A Trial of Souls

by Brian D. Anderson

“Now we wait and see,” he replied solemnly.

  Chapter 8

  Theopolou spent the next few hours resting in the far corner of the small room, his pack beneath his head for a pillow. The glow orb became dimmer and dimmer until it was but a faint light on the ceiling. Mohanisi sat at the table awash in the flow, searching the emotions of those who passed near to the building. He could feel only sadness and dread.

  The door opened and Shen entered. Theopolou rose to his feet and allowed the flow to rush through him. His muscles flexed and stretched with renewed strength. He checked his dagger and said a silent prayer.

  “I shall act as your second,” said Shen.

  Theopolou looked at him skeptically. “I assumed I would choose my own.”

  Shen shook his head. “As you pointed out, Mohanisi is not a member of any tribe. This makes him the offended party and unable to act as second. Oliana does not want you to think she will not hold to our laws, so she chose me to second you as a sign of good faith.”

  “Am I to be allowed to witness?” asked Mohanisi.

  “You will,” he replied. “But you must not speak or act on Theopolou’s behalf.”

  “And if I fall?” asked Theopolou. “Will Mohanisi be afforded safe passage?”

  Shen bowed his head. “You have my word on that. I will see him to the borders myself. But understand that even if you succeed, you will still likely face the judgment of our elders once they arrive. The leadership of this village cuts your ties to your own tribe and forfeits your protection as elder of your house.” He looked into Theopolou’s eyes. “But of course, you knew this.”

  Mohanisi stepped closer to Shen and shut his eyes. “I sense a great conflict within you. The darkness has not consumed you completely. You still fight it.”

  “You see much,” admitted Shen. “But do not think to turn me against my own kin. I have seen the ships off our coast and heard the elders speak of the plots against us. And though I did not agree with the decision to attack your people, it was inevitable. Humans have ever sought our destruction, and it was the gods who brought us to this pass. For five hundred years we have lived as exiles in our own land because of the very people Theopolou’s kin now call friend. An alliance between the elves of the south and the humans can only mean one thing.”

  “It was not my tribe, nor any other, that brought the evil now infesting your land,” said Theopolou. “You are a seeker. Surely you can feel the corruption of the flow. You think we are capable of such a thing? It is the Reborn King who has done this. The ships are his, and he is the source of the corruption. Have you not seen the vile Vrykol that serve him?”

  Shen’s lips tightened. “I have seen them. But they do not trouble us. They are forbidden to enter our village.”

  Theopolou pulled out the horse pendant. “The elf who gave me this was fleeing the Vrykol. He and his sister were the sole survivors of an attack planned by Ryslotis, the elder of his tribe. They were exiled. But once away from their village, they were attacked anyway.”

  “That is a serious claim,” said Shen. “One I doubt you can support.”

  Theopolou sighed. “Beyond the word of an elf, I have no evidence.”

  Shen stiffened his back. “Then we have spoken enough. Oliana awaits.”

  He led them from the building onto the street. The air was cool with a breeze that brought the sea to their nostrils. Hundreds of torch carrying elves lined the avenue on either side. They walked at a steady pace east for a distance, then turned south. As they progressed, the elves lining the street filed in behind them.

  “She is making quite a spectacle of this,” remarked Theopolou.

  “This is the first time in living memory that a leadership has been challenged,” Shen replied. “Oliana did not need to coax anyone to witness it.”

  They wound their way through the streets until they reached the outskirts of the town. Ahead, hundreds of elves already awaited them around a great circle of torches. Oliana stood at its center beside a figure in a white hooded cloak. As they entered the circle, the elves that followed spread out and joined the other spectators.

  “Wait at the edge,” Shen instructed Mohanisi.

  They approached Oliana and her second until they were only a few yards away. She was wearing a loose fitting red tunic, brown leather pants, and a pair of suede moccasins. Her hair was tied in a tight braid, with a silver band resting on her brow. She thumbed her dagger anxiously as she met Theopolou’s eyes.

  “Is this your champion or your second?” asked Theopolou.

  “I shall be the one to face you, Theopolou,” she hissed with contempt. She touched the cloaked elf beside her and he pulled back his hood, revealing blond hair and a cold expression. “Have you met Malstisos?”

  “I have not,” Theopolou replied. “But I know his family and I have spoken to Sister Maybell about him. She was quite concerned.”

  The mention of Maybell caused Malstisos to shift uncomfortably. “Human feelings and fears are irrelevant,” he said in a low voice. “I kept my word and delivered her to safety.”

  “That you did,” said Theopolou. He reached out to him with the flow but was thrown back at once.

  Malstisos’ hand slid to the dagger at his side. He glared furiously. “Do not try that again.”

  Theopolou bowed slowly. “My apologies. I did not know you were attuned to the flow. That is unusual considering you are not a seeker or an elder. Someone has been teaching you.”

  “Enough!” said Oliana harshly. “We are here to settle a challenge, not to speak of matters that do not concern you.” She stepped forward. “I give you this one chance to withdraw and await the judgment of the elders. I have no desire for this futile pursuit to end your long life.” She met his eyes and flashed a malicious grin. “But I can see that your mind is set.”

  “Then draw your weapon and let this be done,” replied Theopolou. “I think you will find that my age has not slowed my body.”

  Oliana sneered and turned to face Malstisos. “See that his remains are afforded all proper rites.”

  Malstisos and Shen bowed to each other, then walked to opposite ends of the circle.

  Theopolou drew his dagger and stepped back. With legs parted and slightly bent, he eyed Oliana cautiously. He knew better than to underestimate her. Though not a seeker, all the elves of the Steppes were well trained in personal combat, and he did not know what extra power the dagger might be giving her. His already keen senses sharpened as he allowed the flow to enter his body.

  Oliana pulled her dagger free, her expression turning to a stone calm. An instant later a shadow appeared, surrounding her body and hiding her features from clear view. As she moved slowly to her left, a swirling wind flowed around the circle.

  “Now do you see, Lord Theopolou?” Her thin voice suddenly carried an echo. “The power of the north has given the elders of the Steppes the strength to prevail. And he will return to us our kingdoms.”

  Theopolou could feel the corruption of the flow penetrating him - sapping his strength. Only with a great effort was he able to pushed it out and follow her movements. “Does your heart hold nothing of what you once were? Look at yourself. Can you not see the evil that binds you?”

  She did not reply. The shadow around her became darker and the wind rose. With effortless grace she sprang forward, slashing at Theopolou’s neck. He leaned back and spun right, but still the blade cut a long gash just beneath his left ear. Theopolou countered, thrusting low and swift, but Oliana easily twisted away and brought her dagger across his shoulder.

  “You have become old and slow, Theopolou,” she jeered, dancing away. “Though you never were a warrior - isn’t that right? Words are your weapons. How are they serving you now?”

  Blood soaked Theopolou’s shirt from his wounds, but he ignored the pain and fought to keep his focus. Easing back slowly, he waited for Oliana’s next attack. She moved forward to match him, then struck low, barely missing his right thigh. In response, Theopolou brought down
the hilt of his dagger, grazing her cheek. She countered upwards, slicing open his shirt, but Theopolou was already leaning back and the blade missed his flesh. Again she pressed, but this time Theopolou grabbed her sleeve and pulled hard, bringing her stumbling forward.

  She spun to face him, the shadow around her fading slightly to reveal the hatred in her eyes. Without hesitation, she charged once more. Theopolou again used her aggression against her, backing away and landing a blow with his empty hand on her exposed jaw. This only served to intensify her anger. Letting out a hideous scream, she attacked again, this time even faster and more furiously. Her blade cut into Theopolou’s arms and chest several times, but he moved ever back, preventing the steel from biting too deep. Even so, he was losing too much blood and knew he would soon weaken. Oliana struck at his neck, and he was forced to duck and roll away. Her growing frustration was making her thrusts wild, but he needed something more.

  “It would seem words are not my only weapons,” he taunted. “Perhaps you should yield before this ends ill for you.”

  The shadow darkened and the wind went wild. Oliana’s face was contorted with fury. “I shall cut out your heart and send it to your kin.”

  A dark blur shot at Theopolou. But this time he stepped forward, twisting his torso to the left. Oliana’s dagger plunged into his chest, just to the right of his heart. Theopolou gasped and pulled her to him, at the same time sinking his own blade into her throat. Blood sprayed from her mouth, covering his face as they both fell to the ground.

  Theopolou rolled over, jerking her dagger free from his chest. He could feel his life slipping away. The weapon pulsed in his hand and he could sense the darkness growing around him. He looked over to Oliana. The coughs and gurgles of her death throes were made even more gruesome as she tore feebly at the blade protruding from her mangled flesh. After a few seconds the shadow vanished, the wind died, and she became still - her eyes vacant. Theopolou dropped her dagger and clutched at the wound in his chest.

  In seconds, Shen and Mohanisi were at his side. Mohanisi placed his hands on Theopolou and allowed the flow to pass into him. But after only a brief time he stopped.

  “There is something sinister at work,” he whispered. “The wound will not close. There is nothing I can do.”

  Theopolou nodded with understanding. “Destroy the dagger.” His voice was shallow and weak. “Do it now.”

  Mohanisi nodded and stood up. Kicking the dagger several feet away, he closed his eyes and held out his arms. A flame burst to life around the blade, growing hotter and hotter until its heat started to blister his skin. For a full minute the fire raged until a faint crack and pop could be heard. This was immediately followed by a loud explosion that sent black smoke shooting out in every direction. The sheer force of the shockwave pushed both Mohanisi and Shen clean off their feet. The cloud of smoke billowed and expanded until it filled the entire circle. There it paused for a moment, as if suspended in time. Then, with an almighty roar, it collapsed inward and disappeared completely.

  Blind panic instantly set in. Screams of pain and despair erupted from all those assembled. Elves began tearing at their skin and running aimlessly around, many colliding with each other and falling stunned to the ground. Some curled themselves up into a ball and wept uncontrollably, others pounded their fists into the earth while shouting endless streams of curses. Shen was on his knees with tears flowing freely down his face.

  Mohanisi stared in horror at the chaotic scene.

  “They are free,” muttered Theopolou. “But they are wounded.”

  Theopolou’s words snapped Mohanisi to attention. He crawled over to the old elf’s side and once again tried to heal the wounds. This time the flow entered, but the destruction of the dagger had greatly weakened him. He managed to stop the bleeding, but Theopolou’s life was still slowly fading away. Desperately, he ran to Shen and roughly pulled him to Theopolou’s side.

  “You must help me,” Mohanisi commanded. But Shen did not respond. His tear-filled eyes stared out into nothingness. Mohanisi let out a roar and slapped the seeker hard across the face. This time Shen blinked and gasped. “Help me!” Mohanisi repeated, this time with as much force as he could muster.

  Shen looked down at Theopolou. “I...I don’t…” His voice was weak and distant.

  Mohanisi grabbed Shen’s hands and placed them on Theopolou’s chest. “Your brother is dying. Now you must lend me your strength.”

  Slowly, Shen regained his wits and allowed the flow to pass from himself into Theopolou. But he was weak and was soon drained. “Will he live?” he managed to ask.

  “I do not know,” Mohanisi replied.

  Theopolou’s eyes were closed: his breathing shallow and labored. Mohanisi looked out on the field. Some of the elves had ceased their screaming and were now just sitting motionless. Others rocked back and forth, muttering incoherently. A few were bleeding from self-inflicted wounds.

  Summoning up all of his remaining strength, Mohanisi lifted Theopolou in his arms and stumbled toward the village. Shen followed, though his confused expression and short uneven steps suggested he would be of little help. Once they had reached the street, Mohanisi approached the first house he came to and kicked open the door.

  Inside, the dwelling was lit by a fire in a round hearth set at the center of the room. A small stove was to his left, and a mahogany table and chairs to his right. The walls were decorated with charcoal drawings of bison and deer. A pedestal stood on either side of the room - one holding the bust of an elf man, the other an elf woman. An archway to the rear was covered by the same beads as those in Oliana’s house.

  Mohanisi pushed through the beads and into a narrow hall. There was a door on both sides, and another at the end. Steadying Theopolou’s body, he bent down and opened the door on his left. Inside was a small bed with a soft mattress and large white pillows. He gently laid Theopolou down and grabbed a blue wool blanket that was folded neatly in the corner. After covering him, he turned to Shen.

  “I need roots and herbs from your healers,” he said urgently. “Go now.”

  Shen stood there for a second with a glazed look in his eyes, then nodded and left. But fifteen minutes later there was still no sign of him returning. Mohanisi was growing more and more desperate. He had managed to keep Theopolou’s life from completely fading, but his own weakened condition was making it impossible to do more.

  When Shen finally arrived back he appeared to be more like himself. He handed Mohanisi a small flask. “Drink this. It will restore your strength so that you can heal him further.”

  Without a thought, Mohanisi opened the flask and quickly drank every last drop. Almost immediately heat rushed through his veins. He felt his strength returning, though not completely. But it was enough for now, and he renewed his efforts heal to Theopolou. More and more he passed the flow until he was once again on the verge of collapse. It was then that Theopolou’s eyes fluttered open.

  “That is enough, my friend,” whispered the old elf. “Please, no more. You will only injure yourself. My wounds are far deeper than you know, and you cannot heal them.”

  Mohanisi smiled. “That is nonsense. Your body is nearly mended.”

  “It is not my body that is dying.” Theopolou breathed heavily and closed his eyes. “Oliana’s dagger has caused my spirit to wither. Its dark power has killed me.”

  Mohanisi refused to believe what he was hearing. “There must be something that can be done,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “It cannot end this way. You are still needed.”

  Theopolou opened his eyes once again and took hold of Mohanisi’s hand. “It has not ended. My journey through this life has been long and my tasks are complete. I die knowing that my final act has freed my kin from eternal night.” He winced and shifted in his bed. “My people still have the spark of grace within. Do not abandon them. They need your light to show them the way.”

  Mohanisi nodded slowly as a tear fell. “I swear to you, I will never abandon our
kin. I will see them restored.”

  “I would have liked to have seen your home.” Theopolou’s voice grew weaker. “I would have liked that very much.”

  “Your name will be sung atop the spires of every city,” Mohanisi replied. “All will know of your sacrifice, and of your love for our people.”

  “Tell Kaylia that I love her most of all.” Theopolou’s grip lessened as his eyes closed for a final time. “And that she has made me very proud.”

  Mohanisi knelt beside the bed for the next hour, weeping softly until the very last bit of life had left Theopolou’s body.

  “He saved my people,” said Shen.

  The seeker’s voice startled Mohanisi erect. “And your people need you. See to them. I will join you as soon as I am able.” He struggled to his feet. “There is still much to do if we are to honor Theopolou’s courage.”

  “There must be other objects such as the one Oliana carried,” said Shen. “They must all be destroyed.”

  Mohanisi nodded. “When your elders arrive, it will be done. And though I may be forced to do something I never thought possible for me to do, I will not fail.” He pushed by Shen and opened the door on the other side of the hall. “Wake me in four hours. I should have regained some of my strength by then.”

  Shen bowed and left.

  Mohanisi lay down on the bed and shut his eyes. The image of Theopolou’s dying body burned into his mind.

  I will not fail.

  The same thought echoed again and again until sleep finally took him.

  Chapter 9

  Gewey sat quietly on the edge of the bed awaiting the arrival of the others. Extra chairs had been brought into his room and arranged in a semicircle. Kaylia sat beside him, eyes closed, holding his hand.

  “I have not asked what it is you have discovered,” she said. “But I sense it is troubling you. Are you certain the others need to hear it?”

  Gewey nodded resolutely. “The truth can no longer be hidden from view. I gather only those close to me so they can decide for themselves how to tell their people.” He paused for a moment, prompting Kaylia to open her eyes and squeeze his hand. “I’m getting tired of meeting people who hear my words as if they are divine. Right now, I want only my friends with me. Yes, I am Darshan, but when I am with them, I am still Gewey as well.”