Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  The fiery sylph so decreed, and shaped his right hand with the form of a flaming sword, with which he struck the northern seas. The strength of this blow was such that it upturned the waters into liquid walls seven times as high as Ophir’s outer fortifications. But since the logizkal were fluttering in the air whilst riding their flying creatures, they did not concern themselves much with the watery walls roaring against the shore. Yet they were most frightened indeed by the fiery walls riding above the waves. Within these unnatural flames, one could glimpse the waving figures which had not been seen since Prince Livionz eradicated monsterkind, and which have not been seen since: the Igneous Sylphs!

  These fiery beings left Moriah’s blade like a scorching drizzle issuing from a smouldering waterfall. They went forth and devoured the miles faster than any gryphon or hippogriff. From the far north they came, on a path that would bring them through Melchy-Zedek before they reached the battlefield.

  “This may well destroy us,” said Moruzio to himself. “But I will take solace witnessing the melchin scum perish before I do.”

  But the melchin did not move, or even tremble. The nephilin looked upon the Gilded City, while calamity unfolded afar off, and beheld something appear next to Amozia. It was small, smaller than a giant; but it shone far more than any star. And even if it seemed no more than a speck at that distance, Inimois recognized it, for it had been inside her dreams even before she was born:

  “It is… my prince… Prince Livionz…”

  Sanquivio heard her astonished words. He had still not recovered from Nod’s violence, but his pride was wounded. These words piled on his pain and angered him beyond anything he had ever felt:

  “That?!” he cackled, though there was more fury and fear in his laugh than mirth. “That puny thing is your prince? Surely I am stronger than him! I will slay him myself and prove you all!” he said, and drew Lauz-Ispariz from its scabbard.

  Inimois prostrated herself before the pharaoh, embracing and kissing his feet as she implored:

  “I beseech you, do not go over yonder and measure strength against him, my beloved! Remind yourself of the legend, that Livionz destroyed the scourge of monsterkind with a single wave of his sword.”

  And indeed, as the pharaoh drew Lauz-Ispariz, Livionz drew his legendary blade as well: the mighty Ziv-Ispariz. He brandished it, and from it a beam of fire shot up into the skies, as a blade of light. It parried Moriah’s mighty blow, and thus was Moriah’s flaming wall cloven as a serpent’s bifurcated tongue. And when they saw the fire from Livionz’s sword, aquatic and igneous sylphs alike swerved away from it, so that the waves and the fire did not strike Melchy-Zedek, but went around it. So was the Blessed City spared from Moriah’s judgment. The calamity headed now towards the nephilin army.

  Nod hovered by the pharaoh’s left arm, brimming with wrath:

  “Thou fool!” she screamed at Sanquivio. “Why dost thou waste precious time with boastful words, instead of obeying my command? Bid my army retreat, or should I do what thou obstinately refusest?” The sylphid so said, and snatched the royal horn away from Sanquivio, and blew on it, signaling Moruzio to retreat.

  But it was too late. The waves crashed against the shore, and the flames kept moving forward, as a massive, opaque, scorching curtain. The igneous sylphs who had turned to the left went back to the right, and the ones who had turned to the right went back to the left, and met each other at the centre of the conflagration, forming a united phalanx which consumed everything in its path, whether it be hill or vale, tree or wild beast.

  “Retreat!” the nephilin captain yelled. “Retreat!”

  Never did his troops obey him so readily. They spurred their gryphons, but their wings were not as swift as the igneous sylphs’ bloodthirst.

  First, the nephilin were blown away by a strong gust of wind, dispersing them as ants blown by a playful child. Many of the titans fell from their saddles and plunged from on high, dying even before they reached the ground. The ones who were able to remain on their saddles were less fortunate, for they were enfolded by the flames. Soon all of the army had been shrouded in this fiery mantle.

  Moruzio was aware of being swallowed into the inferno’s mouth, his skin taken by an intense and excruciating pain, as his flesh was being gnawed away by scorching teeth. The armour, which had once shielded his entire body was now a furnace wherein he slowly roasted. The iron in which he had placed his trust became now a suffocating shroud, as the gray metal turned red and melted over him.

  Then, amidst all this redness, Moruzio saw a white lightning. And this whiteness was like ice thrown into boiling water, and his scorched body felt refreshed. But this balm had come too late. The pain was too much to bear and he fainted.

  Chapter

  32

  The Great Silence

  The white bolt did not appear solely to Moruzio. As the igneous sylphs finished swallowing up the nephilin army, they set their eyes upon Sanquivio and Inimois, who had stayed behind the rest. But before the fiery sylphs reached the pharaoh and princess, the white bolt flickered before them and they were taken by a cold shiver. When their dazzled eyes regained sight, they saw themselves again in Nemrod, many leagues away in the south. In front of them was Nod, the white sylphid, carrying Moruzio on her lap. The iron of his armour was no longer incandescent, but from every orifice came out a nauseating smell of charred flesh, or the crackling of boiling skin. The metal hissed whenever it touched the captain’s body.

  “I could not but save this one,” a crestfallen Nod said. “The rest of my army… ‘tis gone…”

  Only then did Sanquivio understand what happened. Nod had transported them back to Nemrod, saving them from the fires of Moriah. At the same time, there was much the pharaoh did not understand. And so he focused on details most insignificant so as to avoid overwhelming truths:

  “Your army, Nod? Thrice already have you called my army yours!”

  The sylphid turned towards him. Her eyes, incapable of producing tears, sparkled with rage:

  “Yea, verily. My army. The army at my disposal to fulfill my intent. Dost thou think thy strength is thine own, and not granted by me? Knave! The army was mine to command, because thou wert mine as well! Thou art but a puppet in my hands!”

  The pharaoh sought to reply to her, but the sylphid had already fallen on him as a lion upon his prey. As swift as lightning was she. She clutched the king’s neck in her hands and dug her hooked nails in his flesh:

  “I was to be queen of this world, this wretched world wherein Aigonz exiled me! Yea, I would take my revenge on him, for this world chose me in his stead! And more so…” On a sudden, she becalmed herself. No, not everything was lost. Her true purpose was still at hand. She turned to the princess and fixed her maddened eyes on her. “More so, yea… that which belongeth to me…”

  Slowly but decidedly, Nod floated towards Inimois. At every step of her silvery sandals, she diminished in size, till she was the same height as a human. Her sylphic face flaunted a smile once more, but this newfound tenderness could not quiet the trembling princess. Even as Nod kept smiling, her cerulean eyes were like mirrors reflecting her evil thoughts. But Inimois could not flee: The sylphid’s icy glare froze her legs, so she might not escape. Nod covered Inimois under the pleats of her tunic. There was a white lightning and they were gone. Sanquivio and Moruzio were left there, in an almost empty Nemrod, for the king had brought nearly all of his army to the north.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Nod dragged Inimois within the folds of her dress. They were flying through the skies so swiftly the princess could not even perceive where they were or where they were going. So Nod paused several times along the way, for she wanted to show Inimois many things:

  “Look down below, little princess!”

  She dared not disobey, and looked. Here is what Inimois saw: The seas were waging war against the land and the land was waging war against itself. And all the greenness of Thebel was being devoured by this clash amongst the elemen
ts.

  “Now look up above, little princess!”

  Again she dared not disobey. She saw tongues of fire raining from the skies, grey vapours obscuring the celestial dome, and many terrible tempests.

  “Dost thou know why all these things are happening? I will tell thee! ‘Tis all because the giants have warred amongst themselves and against Aigonz! The cosmos is thrown out of balance! The Song binding all things together is in utter disarray! And why? Tell me why, little princess?”

  Inimois dared not answer, even if she already knew in her heart. But Nod would tell her, whether she answered, or whether she knew. It mattered not to her whether Inimois knew; it only mattered that she hear these words:

  “‘Tis all because of thee, little princess! Yea! The elements war against themselves since the giants warred against themselves, and the giants warred because of thee! Is it not how this all started? North against south, giants against giants, brothers against brothers… all because of thee and the prophecy upon thine head! Were there only logizkal, and no ophalin, peace would reign in Thebel to this day!”

  Inimois’ heart grew heavy, but that did not weigh upon Nod’s winged feet. Instead, it seemed the heavier the princess’ heart grew, the more emboldened the sylphid became. At last, Nod set her prisoner atop a pinnacle of a palace. Inimois recognized it: It was her own palace. Thence could she gaze at her realm down below. And nothing she had seen before wounded her soul more than what she saw then.

  A colossal tidal wave had swept through the land from the northeast and invaded Ophir through the mouth at the river Kárys. The salty seawater blended with the lake’s fresh water, and the Ergon’s outflow was not enough to drain the excess. The level of the waters rose and submerged the city of Ophir, drowning all the logizkal living there.

  Thebel quaked violently, as if to shake the weight of evil from its back. The Sym-Bolon mountain was rent in twain, and there was now a great precipice betwixt both halves of the mountain. The Crizian Palace crumbled into the newly formed cliff, and Inimois did not fall to her doom because Nod caught her by the neck, as the cat does to the mouse.

  And though the princess was saved, others were not so fortunate. The Crizian Guard was still inside the palace, fulfilling their duty. Inimois saw how Amizdel, sensing the quake, tried to lead his soldiers out into the open. She saw him opening the gates of the palace, but it was too late. The roofs fell upon their heads and buried them. None escaped. Even Amizdel, who was at the gate, ended up beneath a pile of rocks, his body crushed from the waist down, his head and arms sprawling out of the ruins.

  There, nigh the prostrate Amizdel, did Nod deposit the princess. Inimois ran to her faithful captain, stumbling on the rubble as her tears blinded her. Memories of Amizdel’s protection raced through her mind, and all his sound advice she had disregarded. She ran to him and yelled his name, though he lay as one departed from the land of the living. She reached him and started digging up the debris to set him loose. But the princess’ arms were not big or strong enough to lift any of those rocks, each one greater than her. So, there was nothing Inimois could do but to desperately claw at pebbles and soot.

  At that moment when all seemed lost, Inimois felt a movement. Amizdel, her beloved captain, had moved a hand, ever so slightly. She approached him and could see his brows squint amidst the dust covering them.

  “Crizia…?” he murmured, gasping as the rocks weighed on his lungs. “My… my crizia… So glad… you are safe…”

  “Do not waste kind words with me!” she sobbed, tears washing away the ashes on the captain’s face. “I am a princess no longer, for lo! My principality is no more! My crownless head is my only comfort in this dismal hour, for I could not bear to be called princess, being so undeserving of this title. I was too weak to be a worthy ruler… and for that you are in this most sorry state.”

  At great cost, Amizdel raised his strong arm and pointed towards her heart:

  “Princess, yea… Daughter of Aigonz… do not forget…”

  He so spake, but his words were cut short, as well as his breath. His arm fell on the ground. His eyes lost their light. And he was no more.

  Inimois wept bitterly, her eyes and cheeks and heart burning with sour tears. Nod, however, would not let her mourn. The sylphid felt the heat inside Inimois’ soul. As a teacher in the art of ironcraft, Nod knew better than anyone that one must strike iron while it is hot.

  “‘Tis indeed a pity. Such a faithful servant is hard to come by. If only thou hadst relinquished the sphinxes not, maybe Faris-Romil’s magic might have prevented all of this. Or maybe, if thou had not given Amozia away, the relic could have protected thy subjects, as it did protect Melchy-Zedek. Regardless, one truth remaineth: Amizdel would still be alive if thou wert not. The fault for his death—and all of these deaths—resteth solely upon thine head, oh little princess! Thou leftest thy city defenseless, vulnerable, weakened, whilst thou gorged delicacies in the south or sought glory in the north. Yea, verily, is there anyone else to blame?”

  Thus said the sylphid, and kept eddying around Inimois as flies around a corpse. Never did Nod allow her victim’s wailing to drown the sound of her cruel words. Rather, she turned the princess’ laments into a choir echoing the star’s insults. And Nod sang thus:

  Wretched you are, pits of the world!

  Accursed are you, Dumah’s abyss!

  Where starlight is forever amiss!

  Where Silence alone is heard!

  How dark, how vast are your halls!

  How sepulchral are your depths!

  Scores of prayers die in your steps!

  In your hollows all hope falls!

  Gloomily, the dead fill your graves!

  Wistfully, your fumes do swirl,

  And sulphur stenches your caves!

  Into you are the forlorn hurled!

  Vast as the sea, as ruins concave!

  Wretched you are, pits of the world!

  Inside of Inimois’ chest, her heart scorched so much that it began to glow behind the ribs and the skin and the clothes. Yea, that was the same glow Nod saw the very first time she visited Ophir, many years ago. “At long last!” the sylphid thought to herself. Then, she said:

  “I understand thou sufferest much. The whole world resteth condemned on thine account. It must be atrocious to carry such a burden. Alas, there is naught thou canst do, but to learn to live with this pain. Thou canst not change the past. Such is one of Aigonz’s most inexorable laws, and the cruelest of them all. Henceforth, thine existence shall remain haunted by the ghosts of all those who perished because of thee. This shall be so till the day thou too shalt a ghost become.”

  “If it is so, that day shall be a blessing to me.”

  “So it shall, so it shall, thou speakest well.”

  “It is too much, too much for me to bear… I cannot endure it…”

  “I know. Who could?” Nod’s voice changed. It bore not the inquisitorial tone of a judge, but the tone of a merchant seeking to sell a bargain. “I may aid thee in this regard…”

  A hope sprouted inside Inimois, so tenuous her body did not move, not even her eyes:

  “I… hear you…”

  “All of that weight, all of that suffering… well, ‘tis all inside thine heart, is it not? Why dost thou need it? Cast thine heart aside! If thou so wishest, hand it over to me! Thy burden shall be eased, for I can take it!”

  The Heart of the Princess fulgurated now as a sun inside her chest. So much it glowed, Nod did not even await for Inimois’ answer: Her resigned silence was enough. The sylphid lunged upon her victim, buried her ice cold hand inside her chest, and ripped her scorching heart from her warm body.

  “At last! At long last! The Scorinz is mine! ‘Tis in my hands, where it belongeth! Where it always belongeth!” Nod rejoiced, raising the heart in her hand as one who flaunts a trophy. It was not a heart made of flesh, but a jewel, the most beautiful jewel ever seen. The gem was white, as Nod was, but transparent. From its many edges issued
rainbow reverberations and a glow which seemed to burn Nod’s claws. But she did not mind. She kept dancing:

  “Dost thou see, Aigonz? Dost thou see?” she yelled to the heavens, showing them the jewel. “Thou sought to keep me away from my possession, but couldst not! Thou hast deceived me, exiled me, humiliated me, but in the end I triumphed! ‘Tis mine! Mine! The Scorinz is mine, not thine! Mine!”

  As she kept dancing, Nod stumbled upon Iminois’ body. It was still there, erect, kneeling before her captain. It did not seem like Inimois had died, only that she had lost all strength in that place. The princess’ body had also changed. Her fair skin, once blushed, was now utterly pale, as a marble tomb. For there was no longer a heart there to pump blood to her cheeks. Even her freckles had dissolved, and the runes of power painted on her skin as well. Her hairs, before so curly and full of life, had now lost all their vigour and fell down her shoulders and back, plain as a willow’s canopy. Just like her cheeks, her hair had lost its clayish hue and become dark, as if her mane had been a flame turned to dark cinders. Even her eyes were now not green, but two pieces of coal, dull and lightless.

  “So thou hast not died,” Nod said, while scratching her chin with the jewel “Interesting. Since thine heart belongeth to me, I assume thou shalt do my bidding.”

  With the rigidity of an automaton, Inimois turned her head towards Nod. Her gaze was empty as if she was indeed veiled by the darkness of death, her head drowsy with a tired stupour:

  “I hear you, mistress, for you have saved me from suffering everlasting…”

  “Very well, very well, ‘tis better than what I planned.” And, turning to the heavens once again, the sylphid said, “Dost thou see, Aigonz? Not only have I claimed what is rightfully mine, I shall also own thy daughter as a slave. From now on, she will not be called Inimois, but ‘Kadingira,’ which meaneth, ‘my property.’”