by Jason Alan
Vu Verian was stunned by the statement. “What I really am? What does that mean?”
Morigos shook his gnarled staff. “Oh, you know what it means! Tell me, who do you see when you look in the mirror?”
Vu Verian’s whole body shook with rage and he roared in a voice that echoed to the very top of the chamber, “I should have destroyed you!”
Morigos looked to Drinwor. “How easily irritated your companion is.”
Drinwor was at a loss. “I’ve never known anyone to anger him so. You have a singular gift.”
“Oh, I had many gifts, once upon a time. Now, I don’t care for most. Irritating snobbish sky elves is one of the few things I still enjoy, though.”
Vu Verian was seething. “Do not entertain his foolishness, Drinwor!”
“Sorry,” the dusk elf said, “I’ll be quiet.”
Vu Verian smirked. “It is not you who needs to be quiet.” Red vessels threaded his eyes and his countenance darkened as if it was swathed in some passing shadow. He mumbled to himself, then nodded, apparently having come to some decision.
He pointed at the dark elf sorcerer.
Morigos brought up his staff.
“No, please!” Drinwor begged, his hands raised and waving as he backed away.
Too late.
Vu Verian sang out. Blue streams of condensed fire blasted from his fingertips.
With a speed defying his fractured frame, Morigos spun around and punched the space behind him with a backhanded thrust of his staff. A shield of glowing green magic sprang into the air right in front of Vu Verian’s fire…but the fire never touched the shield, for a more potent power interceded. A little cloud of dim light materialized around the elves and snuffed out their spells. The two mages dropped their arms in futility, realizing their sorcery had been stalled by a Fog of Power Quenching
“What’s this?” Drinwor asked.
“Someone besides me doesn’t appreciate the sky elf’s persistent attacks,” Morigos suggested.
“Oh, be silent,” Vu Verian returned.
The magic-dousing fog faded. After it disappeared, everyone noticed a glimmering white light tracing the outline of a door in the wall closest to them. The space inside the door vanished, and something radiant emerged from within.
Here was the Fallen Angel.
She glided from the doorway, her golden wings aglow as she slid through the shafts of light thrown by the Sun’s Remembrance. Drinwor thought she looked like the solid light within the center of a candle’s otherwise blurry flame. She was singing as she came. The phantom flutes matched her melody and the spirit elves delicately accompanied her lead. When she came up to the group, Drinwor was compelled to kneel. Vu Verian was silent and Morigos coughed, both still shaken from having their sorcery seized.
She spoke, her words as fluid as her song. “Welcome, Drinwor Fang, Keeper of the Sunsword Surassis, Emperor of the Sky. I extend my sincerest condolences, for your father was a friend to all who fight for the side of light. Few beings, mortal or immortal, possessed the character of Herard. He was a good man…a good man. Come, now, rise.”
Drinwor stood up. “Thank you, angel, you and your palace are more beautiful than a heavenly dream.”
The Fallen Angel nodded in appreciation, and said, “Thank you, Drinwor Fang, you are a heavenly dream.” Then she turned to regard Vu Verian. The sky elf sank to a knee, and bowed his head. The angel placed her luminous hand upon his shoulder, and golden light crept from her fingers. The anger in Vu Verian’s eyes subsided and some healthy whiteness returned to his flushed face. Slowly, ashamedly, he lifted his head back up.
The angel said, “Once again I’ve had to extinguish your anger.”
Vu Verian’s voice was tremulous. “Forgive me, radiant one. I meant only to defend the sanctity of this kingdom. This is one of the last places still untouched by darkness.” He motioned to Morigos. “For this…being…to walk in these halls is blasphemous.”
Morigos, struggling to remain silent, rolled his unseen eyes.
The Fallen Angel took her hand from Vu Verian’s shoulder and motioned to the Mage of the Moom. “This one has seen the futility of darkness and, from this wisdom, there shines a new light within him. He is bound by a new covenant.”
“So, he is welcome here?” Vu Verian’s look was quizzical.
“Yes, he is,” the angel said, “and we owe him a debt of gratitude for helping us with the acquisition of the Gauntlets of Loathing Light. Now he stands here willing to aid us with the resurrection of the Sunsword.”
“Ha!” Morigos thrust his staff in the sky elf’s direction. “Told you so!”
“And just how will he help us?” Vu Verian wondered aloud.
“When the time is right,” the angel replied, “you will see.”
Vu Verian rose from the floor, straightening his sleeves and shaking his head in disbelief. “Forgive me, again, but I don’t trust him. His people are as gifted in deception as you are in foresight. I know this. I have seen dark elves stab their own kings in the back. I have seen their children burn in fires of their own mother’s making. I have seen slaves executed, then resurrected to be tormented again. I…oh…” He sighed, unable to continue with whatever dark memories flooded his mind. “I’m sorry, your holiness, but in my heart, I know he will betray us.”
Morigos, supporting himself with his staff, leaned forward and said, “Well then, with such accusations, I find it amusing that it was you who attacked me. So much for the alleged graciousness of good!” Then he straightened up as much as he was able and pointed to Drinwor. “I could have killed this one. I’m supposed to kill him!” (Drinwor flinched at this.) “But I did not. I stayed the ‘hand of darkness,’ as you would say.” He cackled, and waved his arm around melodramatically.
“I don’t understand,” Vu Verian said, “why does a dark elf suddenly care so much for light?”
Morigos banged the floor with his staff. “Understand this: I care for neither light nor darkness. But I’m not unwitting to the desires of the Dark Forever. Now all destinies are headed toward ruin. The demons will come, and they’ll swallow whole galaxies. Myself, my lunatic people, we will enjoy no more favor than you.” He coughed, then sputtered, “Though you don’t believe this, my aims are no longer driven by the ignorance of evil.”
“Is that so?” Vu Verian smiled sardonically. “But what of your master’s aims? What of Warloove?”
“Bah, he’s no longer my master, and his aims are paltry.”
“Paltry?” Vu Verian laughed. “Stealing the Sunsword and leading the armies of the Dark Forever against us is paltry?”
Morigos yelled, “Fool! Warloove cares nothing for the Dark Forever, nor does he care anything of Phate!”
“No?”
“No!” Morigos let out an exasperated huff. “You despise the dark elves, yet you’re as easily deceived as they are. Warloove serves an alien master, a being long ago condemned to our forsaken world.” Vu Verian cast him a disbelieving look, but Morigos continued undaunted. “Yes, I have seen this alien. It wants the Sunsword’s energy to power its starship, or whatever it calls that crazy contraption it has hidden away in Warloove’s dungeon. It has power cells, crystals, engines, things that need reigniting. Bah, I don’t know the terms! But I do know it desperately desires flight from Phate, for it believes our dying sun is ready to explode—” It seemed as if he meant to say more, but the word “explode” caught in this throat and he gagged.
Vu Verian laughed. “This is a fantasy you describe!” He looked to the Fallen Angel. “You believe this?”
The angel nodded. “It is true. I know of this being. It calls itself Darkis. And I believe Nenockra Rool wants it to acquire the sword, for then the forces of light will be rendered helpless. In fact, it is a distinct possibility that Warloove is somehow being aided by agents of the Dark Forever in acquisition of the sword. With Surassis gone, not even the One Life can stand against Nenockra Rool.”
Vu Verian mumbled something inc
oherent, then said: “Well, whatever his aims, Warloove must acquire neither the gauntlets nor the sword.”
“He will not,” the angel assured, “for we have the sword, and the gauntlets have been sent far away from here.”
“You sent the gauntlets away?” Vu Verian looked dismayed. “When? Where?”
“I sent them at morning’s first light. They travel to a secret fortified location as we speak. They should arrive before dusk. Fear not, even should Warloove discover their location, they will not be easily acquired.”
“Do not be so certain of that.” Morigos pointed and shook an unnaturally bent finger at the angel. “As I told you before, oh, light one, Warloove is tenacious. Despite your deception, he will find the black gloves, and then he’ll likely steal my soul to empower your sacred sword!”
“Well,” the angel responded, “Warloove will have to travel far to find the gauntlets. And while he searches for them, we can go forth and infuse the sword with the pure soul, the One Soul.”
“What are you all talking about?”
It was Drinwor. He stepped forward, and all looked to him as if he they had forgotten he was there. “The One Soul? You mean a soul for my father’s sword? What does that mean? I’m afraid to acknowledge it, but I feel like it has something to do with me.”
Drinwor was met with blank and speechless stares.
Something to do with you, indeed, they all thought at once.
Everyone looked to the Fallen Angel. She was gazing at the dusk elf, thinking of her last conversation with Herard. A few quiet moments went by before she said: “It is long past time for you to understand what you are, and what your purpose is.”
“If I understand correctly,” Drinwor said, “I’m now the Emperor of the Sky.”
“Yes,” said the angel, “and that is an honorable charge. But you are so much more than that. Tell me, have you heard the saying, ‘One Life, One Soul, One Sword’?”
Drinwor shifted in his stance and gulped nervously. “Yes, I think I’ve heard my father say that, but I don’t know what it refers to.”
The angel nodded. “In order for Surassis to realize its full potential of power, all three attributes must work in concert: the One Life, the One Soul, and the sword itself. But for you, for your part…” And then the angel paused, for her next words stood Drinwor as if on the edge of a cliff, and to utter them would send him plummeting into an unavoidable fate. But there was nothing else to do, for indeed, his fate was unavoidable. She now understood Herard’s trepidation with telling his son of his destiny. It was impossibly hard, now that the time had come and she was face to face with him. But it simply needed to be explained, so she said: “Drinwor, you are the One Life, the Son and Savior of the Stars, destined to wield the Sunsword Surassis against Nenockra Rool and defeat the Dark Forever. It is you. By the grace of the Seven Glories, by the will of the living universe, it is you.”
Drinwor’s knees weakened and he stepped backward to catch himself from collapsing to the floor. “What? Me…? Supposed to wield the sword? Against the Dark Forever, you say?”
“Yes, the stars created you for this.”
Drinwor shot a quick glance to Vu Verian, who was regarding him with a rather blank stare, then he looked back to the angel. “The stars created me? What does that mean? I’ve never heard anything of this. Are you certain?”
“I am,” the angel replied, “but more importantly, you must be certain.”
Drinwor laughed. “Well, by all the infernal hells I most assuredly am not! I…I don’t know what to say…”
For the second time today, Drinwor was shaken to his core. May the Gods return, he had long suspected that he was meant for something greater, but this? It was all too much. Can you imagine being told that you are destined to stand against the most powerful evil force in the history of the universe on the same day that you learned of your father’s death? Well, I cannot, and neither could poor Drinwor. All this time, the innocent boy who struggled to sleep every night had actually been the Son and Savior of the Stars, the wielder of the Sunsword Surassis. It was profoundly overwhelming. With these admissions, it was as if the angel had in one moment torn down the walls that had until now sheltered his entire existence.
“This has been quite a morning!” Drinwor exclaimed. He looked around and saw Vu Verian and Morigos staring at him as if the angel’s words had cast him in an entirely new light. Undoubtedly, they had.
Now, before the stars, before himself, Drinwor Fang was laid bare. As the information sunk in, his smoky-colored face went flush. The sigils on his demonskin armor glowed, and his eyes blazed the deepest blue. His silver hair fluttered in some spectral wind, perhaps in the breezy breath of the spirit elves’ song, and something warmed inside him. He wrapped a hand around his sword charm, and a soft blue light suffused the spaces between his fingers. “Father…”
“Drinwor, are you all right?” the Fallen Angel asked.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Drinwor answered, “No, I’m not. And if this is all true, then I have, oh, a thousand questions or so to ask.”
“Let’s try starting with just one,” the angel suggested.
Drinwor nodded. “All right. Well, first I’m wondering why in the name of the Seven Glories my father didn’t say anything?”
Vu Verian shifted uncomfortably, and looked away. Morigos suddenly feigned an interest in the clouds. A few seconds passed before the angel said, “I will answer that question, but not now. That is something you and I will discuss later.”
Drinwor looked dejected. “I see. Then I’ll ask this: if I’m the One Life, then who’s the One Soul?”
The angel bowed. “The One Soul is a glorious and great one, imbued with purity and strength. It is the soul of the one who wielded Surassis a thousand years ago.”
Vu Verian shot his glance back to the angel and blurted, “Drakana?”
“Yes,” the angel confirmed, “the Lord Dragon of Phate.”
“But he was lost in the war,” Vu Verian pointed out.
“Lost, but not utterly destroyed.” The Fallen Angel lifted her sunlight arms. “His soul, along with countless others, remains in limbo between this world and the Seven Glories. He awaits the coming of the One Life in the Hall of Voices.”
Vu Verian shuddered, rippling his silken white robes. “The Hall of Voices, may the Gods return…”
“What exactly is the purpose of the soul?” Drinwor asked.
“You see,” the angel explained, “the One Soul will resurrect Sillithian Synnstrike, the solar dragon in the sword’s pommel. With the dragon resurrected, the sword is resurrected, and the power of Surassis’ sunblade may blaze forth. The dragon is the source of the sword’s fire.”
“Sill-ith…ian Synnstrike?” Drinwor attempted to pronounce.
“Yes, Sillithian Synnstrike,” the angel said a bit more articulately. “And this is the task that is laid before you all: On the morrow, at morning’s first light, you must journey to the Hall of Voices, where Drakana waits to infuse the sword.”
“Isn’t the Hall of Voices guarded by the Lord Banshee?” Vu Verian asked. “Are we to—”
Suddenly, a high-pitched cry of alarm sounded from above. Everyone looked up. The chamber’s higher regions were stirring with activity. The dragons were nettled, the Sun’s Remembrance flickering behind their beating wings. One of the dragons broke through the bottom of the clouds and spiraled down like a glinting leaf fallen from the Forest of Chanting Angels, cawing as it came.
Drinwor had never seen its like.
It was an insect dragon, a breed nearly extinct.
Its four transparent wings were buzzing so fast as to be almost invisible beyond the blur of the blue tips. The six legs extending from the silvery-white, green-striped body trembled as it neared.
Drinwor could see its globular eyes smoldering with worry. It continued cawing as it came down, and landed close by. The Fallen Angel glided up to greet it, and the two exchanged indecipherable words. After a b
rief discussion, the dragon leaped back into the air to rejoin its kin amongst the clouds. The angel watched it depart, then returned to the three elves.
“Well, what was that all about?” asked Morigos.
“The dragons have seen something a trifle bit disturbing,” the angel replied. “Although the Glyph of Multiversal Guarding has not cried out, it is unmistakable—Ulith Urn is occupied. Its walls thicken and its towers come back to unholy life.”
Morigos reached out, shook a fist. “It must be the necromancer, Syndreck the Brooding, returned through time and space to bring the Dark Forever back into the primary universe! Your sword is not the only thing that deals with souls. The deep elves must have successfully transplanted Syndreck’s soul into the body of my nephew. Their plans proceed as, uh…planned.” Morigos leaned to the side and moaned, “Damn! Even in death, my bastard nephew manages to annoy!”
Vu Verian’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’ve not moved fast enough. Nenockra Rool will step onto Phate before we even have a chance to resurrect the sword.”
“The necromancer is the key to all,” Morigos proclaimed, “He must be destroyed as quickly as possible!”
“In this, I actually agree with him,” Vu Verian said. (Morigos shivered with shock.) “We must try to kill this necromancer before he rips through the dimensional walls.”
Drinwor’s face lightened with hope. “If this Syndreck was killed, would we not have to fight, then? Would we even need the Sunsword? What if—”
Drinwor quieted, for the Fallen Angel was gesturing for silence. Then the being of light said, “The necromancer’s defeat cannot be guaranteed in time, and we must prepare the Sunsword for any eventuality. As long as Nenockra Rool exists, the Dark Forever threatens the universe. It is fated: sooner or later, one way or another, the Devil King will come and the One must face him.” (Drinwor felt his chest tighten at this.) “However, I will endeavor to have Syndreck destroyed as soon as possible. And if we can at least delay him, we’ll grant ourselves the time to resurrect the sword and gather the forces of light.”