by Sean J Leith
All eyes widened, and Jirah couldn’t believe it. “What?” He froze like the dead. “What about the others? What Demon? What happened?” He pummeled her with questions.
Serafina put up her hands toward him. “Please, calm down. Word is, a giant Demon came out from the ground in the middle of town. What actually happened is hard to tell with all the rumors. Some say it was sliced to death, some say a god came down and burned it, and most say a powerful Wizard defeated it.”
“A powerful Wizard?” Jirah questioned.
“The group was gone the day before I arrived. The innkeeper there said that one was missing. None of them would talk about it, but their eyes looked more sorrowful than any he’d seen before. The old man was gone. Vesper. He’s—he didn’t make it.” She shuffled her feet and her voice grew scratchy “He cast some spell that incinerated both of them.”
“Oh no,” Alex said in her deep voice. “He was nice.”
“Yes, and talented. It seemed ‘The Great Vesper’ went out fighting, to save the others.” Jirah silently saluted him.
“The thing was twenty feet tall. It claimed to be a harbinger of a god, a corruptor, and gods know what else.” Serafina continued to scratch the nape of her neck.. “What do you think it means?” Light slowly began to fade in the camp, save for the fire.
Fillion made a deal with the devil, Jirah thought. “I think it means we’re fighting a war against more than we bargained for.” Jirah fought wars against men and Broken alike, but no Demons. He did not know what to expect. A good man died to defeat the monster, if the rumors were true. Jirah did not shed a tear. He bowed his head in respect for the sacrifice Vesper made for his friends. He didn’t know what it meant but felt whatever they were wasn’t good.
“That girl’s father was there—Lira, was her name? He was unable to talk. He was burned. Badly. No one knows why. They paid the healers in town to take care of him and took the boat back across the lake. I may have passed them, due to my—talents.” Serafina was attuned to the shadows.
It reminded him of someone specific. She could ride and walk over water as she pleased, so that may be how she passed by them.
Jirah nodded. “Thank you for the report.” Jirah looked to the allies that remained. All great men and women, and each fools to stay in camp with him.
Asheron’s words were clear. Everyone in your camps will die.
Jirah wished it were a bluff, he truly did. One scout was still out, and Jirah dared not leave without him. Steven Felkar was sent to the crossroads to wait for Richard, and he still hadn’t returned. If Richard arrived in town, he would contact Felkar and head to the camp, in case Richard forgot. While Jirah trusted Richard, his old friend was terribly forgetful. Hurry Richard, please…
Jirah hadn’t told Serafina about Asheron’s words yet. She was a skittish person, always wanting to stay safe, and not willing to take on high-risk missions. She spoke of the home she lived in long ago, but travelled across the surface of Renalia since then. She said there was no way to the underground; a massive earthquake caved in the column of Krot’ahk’s Valley shortly after she arrived on the surface. Jirah heard there was a fabled entrance far in the north continent of Ormont, but none had ever gone there. Many tried, but none who sailed there ever came back. She never wanted to go back there. Jirah took her in, and promised to keep her safe, but it wasn’t safe in the rebellion any longer.
As she took time to feed her steed, Miri, he knew he had to tell her—but feared her reaction.
“Sera, there’s something I must speak with you about.”
Sera’s floppy ears perked up. She looked to him with narrowed eyes. “What’s the matter?”
The others looked to him and her awkward glances. The owls hooted nearby, hoo, hoo, hoo...
“Asheron came to me some time ago and told me that he would come for us if we intervened in Solmarsh.”
“What?” Sera exclaimed. “You knew this, and you didn’t tell us?” She looked around to the others, seeing drawn-in lips and lowered brows. Slowly, a wash of realization passed over her face. “You knew? You all knew? Why didn’t you tell me?” her tone grew fierce. She faced each member, swinging her arms in an accusatory manner. “What in the hells? I can’t deal with this!” she yelled in panic. “You can’t just lie to your followers!”
“Sera, calm down!” Jirah commanded. He slammed his fist on the tree beside him, demanding her emotions rest. “This is why I didn’t tell you!”
“Yeah, no shit, boss! You think that justifies not telling me? I followed you because you got me out of trouble, and now I’m back in it! What, do I just wait here to die? Why don’t we just run?” Her hands shook as the stress set in. She had been caught for breaking into homes and stealing from nobles before the war began. Jirah was a prominent figure in the military then, and he pulled some strings. She had done good with the things she stole.
“We stay because he’s staying,” Pali said plainly. “We don’t fear them.” He spoke straight to the point.
Sera just scoffed. “Yeah, well, I do. This is impossible. You don’t understand. Do you want to die in vain? For honor? Why die now when you can live on and fight again? I swear, you sent Felkar to the crossroads? That guy never took anything seriously. Boss, you may not trust everyone with knowing everyone else’s plans, but you still need to be wary of the ones you give the plans to!” Her voice shook, and her breath sped up to match.
“I’m waiting for Felkar and Richard. What if they come to a destroyed camp? Or just nothing? We would lose them! You have to trust some people!” Jirah yelled.
“Why can’t we just go to the crossroads?” Serafina was ever adamant on questioning everything.
Alexandra shrugged. “Danger there. Too many guards. They will know us.”
“I can’t stay here.” Her tone was tremulous and brittle. Jirah knew she would go, and he couldn’t stop her. “I’m not brave.”
Jirah walked to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I know, Sera,” he said, looking into her dilated grey eyes. “I’ve told them to leave, and they haven’t. Now I’m telling you. Go.”
He and Sera shared a long, lingering stare of understanding. After the moment ended, she hugged him close. As they separated, she wiped a tear from her pale grey eyes. He calmly watched as she frantically unhooked her mare once more. Her hands shook the reins, clicking and rattling. She jumped back on and kicked spurs to flesh. He looked down the path as she rode into darkness. Jirah didn’t shame her, nor did he hate her for leaving the cause. One less sword made no matter, and it may have saved her life.
A coward wasn’t the most honorable of soldiers, but in dark times, the only surviving one.
“Why did you let her go?” Pali asked.
“I’m not a tyrant,” Jirah told him sternly. “She’s a fearful girl. She doesn’t know how to handle facing consequences.” He strolled to the fire and looked around the camp. The others left to other camps, in hopes that they wouldn’t be found. Abandoned lean-tos, bedrolls, and tents stood wanting, and the last four left were sitting around the fire. “It’s only a matter of time. I hate to be pessimistic, but I don’t think Richard is going to make it.”
No one responded to him. They stared blankly into the flames. Gorkith’s bow sat with an arrow ready to be drawn. Alexandra had her great hammer sitting in front of her. Her leather armor was thick, covering from head to toe. Pali’ah never wore more than a white cloth tunic and shorts, although no one could hit him. Jirah’s armor was as tired as he was, the bags beneath his eyes matching the burns and cuts in the steel.
Hours passed and the moon rose high in the sky, bringing with it a small light through the trees. The owls hooted, the crickets sounded in the night, and the fire crackled quietly. But soon the flame faded, slowly but surely. The colors around them shifted from vibrant to a muted grey scale. Jirah felt his life and the wars he fought were just that: shades of grey. The moonlight grew dim above them, the flame turned cold, the forest grew silent as the dead,
and Jirah knew what came next.
Gods help us.
Chapter Forty-four
The Storm
Saul Bromaggus
Crack went the skies, as thunder rumbled above them. Days of travel passed with many Hydris behind as Kovos’s riders led Saul to the Stormspire. They came to cliff hundreds of feet over the sea, with a steep slope around the hill going to the rocky, mudded shore. Inhabitants of Serpentarius journeyed to watch the spectacle, whether it be a victory for the ages, or a failure beyond measure. The rain poured down like a sheet of rocks, stinging to the touch.
Every crack of lightning struck the Spire, the light revealing a structure reaching hundreds of feet above the crashing water, both gnarled and orderly at the same time. At its base, massive lance-like rocks spiked out like a sea urchin, with a small opening facing the mainland. From the cliff it seemed needle-thin; Saul felt that a rogue wave could cause impalement of an unsteady fool. A stone path swirled around the gnarled Spire, ending near the top.
The last hundred feet were left without assistance. Rai Soli Moria. Warriors fall. Gadoras faust. Heroes rise.
“I am unsure if I can climb with one hand,” Saul grumbled. His clothes were soaked. He didn’t wear his plate, coming only in beige cloth pants, a tunic, and his father’s tattered, beige cloak.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it,” Thalia reassured him. “Many times these people have come, each believing that one day the soldier would rise. Do you think it is that day?”
“I do not know. I only care that I can use the power to change the fate of many.”
Thalia chuckled at that. “Good. No one likes someone who is bound to what they’re told. Come, let us descend.” She led him down the side of the cliff. Her hair was drenched, a black-green mop flat as could be against her skin. She wore a thin black robe, starkly different from the bright magenta, azure, or orange he had seen her favor before. As they came to the water, the eyes of many stared down at them. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“We aren’t taking a boat?”
“Don’t be silly. A boat could get us killed. This will be a little strange. Walk straight beside me.”
Saul stepped into the water as she did.
Crack went the lightning. With hands out flat and beneath her waist, she raised them to belly-height as stone pillars emerged from beneath the waves, pushing them into the air. Thalia stepped forward, and Saul followed. He almost fell from the first. For every pillar they passed, another one rose in front. What power, Saul thought.
“I won’t climb with you. That is your task. Whenever anyone climbs it, the lightning intensifies, striking more often. After I take you to the base, I will return to the cliff.” She placed her hand on Saul’s arm. “I’ll be watching.”
Crack went the lightning. Over pillars they stepped, side by side. Saul could make out more detail now. The swirling spire’s path was broken, thin and steep. Every step closer made the Stormspire seem more monstrous and intimidating. I am not afraid. I will not falter. His clothes felt heavy from being waterlogged. It was still better than plate. He felt as light as a feather without his armor. Rain filled his boots, drenched his hair, and lightning cracked and shot down around him, yet he walked on. A mighty whirlpool swirled around the structure. It was clear ships would be swallowed whole the moment they neared the spiraling beast.
Every turn of the tower narrowed the path, spiraling to the sky with walkways cased with metal, iron steps, and rungs just asking to be struck by the storm above. Saul and Thalia soon arrived at the path, sliding up the side. It was cracked and broken, with accents of iron veins all along it.
“Are you ready?” Thalia asked once more.
When he turned to her, there were no side-smiles, raised brows, or laughs. The pouring rain flowed over her soft face, and all he saw beneath were wide-eyes, quivering lips, and shaking hands.
Saul looked to the Spire and the swirling storm, and felt Thalia wasn’t alone in her fear. Saul reached out to grab her hands, holding them together, close to him. “I must do this. You know that. I would not be here if it was not for you.”
Thalia nodded. “I know. Give me your arm.” Saul obliged, a mere blunt forearm showing his obvious weakness. She placed her hand gently on it, slowly creating a hand made of a thousand black rocks, flying in from all around them.
Saul felt the ability to clench the fist once more. Moments later, he was able to move each finger individually. “What did you do to me?”
“It’s an ability I have. This will help you climb,” she said plainly. “It doesn’t last long, so don’t take an eternity.”
Saul smirked at the gift. Perhaps this venture isn’t a waste. And maybe magic isn’t as cowardly as I thought. “I will return. You have my word. By flesh and rock, I shall reach the top.”
“I’ll be on the cliff. Don’t die on me,” she said, narrowing her azure eyes.
Saul simply nodded, carefully nudging her back toward the shore. She walked on the pillars, raising and lowering as she went, glancing back with every few steps. As she arrived at the shore, Saul’s gaze returned to the Spire. Mighty Gadora, grant me strength.
Crack went the lightning. Saul walked around and around the Spire, carefully stepping around the breaks and across fissures, keeping close to the wall to avoid rogue bolts of electricity. The rocks were black as night, some deep grey or silver. There were metal veins embedded in the walls and steps, more than he saw in any mine.
With another crack, a bolt flew in front of him, causing Saul to jump back. Blood pumped through his veins in panic, but it invigorated him. He began to run and jump, yet still managed to tiptoe around the cracked pieces. Rock flowed down from the tip of the Spire like a thousand rivulets, intertwining with iron helices encircling the Spire.
Crack. The lightning hit the Spire, again, and again, and again. The bolts struck more and more often as he ascended. He passed leagues of skeletons, some pale, and some charred black. Is this my fate? Saul wondered. Others expired more recently, their heads wrought with red-black burns, exposed skulls, and rotted brain splattered on the stones. The smell of burnt flesh passed through his nostrils to accent the damp stone and lichen surrounding him.
Crack. There was another turn of the Spire he walked. Steeper it went, and harder the rain fell. Below, the water swirled like a vortex that would swallow the pride of a fleet. If I fall, I am gone. A set of stones fell out from under him; Saul jumped to the next and held on with both hands and pulled himself up by flesh and rock to continue his journey.
Crack. Up another turn of the Spire he ran. Saul jumped across broken paths and sidled along thin ledges, wobbling from the wind that soared up, down, and around the Spire. The rain felt heavy, and his breath escaped him as he went. His heart beat faster with every rumble of the skies. He felt vulnerable, looking to the sea beyond Kathynta, south at the horizon, with nothing but crashing waves for miles beyond to the land of Feyamin. The rain fell so hard he felt the continent would be swallowed whole. This storm is unyielding—but it is me. I am the storm. I will conquer it.
Crack. To the top of the tower he came. The spiraling path ended, and before him laid a tower with rough-hewn rock walls and broken handholds. Anchors and spikes laid jammed in still, left from heroes long passed who attempted the climb. A hundred feet it reached into the air, winds buffeting the walls to force even a strong man to fall to his death. The scent of wet stone and iron were all he found, coupled with the view of the black skies above and equally dark waters below. Saul turned to see hundreds on the cliff in the distance, barely making out the grey in the center, with a hint of forest green. I will not fail you, Saul thought.
Crack. His final climb began. Saul’s hand of rock clasped the handholds with great strength, even more than his hand of flesh would. He gripped the spikes and anchors, taking the aid of his predecessors, those who desired strength, yet failed. Where they all fell, he would survive. Lightning struck the metal linings in the rock, sending a jo
lt through him and weakening his grip.
It only drives my will more. I cannot be stopped!
Lightning cracked and struck him again, with a jolt so strong it sent him to the floor below. His back hurt from the rough stone, but the rain cooled his hot, reddened skin. I can’t give up—I won’t give up. Get up. Get up, he thought. Saul lumbered to his feet, shaking his head to steel himself.
He gazed up again. “Gadora, give me strength. I must do this for them, not just for my own need!” Saul felt the soaked, tattered cloak his father left as it dripped heavily around him. I will lead, Father. I will rise from your ashes to lead with the strength of our god. Saul took a long breath to relax and calm his nerves. He could feel energy flow through his veins, as if the gods blessed him once more.
Crack. His climb began once more. He soared up, handhold to handhold, rung to rung, spike to anchor. The wind buffeted him, but his hand of rock held like a Dragon’s jaw. With each break, he climbed further up with vigorous intent. The holds were wet, and he came close to slipping, but held on. As he ascended, the holds were less broken and spikes fewer, marking the small number of those to reach the top.
Crack. He pulled himself over the wall. He came to a flat surface on the top, with intricate stonework of bricks and metal veins particularly placed in circles around the centerpiece—a black hilt, reaching out from the stone and metal of the Spire. The mark of Gadora was set in the base of the pommel, with each wind set with bright red rubies, and coiled gold and silver encircled the black steel neck coming to a Dragon’s head. The maw opened to the ground, hiding the blade below. Saul carefully walked around the center, reading the runes he recognized from the teachings of Gadora. The blade that carves the skies, it read. Saul stopped in front of it, looking to the cliff with the mass of people that stood watch. He looked to the black sky with its torrential rain plummeting to the rough seas. Saul’s breath sped up to meet his heart. He reached out to the blacksteel hilt above the stone with his left hand and closed his grip.