by CA Morgan
“It was a little more than that, but let’s finish with Riza first. I still can’t believe you did that. How did you think you were going to kill him?” Raga asked.
“I couldn’t have killed him with the loadstone, but it should have been enough to slow him down and allowed me time to escape. You see, demons laugh when you draw swords against them, because they are mostly impervious to them. They’ll taunt you to come closer to them. But remember, somehow these loadstones stick to a steel blade. I accept their taunts, and then at the last moment, I make a spinning turn and press the stone hidden in my palm to the blade. They never see the stone until it’s too late. Sometimes the demon disappears almost instantly, and other times it takes a little longer,” Eris explained. He held out his cup for Raga to fill.
“And this is what you would have done to Riza?” Raga asked as he filled the cup.
“If I had to. Besides, I know that stone is very strong, because I almost can’t get it off the blade, so it would have slowed him some. You don’t think it would have?” Eris asked, when Raga seemed flustered.
“No, you’re right, it would have,” Raga said and then paused to scratch under his beard. He looked at Eris with a sigh and a shake of his head. “I really don’t know what to think sometimes. You just aren’t normal. That’s it. Of all the men I’ve known in my long years, I don’t think I’ve ever met a one like you. Sure, there were the insane, the despots, a few that were reasonably tolerable, but you are unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”
“Considering our mutual problems, I don’t see that as a bad thing,” Eris said. He was amused by Raga’s words for a change. “So, if you didn’t put the loadstone to Riza, how did he go away as I didn’t have the opportunity to double cross him as he was doing to me?”
“How do you know he was double crossing you, which I now know he was?”
“Count how many times I’ve been injured lately, and seriously. I’m usually not so unlucky as it appears,” Eris answered and Raga nodded that he understood.
“That’s where this whole story of you and I takes a strange little turn. Do you want to sleep, or go on,” Raga asked, thinking Eris looked a little tired again.
“No, go on, but take the cup. I can’t hold it anymore.”
Raga did as he asked, then adjusted the pillows lower in case Eris fell asleep and smoothed his blanket.
“You fuss too much. Let it be,” Eris said, as the sorcerer went around the whole bed making sure everything was to his liking.
“You just get better and let me do this.” Raga returned to the stool and recounted the tale.
Eris listened in silence, in utter amazement to all of the things Raga told him. Like Raga, he wasn’t sure he liked being used as a catalyst for some great scheme, yet he did have respect for Morengoth and was glad to have helped him in the end. In fact, he looked forward to a day when their paths might cross again, and not because Anya had sent him the dagger’s hilt. He didn’t tell Raga about that incident. He felt more than guilty about it in light of Morengoth’s gift of the sword, but it was done and hoped it stayed buried forever.
Once again he was faced with the huge contradiction of Raga-Tor, the Great Destroyer versus Raga, the Fool, who had so little sense sometimes that Eris wondered how he had survived through all the millennia.
That Raga had offered to sacrifice everything he was for his sake touched him deeply and in a place in his soul that he hadn’t felt in many years. It was the place where he carried the memories of his family.
“I don't think you’re normal either, Raga-Tor,” Eris said, when Raga paused to catch his breath and settle his unexpected emotions that sometimes made his voice waver, or his eyes burn a degree brighter. “While there are no words in me to express my gratitude for what you have done, I still don’t understand why you did it. You are once more a fully complemented elemental sorcerer. You have no need of me now, nor did you, when Riza appeared. You had your stones by then.”
“I suppose I did it for the same reasons as you when you decided not to let the avatar crush me. In spite of our differences, and those have been great, we have gained a certain respect for each other's talents, and perhaps, we still fear each other on some level and that keeps us honest,” Raga said.
Eris smirked. “Fear? What do you have to fear from me? One wave of your hand and I’m a pile of smoking cinders.” There was still a lingering shadow of doubt in him that Raga just might do that at some point in time.
“That may be, but you still stun me with quirky insights into things that I think you should know nothing about. That’s not altogether comforting either. But, if we are to be friends, true friends, then we must learn to trust on more than a superficial level. I think we do, but it will be hard for a time to forget what has been before. Besides, it’s a lot more interesting to watch you kill demon-beasts, as long as they don’t kill you. Sorcery can be so bland in that aspect,” Raga said and wrinkled his nose. Eris gave him a quick smile and the sorcerer was glad.
“Now, explain something else. If Charra-Tir took your gems to teach you a lesson, why do the gods allow you to help me against her? Aren’t you supposed to leave each other alone?”
“I never really asked about that. I suspect she overstepped her authority, when she put that extra spell on them.”
“So, amongst other things, I’m a convenient coincidence in this whole affair. I’ve never quite thought of myself that way,” Eris said with a hint of sarcasm.
Raga took it as a good sign though. He knew that when sarcasm and unpredictable anger returned, Eris would definitely be on the mend. He also realized that it would be better to let Eris think this way than to bring up the fact that twice Tas-Moren had referred to him as a champion, perhaps of gods, or of men, but in either case he knew his trials on that road had just begun.
“I really don’t care what name you use. As far as I’m concerned, your appearance was a fortuitous event for me, and now it will work for you,” Raga said.
“Speaking of which, how are we going to get rid of this little curse of mine?” Eris asked.
“I’m not sure, but we have time to consider it. You still have a lot of healing to do.”
“I hope so. I still can’t feel my legs very well.”
“Do you think you can walk if I helped you?” Raga asked. His concern for how badly Eris was injured worried him most days. “I wish Tas-Moren would have healed you a little more than this.”
“What, and risk the wrath of some other god who disapproves? It will just take time and a good deal of patience from both of us. No, I don’t think I’ll be walking for at least another week even with help,” Eris said, trying to move his feet, but had little success.
“We'll try tomorrow,” Raga encouraged. “Now, as I was saying, I've been thinking about Charra-Tir, and even though she has sorely plagued us, I know we can’t use that other little talisman that I know you have. I don’t think it would be wise to treat her too harshly.”
As he finished speaking, Raga looked up into Eris’ face just in time to see the roiling fury spark in his eyes. Out of habit, he flinched away. Here it came.
“A curse on you, Raga! What do you mean we can’t treat her too harshly?” Eris demanded. He twisted himself too forcefully as he tried to rise up on his elbow. “Verin’s blood!” he gasped as searing pain and cramps exploded all across his back.
“Calm down. Now look, you’ve hurt yourself, haven’t you?” Raga said reproachfully. A faint sheen of sweat appeared on Eris’ brow and the speed of his breathing increased. Gently, Raga eased him back down onto the pillows.
“Damn the pain. That witch has ruined nearly a year of my life and I’m supposed to let her get away with it?” Eris continued angrily. He gasped, “Oh gods,” as Raga took hold of him.
He felt Raga’s hand slide gently and carefully down his back. His flesh grew warm and the spasms subsided to a tolerable level.
“Better?” Raga asked, when he felt Eris relax against his hand and he nodded
. “What’s this? No complaints about being magicked?”
“It hurts too damned much,” Eris admitted and stifled another gasp.
“Here, hold on to my arm and let me pull you forward just a bit. I want to see what improvement there is,” Raga said and pulled him forward slowly as he increased the heat coming from his hand.
“A little to the left,” Eris said, gritting his teeth against the intensely painful spasms that rippled from one side to the other deep within his back. His grip on Raga’s arm tightened as he neared an upright position. Tears of agony rolled down his face as he felt every muscle and bone move with the sense that they were never meant to move in that direction. His head swam with dizziness.
“Hold on, this won’t take but a moment,” Raga said as his hand gently probed the injury.
“Well?” Eris gasped as the pain’s intensity made him whimper.
“I still wish he would have healed you better,” Raga fussed.
“From what I remember of it, I’m surprised there was anything left to put back together. At least that’s how it felt for that brief moment,” Eris said and cried out when Raga touched a more sensitive area.
“I’d rather not remember that right now, it disturbs me. Well, the bruising is fading, but there is still a lot of swelling and I hate to say it, but I think there is going to be a pretty nasty scar. He could have at least gotten rid of that,” Raga said as he slowly eased Eris back down.
“It doesn’t matter as long as I can walk and gain back my strength,” Eris said and breathed easier now that Raga had him nearly flat on his back again and the magical warmth lingered. The sorcerer wiped his face with a cool cloth and sat back on his stool.
“I’m sure you will in time. Now listen, Charra-Tir isn’t going to get away with anything. Let me tell you what I’ve been thinking. She’s a second-level elemental and I think that if we destroyed her completely, we would somehow destroy a force that is natural to the energy that flows in the earth and that disruption could cause other things to go wrong. I doubt it would be as serious as destroying a first-level elemental, but I don’t know. Your face says you don’t believe me,” Raga said.
“What’s not to believe?” Eris said, with a careful shrug. “What I don’t understand, really, is the difference between a first and second elemental. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that. I know most of the men I’ve fought belong to something called the Fifth Circle, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re all one and the same.”
“Hardly, Eris, hardly,” Raga snorted. “There’s a big difference between first and second and those of this Fifth Circle. A first level like me is the embodiment of everything that is fire. I am fire. That much you already know. There are three others like me. They are also pure forms of earth, water and air. From us come the second-level elementals. They are logical progressions of the pure form of the first four. You’ve heard of the North Wind, or Spring Rain and such?”
Eris nodded.
“Well, these are less powerful entities descending from the first. In the examples I gave you, the seconds are from air and water. Do you understand?”
Again Eris nodded.
“You use the word entities, yet Keku Raga-Tir said she is your daughter? What is she?” Eris asked.
“In a sense, we have children, but it doesn’t quite happen the way it would for you. She is the essence of the hearth fire, of home and family.”
“I guess that explains that.” Eris drew in a deep breath and with a shiver, recalled her instantly amorous nature.
Raga laughed. “I forgot you met her. I take it she was intrigued by your charms.”
“You could say that and I'm pretty sure my efforts to disavow her of them fell on deaf ears. So why did she say that you and her mother were one of the greatest love stories of all time?”
“Ahh, well,” Raga sighed and paused as he recollected an old memory. “That is something for another day, when you’re a little older, perhaps,” he added with a wink. “Now, back to Charra-Tir. She’s a second elemental of water and the embodiment of a sea storm. She can be a waterspout, the fury behind the pounding seas and the destroyer of ships cast upon the reefs. To destroy her completely would upset the cycle of sea storms and we need these storms. I’m not sure why, but I suspect this is part of my lacking education, according to Tas-Moren.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Eris agreed with a contemplative look.
Raga felt uncomfortable as he watched Eris. He knew he was plotting and scheming by the way a wicked, mischievous smile that slowly appeared on his lips. By the way one brow went up in consideration and then settled into a decision.
“I have an idea,” he said.
“Somehow I knew you did,” Raga sighed and was sure he didn’t want to hear it. He let his chin drop down into his hands. “Tell me. I might as well start the morning with a nightmare.”
“Morning?”
“We’ve managed to talk the night away, and some of us haven’t had the luxury of sleeping for over a week.”
“This won’t take long. As we can’t destroy her, though I’d like to break her scrawny neck, I know of a certain Sultan who would be more than pleased to have a hellcat like her in his harem,” Eris suggested.
“We can’t do that. There’s no water in Reshan. She would never survive,” Raga protested, but not too strongly.
“Yes, she would. You might have forgotten about that incredible bath those women have, but I haven’t. I don’t suppose you could get me back in there for an afternoon once this is over, do you?” Eris asked with wink and a wry smile.
Raga drew himself up straight and shook his head.
“You really enjoy being ornery, don’t you? You can’t even get out of bed and already you’re scheming.”
“For a scheme like that, what better place?” Eris teased and laughed when Raga’s cheeks warmed with color. At least Eris was laughing with him this time rather than at him, and that made all the difference. “So, what do you think of my idea? She can make as many water spouts as she wants in that place.”
“It’s better than breaking her neck. I suppose when she has collected enough water back to herself, she can become a waterspout and whirl her way back home. I just hope she doesn’t try any of her magic on the Sultan. After his experience with us, she’s liable to end up watering his plants,” Raga said.
“That’s her decision. We’ll only have put her there. What she does is completely up to her,” Eris reminded.
“You’re right,” Raga agreed and stood up to stretch. “I think you should sleep again,” he said and started to walk away, then paused and turned back to look at Eris. “On the other hand, maybe you should lay there and think on that bath just a little longer.”
“Why?”
“Who knows, as Erisa, you might not be so badly injured and seeing Erisa the Wench once more…well, it would do my old, weary heart good to see such beauty and perfection once more,” Raga said and sounded serious.
Eris looked wide-eyed at him and his mouth dropped open in amazement. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. Was he teasing or not? Then he snorted with derision, when he saw Raga was making no effort to admit he was teasing.
“You can go to the pits, sorcerer,” Eris growled with a scowl to match. “If you ask me to do that again, I swear I’ll get out of this bed and you’ll see what other quirky secrets I have.”
“Fine, Eris, fine. Sorry I asked. Just remember I am going to the pits for half a year. Now all I have to take with me is the memory of your threats and your scowling face.”
Eris crossed his arms over his chest and the scowl on his face darkened as Raga’s illusory morning sun began to color his illusory sky with shades of pink and blue.
In the weeks that followed, Raga found his patience tried again and again as Eris’ progress was much slower than he thought it would be. He grumbled time and again that Tas-Moren had not been altogether fair with his healing. But Eris, who had a finer understanding of t
he fickle nature of gods, tried to bear up with stoic determination for Raga’s sake. Yet there were many days when he couldn't force his iron will on his injured body and had to submit to weakness, to the wrenching pain that brought anguished tears to his eyes and left him immobile for hours on end.
It was on those days that angry words passed between them. Raga could do nothing, but impatiently experience the frailty of Eris’ mortality, while Eris could hardly bare the fact that Raga, with his huge vitality, had to help him take the few steps to a chair or to the cave’s opening so he would have a change of scenery.
Three months passed by the time Eris healed and his strength returned, and returned in greater proportions than he originally had. Neither of them could say for sure whether it was the effect of Tas-Moren’s healing gift or whether Eris was benefiting from a much-needed rest and the abundance of magic-enhanced food. And both of them had to admit that either Raga had become shorter as a result of his experience, or Eris had somehow gotten taller.
During the afternoons of late, Raga’s tranquil patch of blue sky and green grass was disturbed by the clangor of sword against sword or sword against shield. Eris practiced and honed his fighting skills against a small army of illusory warriors that Raga had created specifically for that purpose. The violent activity finally brought him fully back to life and put the explosive spark back into his personality.
Weeks earlier Raga had been worried about his complete recovery, as he seemed listless and slow in his actions both physically and mentally. Now he was amazed by what he saw. Eris’ powerful frame, though he was still lean of waist and broad of shoulder, seemed almost too bulky and heavy for him to have the speed and agility he displayed.
When Eris had first started practicing with the illusory fighters, Raga had insisted on at least a chain mail tunic and shield to protect from any new injury. In time the shield gave way to a small dagger, then to a second sword and culminated in the battle being carried out before him now.
Dressed now in nothing but his breeches and boots, Eris feinted and parried, spun low and thrust upward from a kneeling position to take down one of the five men facing him. As he gained his feet, the second sword swung a wide arc and blocked a blow from behind. Pivoting away from the blocked blow, his free sword took the head off of the second. Eyes, mind and body functioned as a flawless unit as the swords in his hands sung a fearless song of might and prowess. Whirling, slicing, thrusting they were a wild, exhilarating display of controlled fury and a passion for perfection.