Shadow Rogue Ascendant

by Mike Truk

  But finally, with supreme effort, I rose to my knees and pulled my hand away. The blood had stopped coming.

  Netherys was crouched beside Pony, Pogo alongside. The war troll hadn’t stood up.

  Yet. I was sure it was yet.

  Cerys was sitting with her back to the wall beside the door, arms over her knees, gazing out at nothing. Elsa was standing close by, biting her lower lip, looking conflicted. Guilty. Iris? Where was - oh. Crouched by the exemplar’s corpse, talking quietly to herself.

  “Are - are you OK?” asked Elsa, and then she laughed, a high-pitched, almost hysterical sound, and pressed her hand to her brow. “What an idiotic question. But - I don’t know - I mean, how are - ?”

  I grunted as I rose to my feet, pulling myself up by force of will. “Family trick. Great job during the fight there, by the way.”

  She flushed. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t know -”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I waved a blood -oated hand, cutting her off. “Whatever.”

  Maybe I should have been more sensitive. But fuck it. I had more important things on my mind.

  Like Cerys.

  But before I tried tackling that problem, I staggered over to where Pony lay flat out on his back. He didn’t look good. His eyes were burned out, the wound where the sword had gone in hadn’t healed over, and his mouth, ears, and nostrils were singed as if fire had come out of every orifice.

  “And?” I asked, swaying as I fought to not keel over.

  “Not good,” said Pogo, wringing his hands. “He’s alive. I believe he’s alive, or, at any rate, it’s my working supposition, given that it’s nearly impossible to get a pulse from a war troll, their hide you see, it masks -”

  “He’s not healing though,” said Netherys, voice grim. “Whatever that bitch did to him has impeded his regeneration.”

  “Fuck,” I said, lowering myself painfully by Pony’s side. He looked dead. Despite Pogo’s warning I tried to find a pulse in the side of his neck. His skin was rough, pebbled, and it was like trying to detect the flow of sewage in the pipes below by putting your hands on a street’s cobbles.

  “Pony?” I spoke right into his batwing ear. “You in there? You hear me?”

  Nothing.

  I glanced at the others. My heart was like a headstone an undertaker was pounding into place with methodical whacks of his mallet. “Could he be…?”

  Netherys shrugged. “We need Tamara.”

  An idea. “Iris!”

  She looked over at me, one eyebrow raised in irritation for being disturbed, and the Hanged God take my soul if I didn’t actually feel a wave of fear wash over me.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you come here a second? I’m - I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

  Iris rose, brushed off her dress, and strode over briskly. “The exemplar is a fascinating subject. I’d appreciate being left alone to study her.”

  “Yes, right, but could you take a look at Pony? We don’t know if he’s dead or not.” It sounded ghastly to put it that way, but before her blank and impatient gaze, I didn’t know how else to say it if not baldly.

  “Hmm.” She flicked her gaze down at the war troll. “No. Not dead. But in a state very near it. His soul is but barely tethered to his matrix.”

  “And…” This was the stretch part. “I know you can only raise the dead, but can you… do?… something to him to wake him back up?”

  “Raise the living?” She arched a brow. “You mean, heal his living matrix?”

  “I - yes. I guess that’s what I mean. Heal him.”

  Iris crouched down and placed her hand on Pony’s chest, right beside the burned stab wound. “Hmm. It’s tempting to try. But no. I’m not there yet. I could just as easily tear it apart.”

  “Not there yet?” asked Netherys, skepticism and surprise in her velvety voice. “You’re a necromancer. That’s diametrically opposed to the healing arts.”

  “If you say so,” said Iris. “Now, I do think I can help him, albeit indirectly. One moment.”

  I thought she’d rise, walk away, but instead she simply closed her eyes and frowned. I heard the scrape of metal, and then Aurora sat up.

  For some reason, despite all the time I’d spent with Iris, that gave me such a jump I fell back on my ass. For a terrified moment I thought the exemplar had regenerated her way back to life, but then - no.

  Iris had raised her.

  And with her eyes closed, the necromancer went about repairing the exemplar’s physical body. Aurora’s shattered head reconfigured itself, still-warm flesh rippling as bone knitted itself beneath, her features realigning, regaining symmetry, her posture straightening, skin smoothing over wounds.

  It took minutes. Everyone simply stared. When Iris finally opened her eyes, Aurora stood unblemished, though much paler, even her hair cleared of blood so that it hung in tousled strands from where it had escaped her tight braids.

  “What are you doing?” rasped Cerys, voice faint with outrage.

  “Attempting something quite exciting,” said Iris, half turning to consider her creation. “The exemplar’s matrix is fascinating. It’s unlike any I’ve ever seen, even that of other exemplars. It’s… what would be the right word? Robust. With redundant layers, which, I believe, might explain her ability to heal; she didn’t regenerate in the manner of a troll, but rather phased in her other matrixes into the torn parts of her original, bringing into being replacement parts of herself from - where? I don’t know. The realm of the White Sun? Another dimension? I don’t have time for philosophy. But it’s fascinating. And here I can see open connections, as if to parts of her matrix that don’t exist, or don’t yet, or perhaps - and this is but my hypothesis - it is through these open connections that she bonds with others and heals them? If Tamara dies I’ll be able to confirm, or at least get another sample. But theoretically she could pulse power through those open connections to whichever matrix she bonds with - or bonded with, her being dead, obviously - and thus temporarily fuse with them, allowing the wounded to become an extension of herself, and thus heal with her own powers.”

  She glanced around at us, smile wide, eyes alive with joy. “Isn’t that just absolutely fascinating?”

  “No,” said Cerys. “It’s sick. She deserves better than this. She deserves dignity. She deserves to stay dead.”

  “She’s still dead,” said Iris, waving her hand, “and as for dignity - where is the dignity in rotting or not being of use to anyone? Regardless. Pony. That’s what you are all concerned with, yes? Now that she’s dead and I’ve repaired the damage to her matrix, I may be able to fuse it to Pony’s own and then force a pulse of my own power through the exemplar, mimicking her ability to heal, and jolting Pony’s own regenerative powers back into action.”

  Iris licked her lower lip, head moving from side to side as she considered her own words. “All of this is, of course, highly theoretical. But it could work. And if it does, I may even be able to bring Tamara back. I meant to tell you, by the way,” she said, turning to me, “that the injury to her head is probably fatal. I don’t think she’ll wake up. She’s already sustained a lot of permanent damage to her brain and will probably die within the next day or two.”

  “She what?” I erupted to my feet, staggered back, and nearly fell as my left foot rolled under me again. “She’s going to die? You knew this? And you didn’t tell me?”

  Iris grimaced. “I meant to, earlier. But it slipped my mind, and - well - it’s not like we could do anything about it, is there? I knew you’d get upset. When I remembered again, I thought it best to let it happen ‘naturally’ as it were, so you could all grieve in a natural manner. But that doesn’t matter now. I could possibly reverse the damage and awaken her by using the exemplar.”

  My knees went weak and I sat down hard on the floor, turning to stare at Tamara’s waxen face, her eyes ringed with purple, lips pale. Was her chest even rising and falling? Yes - there, just barely. Panic arose within me. Losing Tamara - it felt like s
tepping over the edge of an abyss. An irrevocable loss, the cutting of a tie to who I used to be, who I could still be, a - a better Kellik.

  “Yes,” I said. “Do it.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Cerys. “What Iris is going to do to Aurora is a mockery of her faith, it’s - it’s tantamount to a rape of her powers. We’ve already destroyed her. Are we going to desecrate her, too?”

  Iris sighed. “Aurora is gone. This is like getting upset that we’re going to reuse a shoe after the original owner threw it in the dust heap.”

  Cerys squared off with Iris, eyes going wide. “Aurora’s body is not akin to a discarded shoe.”

  Pogo pressed both hands together as he spoke to Cerys. “If there’s a chance we can bring Pony back, then please, we have to -”

  “I killed her, yes,” said Cerys, voice trembling, “but I won’t be party to -”

  “Enough,” I said, putting enough bark into my voice to silence the argument. “And more than enough. Cerys, you know that Aurora has gone to the Ashen Garden. She’s gone. I hear you and understand your position, but we cannot let Tamara and Pony die. It’s just not an option. But. What I’ll say is that once Iris has healed our friends - and it’s Iris doing the healing, not Aurora - then we’ll release her corpse from Iris’ control and leave her here for the White Suns to collect and give burial rights.”

  Cerys’ eyes filled with tears again. Her jaw shook, but then she glanced down at Pony, back at Tamara, and gave a curt nod. “Very well. It’s not like I can make any of this any better.” And she turned and stalked away.

  Great.

  “Iris?” I said.

  Iris lowered herself to sit cross-legged, placed her hands on her knees, and closed her eyes. Aurora stepped up to Pony and crouched by his side, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  Damn me but it was eerie to see Aurora right there beside me. Serene, skin unblemished by violence, all blood pulled back inside her, looking hale and beautiful but for her pallor and lack of breath. And being dead. Despite everything I kept expecting her to turn and suddenly glare at me. Yet all she did was wait.

  Iris was muttering under her breath. She shifted around, finding a more comfortable way to sit with some measure of impatience, then leaned forward, frowning. The dark streaks under her eyes and the black lipstick stood out all the more starkly against her alabaster skin as she seemed to pale, drawing on her own vitality, channeling it into her magic.

  I clenched my jaw, gaze flicking to Aurora’s pale hand, to Pony’s still features, to his burned wounds.

  The room as a whole seemed to hold its breath.

  Iris gave a tsk of annoyance and reached out into the air, manipulating and gesturing, looking for all the world as if she were playing an invisible game of cat’s cradle or sorting through books on a shelf.

  I tasted something metallic in the air, felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  Netherys stepped forward. “Perhaps I can help.”

  Iris’ eyes snapped open. “How?”

  The dark elf canted her head to one side. “I don’t know. But Mother Magrathaar might. May I?”

  Iris hesitated then gave a decisive nod. “Don’t ruin this.” She closed her eyes again.

  Netherys extended her hands and began whispering in her version of elvish. Purple flames licked up the length of her palms and fingers, then seemed to follow invisible threads of spiderwebbing through the air, growing ever thinner until fading from view altogether. The pattern the fire traced was complex, geometric, and as I focused on their nexus the very fabric of the air seemed to fold and warp in a way that defied my senses and made me nauseated to contemplate.

  “Ah,” said Iris, “yes, that is… interesting. Now I can connect… and with…” Sweat beaded her brow, and then she clenched her jaw and suddenly light flared out from under Aurora’s hand.

  I startled, heart pounding furiously. Cerys was right. This was heretical, and surely the White Sun itself would object?

  The light that shone from under Aurora’s palm was black interlaced by weavings of brilliant purple. To call it light would be a misnomer, really - it looked more like thick smoke, or perhaps what happens to a droplet of ink or blood when it fell into water.

  “Oh,” said Iris, a sound that was surprisingly sensual, almost a moan. “I didn’t expect it to feel so good…” She bit her lower lip, closed her eyes more tightly, and then Pony jerked, his heels thrumming on the ground, his teeth chattering, arms drumming up and down.

  “Easy,” said Netherys, voice taut with tension and control. “Don’t overdo it.”

  Iris tsked again in annoyance, a dismissive sound, then exhaled and the light receded slightly under Aurora’s hand.

  “And?” asked Netherys. “What are you waiting for?”

  Iris ignored her. She turned her head this way and that as if seeing into new vistas. “Fascinating. Can you see this, Netherys?”

  The dark elf’s eyes were also closed, but she gave a brisk shake of her head. “No. Sense it, vaguely, but not see. Why?”

  “The matrices are… surprisingly malleable. Of course. They have to be, for Tamara and her ilk to work their healing and personality improvements. Look how they’re bleeding over…”

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Bleeding over? What’s bleeding over?”

  For tense seconds neither of them spoke. Netherys’ expression was one of confusion and alarm. Iris’ brows had risen, her lips parted, as if she were an artist watching a masterpiece materialize beneath her own brush.

  Pogo stepped closer to me, placed his hand on my shoulder. “Look,” he whispered. Pony’s wounds were healing. But more than that. They were glowing as they did so with a soft, white radiance. “They’ve never done that before.”

  “Iris?” I asked. “It’s working.”

  “You don’t know of what you speak,” she said. “Be quiet.”

  And… there’s not much room for a retort when you’re dealing with a supremely powerful necromancer who’s working with the corpse of an exemplar of the White Sun and a war troll while being fueled by the power of Mother Magrathaar herself.

  So I clamped my jaw shut, put my wounded pride on a small shelf located in the back of my mind, and forced myself to just pay attention.

  “This bleed over,” said Netherys, eyes still closed. “You’re doing it on purpose. You’re urging it on.”

  “Interweaving,” said Iris, still plucking at the air. “I need more. Open yourself to me.”

  Netherys hesitated. “Why? What are you trying to do? Pony is now healing.”

  “I won’t explain myself to you. You wouldn’t understand. Ask Mother Magrathaar.”

  The tension in the air was only growing more intense. I saw the dark elf’s scowl grow more severe, and then her brows quirked, as if surprised, and she opened her mouth as if to ask a question.

  “There,” hissed Iris. “That’s… better. Now, if we overlay here… and then use the exemplar’s ability to merge her matrix so as to heal… but do so instead with the troll’s fabric…”

  The rippling currents of power in the room were such that I felt my gorge rise of its own accord, my heart flutter in my chest, my skin prickle all over as I broke out into a sweat.

  “Stop this,” said Cerys, voice hoarse. “Kellik, stop her!”

  Pony sat up at the same time that Aurora collapsed onto her side as if all her strings had been cut. At the edge of the room, I heard Tamara moan.

  “Pony!” Pogo leaped forward to wrap his arms around the troll’s side.

  I ran to Tamara’s side, crossing the tomb as quickly as my bad foot allowed. She was blinking, hand pressed to her head where the wound had been dealt.

  “Tamara?” I sat heavily beside her, pulled her onto my lap, and curled a strand of her dark-brown hair away. “Are you…?”

  “What happened?” she asked, trying to focus on me. “We were being attacked…”

  Tears filled my vision and I simply pulled her into
an embrace hugging her tightly.

  “No,” I heard Iris say, and when I looked over I saw her leap to her feet and rush over to where Aurora lay on her side. “That can’t be right. Why is she…?”

  “Leave her be,” said Cerys, voice harsh. “You’ve healed Pony. Tamara is awake. You’re done.”

  Netherys pulled her hand back, closing her fingers into a fist, as if drawing on a set of reins. “Enough. We are done.”

  Iris rolled Aurora over onto her back and searched the dead woman’s face. “This doesn’t make any sense. It should have worked. She doesn’t even scan as dead any longer. Perhaps if I -”

  “Step away from her, Iris.” Cerys’ voice was taut with barely restrained fury, and I saw that she’d nocked and drawn an arrow on her gloom bow, pulling the fletching back to her ear as the entire length blazed with blue and purple light. “Now.”

  Iris froze, eyes slitted, and I could sense her thoughts, her rapid machinations.

  “That’s enough, all of you.” I gently set Tamara down and rose to my feet, moving forward to stand between them. “Cerys, put down your bow. Iris, move away from Aurora.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Iris, voice seething with frustration. I’d never seen her so worked up. “You don’t understand what I’ve almost accomplished here. The miracle I’ve nearly wrought. Nothing like this has ever been done before!”

  Netherys’ voice was tired. “And it looks like it hasn’t happened here today, either. We’re done, Iris. It’s over.”

  I carefully moved toward her, feeling as if I were approaching a feral animal that might lash out at me at any moment. “Iris, I gave my word to Cerys. You didn’t complain. We’re going to let Aurora’s body be. All right?”

  Iris bit her lower lip again as she glanced down at the corpse. “But…”

  “Iris?” I placed my hands on her shoulders, gently steered her around so that she looked at me once more. “Come on. We’re not done with our mission yet.”

  For a moment I thought she was going to argue. Resist. And I had no earthly idea what I would do if she refused me. But then she sighed, her shoulders slumped, and the fire went out from the depths of her eyes like a candle flame blown out by a breath.