Phate

by Jason Alan

  “There is no being worthier. Now, please rise.”

  His damaged armor creaking, Herard pulled himself from the floor. He motioned to his dying dragon. “Oh, gracious one, what we’ve endured... What she has endured goes beyond reckoning. Please, can you help her?”

  “I will try.”

  The Fallen Angel lifted her glittering hands and opened them, thereby releasing a small cloud of sparkling silver flecks that floated onto Zraz’s wounded belly. The flecks widened, fused together, then dissolved into a gelatinous liquid, thus forming a Magical Veil of Mending. The angel whispered an ancient song, stirring the sorcerous forces within her soul, and the silvery veil brightened to white. It became more and more brilliant, then quickly faded away. Zraz’s body heaved, and blood gushed from her wounds, its blue tint turning black as it splashed upon the gemstone floor.

  “Zraz!” Herard threw himself to her side.

  The Fallen Angel gestured for him to back away.

  Thinking Zraz was in serious distress, Herard was reluctant to move. But when he realized she had just been purged of the poisons that soaked her, he obeyed. She gasped, rolled completely to her side, and the dark elf blades slid out of her body and clattered to the floor. All within her was pure again. The angel’s song carried on until the pile of weapons sizzled, steamed, and disintegrated.

  Zraz’s wounds closed. She still looked ill, but no longer did she stand fully in death’s door. Her breaths came easier now, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breast as gentle as the swells of a serene sea.

  By the grace of the Seven Glories, she was sleeping peacefully.

  Herard turned to the angel. “Thank you. Thank you, oh, blessed one.”

  “Herard, she has lost a lot of blood, and I’m afraid the damage to her organs cannot be fully repaired.” The Fallen Angel paused, dimmed, then with but a whisper said, “I don’t want to fill you with false hope. Although she will no longer feel any pain, she will soon die.”

  The song of the phantom flutes sank to inaudibility.

  Herard’s eyes glazed over and he turned away. He stood there for some time, just staring into the distance, reminiscing. A thousand images flashed through his mind, a thousand moments and memories spanning decades of adventure, all shared with his loyal companion, his beloved friend.

  And now it had all led up to this: to her sacrifice.

  Finally, after many minutes, he abruptly exhaled as if he had just surfaced from a long dive. He slowly turned back to the angel and said, “I understand. I had hoped…but I didn’t expect her to live.”

  “In another time, I may have been able to save her, but not now. Now, my power weakens like the dying sun.”

  Herard cleared his throat, and with a trembling voice asked, “What of the gauntlets?”

  The Gauntlets of Loathing Light, their red runes glowing dully through the stains of Zraz’s blood, lay sizzling on the floor. They quivered ever so slightly, perhaps acknowledging Herard’s utterance, then rose into the air as if lifted by invisible hands. They floated over the gemstone floor and disappeared into the palace, the crystal doors closing behind them.

  “You’ve done well to obtain them,” the Fallen Angel said, “but they are my responsibility now.”

  “I can’t believe a dark elf conspired with me, with us, I mean, with the side of light. And I cannot believe I entrusted him with… Am I mad? Well, he did help us.”

  The angel lifted a finger. “He is not the only one to step from the shadows. There are others.”

  “Oh? Who else?”

  “It is better if you do not know.” She moved past Herard. “Come, let us leave Zraz to rest. Let us walk.”

  And with that, the two turned from Vren Adiri and made their way to the far end of the floor. Dragons glided overhead. They dipped down, cawing softly, lamenting their fallen kin. Herard was comforted by their presence. He flashed a quick look over his shoulder to Zraz, opened his mouth to speak, but had not the words.

  He strode on beside the angel.

  They walked to the very edge of the realm, where the floor disappeared into the billowing base of the cloudwall. Herard went right up to the wall, and flicked it with his fingers. “Do you believe the gauntlets will be safe here?”

  “Why are you—Ah, you were followed.”

  Herard nodded. He watched the small ripple he had made race up the wall, then turned to face the Fallen Angel.

  “Tell me,” the angel asked, “was it he who followed you?”

  Herard nodded again. “Aye, it was Warloove. It was unmistakable, his demonic dragon chills me like no other creature on Phate.” Thunder echoed in the distance, causing Herard to shift uneasily. “Warloove cannot enter here, can he?”

  The Fallen Angel looked away. “As I said before, I’m not as powerful as I once was, the light that keeps me no longer has a strong influence on this world.” She whirled around, made a wide circle with her glowing arm. “This place’s safety is reliant upon a sorcery that I cannot forever sustain. Beholden by no god, I am not what I once was…” She hesitated, then looked back to Herard. “Ah, but I digress. Despite my weakening powers, I do not think that he can enter here. But regardless, I’ve made arrangements for the gauntlets to be taken someplace far away…and soon.”

  The lines on Herard’s face compressed into a map of tired anger. “Warloove is a crazed demon.”

  “Indeed, that he is.” There was no melody in the Fallen Angel’s voice now.

  “That he would steal the Sunsword and fight for the Dark Forever!”

  The angel tilted her head in contemplation. “Warloove has little to gain from the Dark Forever’s conquest of this planet. He would be one demon among billions. No, I’ve learned that he has other plans for the sword.”

  Herard’s face went pale. “He’s found a way to destroy the sword with the gauntlets!”

  The Fallen Angel shook her head. “No. No demon, not Nenockra Rool himself, can destroy Surassis! The acquisition of the gauntlets would enable Warloove to wield the sword, not destroy it. And he won’t destroy it, he needs its power intact. It is difficult to explain, but he serves an Emperor from an alien world.”

  “What? Another world?”

  “His personal aims are not for conquest, but merely for survival. Oh, that he would jeopardize all eternity for his own fate! But alas, of these things, it is not necessary for you to fully understand.”

  Herard’s head drooped. “Well, whatever his aims, all is happening as foretold. The night brightens with the coming of the Shards of Zyrinthia, and dark things awaken all over the world. What will—”

  “Herard,” The Fallen Angel interrupted, “you must let Drinwor go.”

  The statement struck the man like a blow. He lifted his face, said, “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. It’s time.”

  “No,” Herard whispered. “How much more must I sacrifice?”

  “It’s time for the son to fulfill his destiny.”

  “No. Not Drinwor. He’s so innocent, so young…”

  “Herard, we both know what’s at stake here. It’s Drinwor’s time. He was created for this. He is the Son and Savior of the Stars.”

  Herard clenched his fists. “He’s also my son! My son!”

  “Only he can wield the Sunsword Surassis,” the angel persisted, “and, ultimately, only he can defeat Nenockra Rool.”

  Herard’s face brightened with a desperate idea. “What if… What if I take the sword away? We could hide it from Warloove!” Although the Fallen Angel had no features, Herard felt her look upon him with a sort of condescending glare.

  “Herard, you know it’s no longer a question of hiding it. The Dark Forever is coming. We need the sword empowered and we need the One Life to wield it—it is the only chance for the universe.” Then she turned her face skyward, and let out something akin to a sigh. “You’ve known all his life that this day would come. Drinwor must set out with the Sunsword, while there’s still time.”

  Hera
rd lifted a hand to his weary eyes, filling his palm with tears. Yes, he well knew she was right, but in his heart, he had for so long denied this day—the day fate and circumstance would plunge his son into the beginnings of a universal war; the day his son would begin a prophetic quest. He lowered his hand, the fingers dripping with tears, and he said, “You know what the sword demands. You’re asking my boy to die.”

  The angel opened her arms. “Herard, it is for the sake of all souls.”

  “I know, but that’s little comfort for this father.” He coughed, choked back yet more tears. “First my dragon…and now my son.” He turned on his heels, paced back and forth through the mist leaking from the cloudwall onto the edge of the gemstone floor. After a few seconds, he slapped his arms to his sides, and said: “I can’t believe the Gods have not yet returned! Will they do nothing while the Dark Forever makes to conquer and enslave the universe? To leave the fate of everything in the hands of an untested child is…well, it’s unfathomable!”

  “We must believe in Drinwor, as the universe does. He’s more capable than you can imagine.”

  Herard stepped close to the angel. “Capable of sacrificing himself? That is his destiny, is it not?”

  The Fallen Angel placed her hand upon Herard’s tarnished spaulder. The armor glowed, as did the shoulder beneath it, and Herard felt some strength return to his fatigued body.

  “You’re wounded.” the angel said. “You bleed.”

  Herard put his hand to his heart. “I’ve not yet begun to bleed.”

  Suddenly, the cloudwall erupted with jolts of electricity, startling Herard enough for him to jump backward. Vren Adiri’s guardian lightning web was flaring to life. Jagged lines of flickering blue light crisscrossed throughout the entire wall, and within moments the realm was encased in a cage of crackling energy. And then the energy discharged, blasting the storms outside with lightning bolts.

  Something inside the storms was struck.

  A cry like an enraged banshee’s tore through the sky, and a giant shadow raced across the cloudwall, darkening all the realm with a wave of dragonfear. The fear was strong enough to rattle the wills of Vren Adiri’s own dragons, and even trouble the Fallen Angel herself.

  Herard was terror-stricken.

  “Warloove is here!” he cried. “Light One, hold onto the gauntlets, hold onto your faith, I will draw him away.”

  “No, my Lord, you must remain here.”

  It was not the Fallen Angel’s voice.

  Herard whirled about.

  It was Zraz, who had awakened and crept up behind them unnoticed. “I will lead them away,” she said.

  “Zraz, no!” Herard ran up to her. “You can’t, you’re wounded! You—”

  “Herard,” she said softly, bringing her head down before his, “I’m dying. If not for the strength of the angel, I’d be dead already. Let me die in my sky. Stay here. Be safe. I will lead them away.” And then she gently wrapped her battered wing about him.

  Herard lifted a hand to her snout. “We’ve not shared a life of loyalty and trust for me to merely abandon that loyalty now. I’m going with you.” He looked deep into her eyes and through a bloodshot glaze saw a blue like the one that had once emblazoned the sky.

  Zraz spoke with soft, fluttering words. “Please, stay here, stay alive. And someday, when it is your time, I’ll be waiting for you before the gates to the Seven Glories. Of this I swear…”

  Herard began to respond, but the lightning web discharged again, louder than before. There was a sizzling bang of bolts followed by the bone-rattling shriek of the heinous beast. Herard quickly spat his words. “I’m getting awfully tired of hearing that thing’s wretched screaming!”

  “I’ve never known Warloove to be so bold as to test the lightning web,” the Fallen Angel observed.

  Herard stepped back from his dragon’s embrace, his expression rigid with resolve. “Zraz, I’m going with you. I’ll not leave you alone to face that.” He pointed to the demonic dragon’s passing shadow.

  “I beg you to stay,” she said, her eyes pleading.

  Herard straightened, his tone as firm as his features when he said: “As Emperor, I command you to take me.”

  Rarely in all their decades together had he given her such a direct order, but it was well within his right. He was the Emperor of the Sky, the Caretaker of Areshria…the father of the Son and Savior of the Stars.

  Zraz no longer protested. She simply knelt, and lowered a wing to the floor, thereby allowing Herard to climb atop her. He settled into the dragon saddle’s torn seat and looked down to the Fallen Angel. The angel began to speak, but Herard didn’t give her the chance. “I know what you will say, but I will not leave her to die alone. Not after all this.” Zraz curled her head around to face her Emperor, and a single tear dripped harmoniously from each of their eyes. “And we are not yet defeated, are we Zraz?”

  “No, my Lord, never.”

  The dragonfear waned. The lightning web’s energy bolts subsided, but the web itself remained, as if wary of the lingering disquiet that still clung to the air.

  “Have they left?” Herard hoped against all reason.

  “No,” the angel said, “they’ve backed off, but are still close.”

  “We must draw that demon and his cursed dragon away from this place!”

  While Zraz tested her wings, the Fallen Angel pressed the sky’s Emperor with: “Herard, the Sunsword, Drinwor. What of them?”

  Herard’s mouth made a sorry little smile. “Oh, Lord of Light, plans are already in place. Although my heart wishes to deny my son’s destiny, my conscience forces me to prepare for it. Despite what I say, I know what Drinwor is, and I know what must be done. Should anything happen to me, Drinwor and the Sunsword will be taken from Areshria immediately. Warloove will not find them there. Vu Verian has already agreed to look after this. He will do as you’ve instructed.”

  “So,” the angel said, “Drinwor is ready to face his destiny…”

  Herard bowed his head in shame. “Well, not entirely, and that is my failing, not his. Although I’ve made the arrangements, I have not prepared my son.” He hesitated, groaned as if in pain, struggled to enunciate his next words. “He doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know what’s going on. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him of his fate.” He hid his face in his hands, muffling his speech. “He’s so pure, so good, and I always thought I’d have more time…time to be a father, a friend… I should have told him.”

  “At this point, I think it is wise that we do not tell him.”

  Herard dropped his hands to his lap, looked back to the angel with narrowed eyes. “What? With the fates in motion, how can we not tell him what he is?”

  “Oh, I will tell him what he is, what must be done, but I will not tell him of his ultimate fate, and neither must you, for he will be overburdened as it is. Should he learn of his impending sacrifice now, he would shun his destiny, thus dooming the universe.”

  Herard looked skyward, and mumbled, “I understand your reasoning, but may the Gods return, that we deceive my son…”

  “When the sword is resurrected, he will learn of his fate, and he will embrace it, for by then he will have become something greater, an entity that will endure for all time. One Life, One Soul, One Sword.”

  “I feel horrible asking this, but what if someone else tells him? What then?”

  The angel shook her head. “Besides us, there is no one left who knows the true workings of the sword. What legends linger say nothing of the sacrifice it calls for.”

  Herard sighed and glanced to the soaring dragons. “The Gods forgive me, my son, I’m so sorry, I should have told you. I have failed you.”

  The Fallen Angel touched Zraz’s wing, then traced her hand across the dragon’s wounded side, instilling her with a comforting coolness. “You have failed in nothing, my friend. You gave Drinwor love, and that was far more than you were charged to do. Fear not for him, for once darkness is defeated, his sou
l will endure for all time, basking in the heavenly light of the Seven Glories, whose gates he himself will open. No, my good friend, you haven’t failed. Because of you, hope burns like a newborn star.”

  Herard smiled weakly. “Hope…we speak of it, but is it just a dream?”

  The angel pointed behind her. “Hope is the culmination of dreams.”

  Herard looked to where she motioned.

  Beyond her glittering fingers, the palace of Vren Adiri was swathed in mist, its towers wrapped with rings of dragons. And then the cloudwall behind it disappeared, revealing a scene of deep space. Galaxies twirled in that backdrop, galaxies thick with white stars and life-bearing worlds. It was a vision, a glimpse of lighter times, of hopeful times, when all the universe flourished beneath the loving gaze of the Gods. As Herard lost his stare in that glorious vision, the Fallen Angel’s voice arose with beauty again. She said, “Where there are blue skies, there is hope. We fight for blue skies.”

  “For blue skies,” Herard whispered.

  The vision dimmed, the scene of space disappearing into the clouds.

  Herard wiped the tears from his face and tugged on the reins. Zraz lifted her head, made ready to fly. Herard murmured, “My son—”

  “Will never be alone,” the angel concluded for him, “I give you my solemn promise.”

  Herard perked up. “Is she going to be with him?”

  “Morning’s Hope? Yes.”

  “Good, good. How much does she know?”

  “She knows what she must, as far as I can tell. But it is strange, for although she is infinitely wise, she is like your son in many ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  For the first time since Herard had known her, the angel’s voice evinced a sort of uncertain wonder as she spoke of things unknown. “She is innocent, pure, despite her apparent wisdom. She knows of things long past, and yet, she cannot recall certain events of recent times. Like your son, she came to us as if out of a dream. Of her origin, I cannot tell…though I have my suspicions.” She paused for a moment, flashed a look straight up, then continued. “But worry not, for I have complete faith in her. She is the best of her kind. And most importantly, I know that she will be with him, always,” she motioned to Zraz, “just as your beloved mount will be with you.”