that accompanied them. Even after seventeen years, he knew Malliath still found it difficult to voice his deepest feelings, preferring to convey them without words.

  I can feel you protecting me, Alijah commented, tapping the side of his head. Whatever condition I am in, I can handle it. Show me.

  Malliath tilted his horned head and it all came back to Alijah then with clarity. Adilandra had opened a portal at his feet and dropped him into The Hox. That certainly explained why he was hurt. Another flash cut through his mind and he saw that final bolt of lightning before it struck him… and Galanör. Putting the elven ranger aside for the moment, the king turned to his companion with the most important question of all.

  Did it work? Alijah asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  Malliath didn’t respond straight away. I believe so. The magic I see in you appears different, just as I feel different.

  How so? Alijah pressed.

  Magic moves like the currents in a river, Malliath explained. It flows through us, coursing from the source, through the realms.

  The Tree, Alijah added.

  Yes. But I can no longer sense those currents. The magic that resides in us is that of a spring now, flowing in and out of our bones.

  Unlike dragons, Alijah had no way of detecting that for himself, though he trusted Malliath implicitly. He only wished there was a way to test it, before he destroyed magic and put his companion’s life at risk. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea of ruling Verda without him.

  There is more you should know, Malliath continued, before you wake to the harshness of the world.

  I told you - I can handle it. Show me everything.

  Sorting through all of his memories, and combining them with Malliath’s, Alijah quickly relived the events on Qamnaran. Seconds after Alijah had hit the water, the dragon had witnessed the tower of silvyr fall into the sea, taking some of the island with it. Though the king couldn’t say for certain, he knew in his heart that his grandmother could never have escaped the tower before it collapsed.

  The queen of elves is dead, Malliath announced confidently, having already come to the logical conclusion.

  Alijah could feel the dragon probing his thoughts and emotions then, searching for any sign of remorse or sadness. The king didn’t want to disappoint his companion with a show of such weakness, not after all they had gone through to rise above the drudgery of an ordinary life. Aware of his desire, Malliath assisted him in quashing any regret or guilt, burying it deep beneath an overwhelming sense of righteousness.

  Moving on from the loss of his grandmother, the king focused on something else he had lost, something of great value.

  The book of the Jainus, he lamented, his head hung low. It was inside the tower.

  It shares a grave with Adilandra Sevari, Malliath stated without a hint of emotion. Good riddance, the dragon added.

  Alijah didn’t share his companion’s feelings on the matter. That book possessed the knowledge of the Jainus! There were spells inside those pages that hadn’t been seen for thousands of years. They predated Atilan!

  Calm yourself, Malliath instructed. We have no need of the book nor the knowledge of the Jainus and their magic. We will open a doorway to the realm of magic without spells. And when magic itself is but a memory, so too will be the notion of mages and their wretched ways. In the balance that follows, peace will reign.

  Alijah let his head roll back beneath the jagged stalactites. As always, Malliath was right. With or without the book, they could still change the world - The Crow had seen it after all.

  The book is not all we lost, Malliath continued, releasing more memory.

  Alijah was instantly looking through the eyes of Lord Kraiden in his final moments. The Dragon Rider had been slain by Doran Heavybelly, and his dragon, Morgorth, had succumbed to the power of the elves. The king cursed magic, mimicking the venom that Malliath held for it. Yet again, it had tipped the scales and taken a valuable tool in the
war for peace. Of the five Riders he had taken Illian with, he was now down to three.

  Two, Malliath corrected, reading his thoughts like a book.

  His awareness returned to the sanctuary, and Alijah met his companion’s reptilian eyes. Two? he repeated, knowing only of Kraiden’s death to Doran and Col-vok’s death to Inara, two years previously. What are you holding back? the king demanded.

  Your mind needs time to embrace memories that are not your own.

  My mind has never been stronger. Show me!

  Malliath adjusted his position in the shadows, revealing a glimpse of his deadly teeth. As you wish.

  The dragon brought down the walls that had been protecting Alijah’s mind from a flood of foreign memories. Again, he was transported from the sanctuary and into the passages of Malliath’s mind. It was a labyrinth. There were hundreds of Reavers constantly witnessing and hearing events across the realm, but Malliath helped him to focus on just one - a lowly warrior in Namdhor. At great speed, the scene played over and over in his mind.

  Ensuring his comprehension, Malliath simply stated, Namdhor has been taken.

  Alijah’s jaw clenched when he took on the memory of Vighon jumping from the keep’s walls with the sword of the north blazing in his hands. Karsak’s death was instantaneous, its rotten skull no match for burning silvyr.

  Then there was Rengyr, his Dragon Rider.

  Alijah opened his eyes, returning to the sanctuary, after seeing his mother take Rengyr’s head with her enchanted bow.

  “YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM!” Reyna had shouted. Her words echoed in his mind. The betrayal stung, piercing his heart.

  Yes… Malliath purred, nurturing his rage. You have been discarded, replaced. They have a new son now.

  Alijah rubbed his face, distorting his features. A storm was taking shape inside of him, preventing the half-elf from grasping any single emotion.

  They believe you are weak, Malliath provoked. Your parents. Your sister. They rally behind the northman and his false promises. He cannot deliver peace to the people, just as he cannot defend the realm from threat.