by Greg James
Sarah got to her feet and looked around. Men, women and children who had been slain by the Kay’lo were climbing to their feet – alive. The glowing seeds of the Dionin had fallen on them and brought them back.
I brought them back.
“I bring life ...” she muttered, unbelieving.
And it was then, as one, that the Kay’lo turned to face Sarah and each of them raised both hands, empty palms facing towards her.
The sign of the warrior without weapons.
It meant fealty.
T’Yuua knelt before her. His eyes were still shining with tears but his eyes were clear this time, unclouded by doubt. A moment longer, she realised, and they would have known the depths of her betrayal to E’blis. But she had acted in time, just in time. Her hesitancy had been taken for fear, perhaps, insecurity. Whichever, it meant they were on her side now, without question.
This was the threshold. The final point of passing over from being Sarah Bean to becoming the Living Flame. The power inside was waiting to rage forth and remake the world. Life and death were not boundaries for her. Sarah understood for the first time what it meant to be a scion of A’aron. She could taste the Kay’lo’s thoughts and memories, swirling around her. She could hear the distant sounds of battle at the gates of Highmount. She could feel the horror emanating from the Shadowhorn at the Eastern edge of the world.
The Shadowhorn ... Kiley!
Sarah examined the faces of the Kay’lo as they came towards her. She saw hope there. They believed in her. She had given them a miracle, saved them from extinction at the hands of E’blis. Their eyes were glistening with tears and awe.
“You have saved us, Flame-bearer.” T’Yuua said as he approached her, “You saved us from the worms. We, in turn, will repay your debt and come to the aid of Highmount. Go, Flame-bearer. The Fallen One stirs, and you must journey from here to the Nightlands while we cross through our tunnels and burrows to unseat his army.”
“Thank you.” Sarah bowed her head to them. “I hope we meet again.”
“We all meet again, Flame-bearer, in life and in death. Who knows in which we will next see one another.”
Sarah nodded and turned to Orraea. “I have to go alone.”
“Go, Sarah Bean. You have earned my trust today. You fulfilled the destiny my father foresaw for you. I have not always believed in you, but now I do. I will return to Highmount with the Kay’lo. I know an old spell of Travelling that, I hope, will bring us to the aid of Jedda and her fellows in good time. Farewell.”
Sarah smiled at the Wayfarer, and then she thought of Kiley.
Lo’a’pan dissolved from sight. The world around her shifted, flowed and blurred. The power was incredible. It was like trying to swim upstream against a rushing river. The more she tried to guide it and master it, the harder it pounded through her as if it were fighting against her. At times, she was terrified by the feeling that it might overcome her. If she relaxed for a moment, it would wash her away. She would be drowned in its wake. Her heart was hammering, ready to burst from the strain.
What do I do? It’s too much for me. How do I stop it? Help me! Someone!
For what seemed like eternity, the tempest raged around her until she was numb, so numb that she let go. And when Sarah did, she did not drown.
... go with the flow ...
Her fears that she would go under and be consumed by the overwhelming force of the Flame were unfounded. It buoyed her up. It carried her. She could breathe. She could feel her heart steadily beating. The intensity was still there but it was a part of her, not something that she was fighting against. It was the source of Everything. It was the bane of Nothing.
... I bring Life ...
Sarah let it take her where she wanted to go.
The Flame slowly dissipated.
She was in the Nightlands.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jedda took a sharp breath and sat up with a jolt.
“Calm yourself, my dear. You’re alive and well.”
Mistress Ruth came into focus, and Jedda saw that she was in the Healing Room of Highmount.
“What happened to me?”
“You had a nasty tangle with a Fellspawn in the kitchen. You did for it well enough, but it got its poison into you before it died.”
“I felt it. I was so sick. I thought I was dying.”
“Well, I think we all know by now how difficult it is to put you down.”
“How did it get inside the walls?”
Mistress Ruth’s face fell somewhat, “It was here all along, Jedda.”
“What?”
“It was Ianna. We found what was left of her back in her cell. She made one last deal with His Shadow, I think. One last try to do you in.”
... death was too good for her ...
“It’s over then,” Jedda said, “for her, at least.”
A smaller form became clear to her eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re all right. I didn’t want to lose you again.”
Venna hugged her sister hard.
“Nor I you,” said Jedda. “Mistress Ruth, am I well enough to go to the battlements?”
“I don’t think I’d be able to stop you if I tried, now would I?”
“That is true. Will you accompany me? The wall facing the Norn Valley will need your skills to defend it from the Fellspawn.”
“I will. I think someone wants to join you more than me though.”
“Venna, you should stay here with the Herb-Sisters.”
“I want to fight Jedda. You need everyone to help.”
“That is true ...”
Jedda looked to Mistress Ruth and the Herb-Sisters as she thought on what Venna could do to help defend Highmount. Her sister could not fight in battle, not with her legs crippled from the Grey Touch. But there must be something she could do. No-one was useless.
“Sisters, do you have work that Venna can help you with?”
Mistress Ruth nodded, “If she can prepare herbs and grind plant leaves with mortar and pestle, we have work for her. There are a few tricks that we have yet to play on the Fallen One and his beasts.”
Venna beamed – the true smile that Jedda had missed so much.
“Thank you.” The little princess said.
“And you go with them if the battle goes ill, Venna.”
“But where will we go if Highmount falls?” Venna asked.
“We have our ways, much like the Wayfarers do,” Mistress Ruth said. “Don’t you worry, you’ll be safe with us, my dear.”
Leaving Venna in the care of the Herb-Sisters, Jedda and Mistress Ruth headed for the battlements. As they walked, Mistress Ruth looked Jedda in the eye, “You know, you were not in any real danger from that thing Ianna turned into.”
“What do you mean, Mistress Ruth?”
“I mean ... you’re different, Jedda.”
“How so?”
“You were reborn as something else, something different, Jedda, when the Fallen One brought you back from death. The touch of the Flame was still on you. You were changed by your resurrection. I don’t how, or even why, but the time may come yet when you see by how much. I think that time may be fast approaching.”
Before Jedda could say anything, they were outside.
The wind was bitter as they stood on the battlements, looking down on the rolling vales and hills of the Norn Valley. Mistress Ruth blew on her hands and rubbed them together, squinting at the milling forms of Fellfolk, Phages, and Dionin.
“A nasty-looking lot, aren’t they?”
“Mistress Ruth, I think you know what I would ask of you.”
“Oh, I think so, you want me to call him up. Don’t worry, I’ll do it. Fear him as much as I may and what might happen after, I hate them all the more. I have something I want to give back to them. You know, I lost my daughter and He promised me her back if I helped Him. I should never have done what I did. I don’t care if I burn myself out doing this. I’ll make them sorry they ever left the Nightlan
ds.”
With those words, Mistress Ruth rolled up her sleeves and walked to the edge of the battlements. She looked down and began her incantation.
“O Gorra, O Gorra. Thou foot treads soft amidst thy darkening trees, O hear my call whisper on this twilight breeze. O Gorra, O Gorra, come to me and uproot those who would uproot thy trees.”
Silence fell as if Time itself had ground to a halt. Jedda joined Mistress Ruth on the edge of the battlements, and watched as it began. Through the snow and frost on the ground, came a blossoming of rich, deep green. It spread as if the long-awaited spring was happening in moments, rather than months. It reached the ranks of the Fellspawn, and when it did, Jedda heard them begin to shriek and howl unutterably. Greenery rambled over them like a welcome cancer. Armour and flesh became lichen and moss. Eyes turned into nuts and seeds. Those who tried to flee became entangled in roots, vines, and creepers that were busy sprouting from their fallen comrades as much as the ground. The massed horrors that had been waiting to crush the walls overlooking the Norn Valley were turning into a crumbling sea of compost and autumn mulch.
But the air was then split by deafening cries from overhead. Jedda threw herself against Mistress Ruth, knocking the larger woman to the ground. Dracken swept down out of the sky, belching streams of fire that blackened the stone where they had been standing. Soldiers clattered to the aid of Jedda and Mistress Ruth. Swords were drawn. Halberds were raised. The stunted dragon-spawn of the Fallen One’s breeding pits circled in the winter sky and began to descend once more. Their livid eyes fixed on Mistress Ruth.
Jedda stood in front of the Herb-Sister and drew her own blade out of its scabbard.
“Mistress Ruth, finish what you have begun. We will slay these demons.”
“Oh no,” Mistress Ruth said, “I told you that I have something I want give back to them.”
Jedda could see Mistress Ruth’s face was white and becoming lined with strain. The magic turning the Fellspawn into undergrowth was taking its toll on her but, undaunted, she stepped around Jedda and raised her eyes, then her outstretched arms, towards the Dracken spiralling down towards her.
“Gorra, O Gorra. Father of Leaves and Lord of Roots, I call upon you now ... COME FORTH! AID ME!”
Jedda screamed and fell as everything around her seemed to shift. It was not an earthquake but something else entirely. A sense of the world having been shaken to its roots came over her as she clambered back to her feet. The soldiers had fallen as well.
Mistress Ruth had not.
The Dracken were still descending, their jaws opening and flames could be seen kindling in their throats. Mistress Ruth was unmoving. There was sweat coursing down her face. It made her skin shimmer and glisten.
A mighty groan and crackling came from the earth below.
Jedda looked for its source.
She saw the mound that had been the Fellspawn army rising up. A newborn hill heaving towards her as if it were alive; moss trailed from it, leaves scattered, and earth fell to earth like streams of deep, brown tears. A deep burrow opened in the hill and a gnarled arm surged out of it. It was carved from bark and the fingers were twisting branches that closed tight around the Dracken, creating a burst of fire. The fingers closed into a tight fist. Jedda heard the pained cries of the reptiles being ferociously crushed. Then, the fingers opened once more, letting the charred, broken remains of the monsters fall to the ground. The hand and arm withdrew back into the hill. The hill sank back into the earth as if it had never been, like a thing from a dream, leaving the transformed flesh and bones of the enemy to become a feast for the fauna of the land.
Mistress Ruth collapsed.
Jedda rushed to her side.
“It’s ... I’m okay, my dear, but I fear I will be no more use to you this day. I’ve spent everything I have. Calling him took it all. He won’t come again and I won’t be able to weave another spell. No, not at all. I can feel it.”
“But you will recover?”
“No. Best to take me back to the Healing Room. I can still mix my herbs and make some potent nasties for you to use on the Fellspawn but calling Gorra from the Wood Beneath just about took everything that I have to give from now until the day I die.”
“I did not know, Mistress Ruth. I did not realise I was asking you to sacrifice so much.”
“Sacrifice? No. I lost my little girl and He didn’t give her back to me. That’s the only loss that matters. I didn’t want you to know what I was doing or how much it would cost me. I’m glad I did it. To see those horrible things turned into grass and leaves—it’s the only way they’ll ever give anything back to this world.”
Jedda gestured to two of the soldiers.
“Take Mistress Ruth below. See that she has everything she needs.”
A sudden roar went up from behind them. Jedda turned. She saw men and women running across the courtyards to the far wall of Highmount.
The assault from the Grassland Plains had begun.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“No! Leave her alone. She is not for you to harm.” Woran grabbed at the Mind-Reavers who were unfastening Kiley’s chains and dragging her to her feet. They pushed him back to the ground.
“The Living Flame will be the end of you for this,” Woran croaked.
One of the Reavers lashed at him with its tendrils. There was a wet crunch as his skull hit stone. Woran was still and quiet after that.
“Woran! No! No, let me go!” Kiley kicked and struggled against the creatures, but her blows fell ineffectual on their jellied flesh. She looked at Woran. He was so still. Too still.
He couldn’t die here. No, it wasn’t right.
They dragged her away down tunnel after tunnel until they reached a darkened chamber.
Sarah, please, find me. Help me.
Sconces set into the walls flickered into life with luminous green fire, giving Kiley’s body a sickly cast as she was laid out on the polished black stone of the altar in the chamber of sacrifice. Mind-Reavers lined the walls of the chamber, their heads bowed as they uttered the words of summoning.
“Goh’Ghed’loh. Goh’Ghed’loh. Goh’Ghed’loh. Goh’Ghed’loh.”
Kiley stared blankly at the ceiling of the chamber. Her head felt fuzzy and everything around her was wrong.
Am I going crazy? Please let this be a nightmare.
I want to wake up, Momma.
E’blis strode into the chamber. He drew out knives of polished stone and pressed the blades against the rock of the altar, drawing them across the surface until they sang a discordant, melancholy tone.
“The blood of the Living Flame is what I truly desire, but there is enough heat in your veins to raise the Black Lord from His tomb. The time is at hand. Attend me. This is the last day of the Thirteen Worlds. The Dark Master will rise and crush everything into nothing. He will not stop. He will not falter. People and cities will become dust. The highest stars will fall. The Wood Beneath the Worlds will be torn up by its roots and cast into the void by His hands. There will be no reality other than He. He will be the Universe and the heart of all Existence will be Him.”
E’blis stood over Kiley and drew the hood back from his skull. His empty eye sockets shone with a deathly light as he raised the blades to drive them down into her breast.
“With your blood, it begins. With the blood of the Flame, His Darkness will rise and consume everything.”
The blades descended towards Kiley in one fluid motion.
A violent concussion shook the chamber.
The howls and bellows of the Shadowhorn’s menagerie echoed after in its aftershock. E’blis and the Mind-Reavers were sent sprawling to the ground, and the sacrificial blades skittered away into the shadows. Smoke and fumes billowed into the chamber. Sarah strode in, wreathed in a fire that burned and shimmered like igniting ice.
She was the Living Flame incarnate – and there was murder in her eyes.
Chapter Thirty
Jedda stood upon the ramparts and watched th
e enemy converging on the poorly repaired walls and towers of her home. The armies from the Nightlands were even more daunting than those Mistress Ruth had turned to dust. Jedda knew the creatures massed before them more intimately than she would have wished to. When she was in thrall to the Fallen One, His creations had haunted her thoughts. The walking storm-shapes of the Drujja led shuffling Fellfolk while Mind-Reavers motioned with their tendrils for Phages to launch phosphorus mortars at the city walls. The stone beneath her feet shook violently, still weak from the profound damage that Malus the Necrodragon had done. They had made what repairs they could.
It was not enough.
Ianna had wished her burned alive at the stake, and Jedda imagined it would seem a fair fate once the servants of His Shadow laid their hands upon her. He did not treat those who betrayed Him kindly. Jedda fingered the hilt of the sword fastened at her waist.
I will die here on the battlefield, if I must. I will not wait for torture. I will not welcome a long, slow death. Let it be swift. Let Venna be safe. Let me rise to a higher house and see my father’s spirit there.
Crashes echoed through Highmount as battering rams slammed into the gates. Roars sounded as mortar and fire exploded against the outer wall. Screams from the defenders were answered by satisfied howls from outside. The few archers they had been able to muster poured slow, erratic streams of arrows into the ranks of Fellfolk and Fellspawn. Those that were hit quickly disappeared under the trampling feet of their fellows. Holes that were cut in the great shadow of the army closed in the space between breaths.
It will not be long now, Jedda thought.
The wounded were ferried below to the Healing Rooms where the Herb-Sisters did what they could for those who were suffering. Jedda watched as the men and women, soldiers and nobles alike, became less and less. There was little hope against this nightmarish onslaught of evil, but they would go down fighting. They would not kneel before the Fallen One, this Princess Jedda knew of the people within the walls.