Gifts of Vorallon: 02 - City of Thunder

by Thomas Cardin

  “No, you do not,” she said, turning in his embrace to put her hands against his chest. “Please, I cannot speak of who I was—what I was—before you held me in your arms. Everything I am now is yours.”

  Lorace leaned down to kiss her upturned lips, an act that only made the yearning greater. “I may have to tell you something very much the same after I ascend.”

  “Why?” she asked, pushing back against his chest.

  He released her from his embrace, and took her hand to continue walking toward the plaza. “I was something very different before being born to Fara and Veladis. I may be something very different once I have ascended. My brothers are not the same as they were, though they masquerade to me as such.”

  “Must you masquerade to me as well?”

  “I do not know what I can promise,” Lorace said with a shake of his head.

  Her eyes were shut tight, letting him guide their steps. “I will want to see you as you really are, unless,” she hesitated, “unless it is forbidden.”

  Lorace chuckled deep in his throat. “Your mind is so very hungry.”

  She squeezed his upper arm tight. “You have no idea yet.”

  They strode onto the plaza and rather than head to the Temple of Aran, Lorace guided their steps to the raised garden of the Voradin tree. He knelt down before the two trunks of the tree and lowered his head. “This is part of who I was, and within Vlaske K’Brak there stands an image of who I was before that.”

  “Falraan named this the Voradin tree, grown over the graves of Verth’s children.”

  “Halverth and Somera,” Lorace said. “They shared one spirit, the spirit of the two-who-are-one, my spirit. Thus have I always been a part of Halversome.”

  “And what is it of you that lies within the dwarven halls?” she asked, her eyes of emerald piercing into his.

  “The graven image of Kvarrak, wielder of the godstone hammer, Chokke K’Rak, Beginning of the Storm, slayer of the ogre king, Gnarwa,” he said. “His tranquility is what flows so strongly within me, while Gnarwa is the ancestor of my quiescent rage.”

  Her eyes went wide. “How is that possible, that you should have the spirit of both a man and a monster within you?”

  “Kvarrak was gifted with the ability to shift himself through physical barriers,” Lorace replied. “I saw the climax of their battle as a memory Vorallon shared with me while I stood deep within my tranquility before the demon army today. Black lightning, called up by Gnarwa’s storm crashed down upon him and would have slain him, but Kvarrak’s godstone hammer absorbed the bolt. He then leapt at the armored breast of the ogre king, passing into his flesh, to unleash the bolt, killing them both.”

  “And that merged their spirits as well,” Iris said with a slow nod.

  “Yes, their combined spirit, the spirit of the two-who-are-one, descended to Nefryt where the corruption of Gnarwa was cleansed. This is what I believe to be true.”

  “Before the time of the first demons, when spirits in Nefryt were fully cleansed,” Iris said, squeezing his hand. “This is your boundless spirit?”

  “There is more,” he said, rising back to his feet. “You know of my possession by the spirit of Tezzirax.”

  Iris nodded.

  “I have memories, not complete, more flashes of nightmares,” Lorace said. “Images of things he used my body for, bloody, murderous things.”

  She gazed into his eyes severely. “Did he do things to women?”

  “Things?” Lorace questioned before something about her close gaze made him blush and shake his head. “He murdered them, children as well—anyone that came before his blades,” his voice trailed off.

  “There is something more he did, is there not?” she asked when he remained silent.

  “He cut scars upon me,” Lorace whispered and raised his hands to part the robe over his chest while standing under the shade of the Voradin tree.

  Iris’s eyes narrowed and she lifted a hand to his breast to feel the slightly raised ridge of one arcing scar. “Why did he do this to you? Did he scar you everywhere?”

  “My chest and shoulders,” Lorace answered. “He bore the same scars in the black hueratta of his demon flesh when he assailed my home. I do not know why.”

  Iris hugged him and brushed her cheek against his bared chest. “My past has left marks upon me as well,” she admitted in a whisper. She raised a hand to his face and closed his eyes with light touches of her fingertips. “Do not look yet.”

  His face flushed with heat under her fingers.

  “I would never,” he assured her.

  “Oh, but I want you to, Lorace,” she said, dropping her voice into a husky whisper. “I want to share everything I am with you, just not yet.” She gave a small laugh, like the chiming of crystal bells. “I have feelings for you, beyond love, that I do not understand yet, but I will.”

  He took her hand in his and opened his eyes to meet her piercing gaze. “I am ready to face my brothers now, as long as I can do so with you at my side.”

  “Just try to stop me,” she said taking up his hand and leading him to the open portal of the Temple of Aran.

  Lorace nodded to Tornin, Falraan, Sir Rindal, and Hethal who lurked just inside the temple. Iris and Falraan shared a smile that seemed to communicate massive amounts of information between the two.

  “I must go and see to the transfer of stores to Moyan’s galleys,” Falraan said, excusing herself after giving Iris a quick hug.

  Lorace stepped before Hethal who held himself aloof from the others.

  “Hethal, I want to apologize to you for the things I did and said earlier today,” Lorace said. “You know why I said what I did, why I felt what I did, but I never intended to disparage the faith between you and Lorn.”

  “You did not,” Hethal said. “Regardless of his manipulations he still loves you, Lorace. He will be pleased with the choice you made, whatever the end result may be.”

  Lorace gave Hethal a brief nod then patted Tornin and Sir Rindal on their shoulders as he led Iris past them into the main chamber of the temple. Many townsfolk knelt in prayer within, arranged before the three distinct sides of Aran’s altar. Iris knelt beside him once they found a clear area before one of its carved white faces.

  They clasped hands, the circle on his left palm flat against the palm of her right as he called out to his brother Jorune.

  Immediately they found themselves outside his family home, just as he remembered it from his childhood, its tall walls of dark timber and river stones pierced by a single gate opening onto the practice yard. The child Jorune came at a run through the open gate to crush Lorace in a tight embrace. Iris squeezed Lorace’s hand and he caught her wide-eyed expression as she looked back and forth between the two brothers. Jorune stepped back from Lorace and wiped a tear from his eye in a gesture that continued up to brush the lone lock of white hair off his forehead. The young boy took Iris’s free hand and kissed it with the manners of an accomplished gentleman.

  “Lorace, I am so happy for you,” Jorune said. “You did something I- we dared not hope for. You were right: we do not fully grasp the love you have for one another as mortal men. However, I do see the love shared between the two of you. Under normal circumstances I would ask if the two of you wished to be wed.”

  Iris turned her gaze upon Lorace, her eyes filled with certainty and desire.

  “We so wish it,” Lorace declared for them both.

  Jorune smiled again. “You echo Vorallon’s desire. He would play at the destinies of men as well.”

  “It is a destiny I accept,” Iris said, with a slight bow to Jorune

  “As do I,” Lorace said with a nod.

  Jorune held their clasped hands in his and transformed smoothly into the adult, blue robed, Lord Aran. “I bless the two of you and unite you as husband and wife,” Aran announced. “I am no prophet of destiny as Lorn and the Lady, but I do know that you will share a great love for one another that even the dire workings of these coming days will
not break.”

  “Thank you, brother,” Lorace said.

  “Thank you, Lord Aran,” Iris said.

  “You must call me brother as well, my lovely sister, Iris,” Aran said with a charming half grin.

  “Please call me brother as well,” Lorn said as he appeared tall and straight in his shimmering brown robes beside Aran. He stared hard at Lorace for a moment before continuing. “Lorace, know that I take full responsibility for the pain I caused you. I will weep for all eternity for every life I cause to suffer or end because of my burden. Yes, I knew of our parent’s destiny once I ascended, and I mourn them still. It does not make it right that their destiny was written before we were born. Know that the Lady snatched their spirits free from Tezzirax in the instant of their deaths, they are in Jaarda and they are at peace. The Old Gods suffer greatly when they take an active hand in man’s fate. They have been largely absent since our ascendance, recovering their strength from the orchestrations of our births and your own survival. I fear this generation of men will forget them from their hearts before they have recovered from what they must do in a few days’ time.”

  “My ascendance?” Lorace asked.

  “Yes,” Lorn replied. “You have the strength now to aid them in this. The balance is so far askew that though they have slept for years to prepare for it, they have scarcely a fraction of the strength they need. Neither Jorune nor I may assist in your ascendance—it lies so far outside the scope of our abilities. We do not even comprehend its workings, though we are the product of its effect.”

  “We do not know what will happen now,” Aran said with some concern. “You have embraced tranquility and it is truly beautiful for us to see, we dreaded losing you to your destined burden. You and I would have been at odds for the remainder of days as our charges rest on opposite ends of the balance. What your task will be now we can only guess at, and not nearly as well as your own guesses have held the day.”

  “I have advice though,” Lorn interjected. “When the time comes for you to ascend, choose for yourself. We saw what you could truly do today, despite our efforts to insure a decision that best fit the burden of your destiny—you chose your own path. We trust in you to save the life of this world and the people we all love. We are so very proud of you, brother.”

  The favor of his brothers washed over him like a tangible thing. Their relief over his decision, their remorse for what had lead up to that decision, and apprehension of what was to come. A pure silvery light spread over all, filling Lorace with their love.

  He still had a question, and he asked it bluntly. “When is my birthday, the day of my ascension?”

  “It is the first day of the Lady’s Moon,” Aran said. “Four days hence.”

  Iris gasped and clutched Lorace’s arm with both hands, holding him close, keeping him by her side a moment longer.

  “That does not give me much time,” Lorace said with determination. “I must destroy the Devourer first.”

  “Yes,” Aran said. “Only then can the God of Undeath be blocked from entering fully into our universe.”

  “You have our blessings in this task,” Lorn added. “If it is within our capabilities we will deliver unto you any aid we can.”

  Lorace gazed with suspicion on his brothers, but Lorn’s words admitted their limitations; if they withheld something now, they did so for reasons beyond their control. He gave Iris’s hand a gentle squeeze as his mind took hold of this additional thread. When he spoke with his brothers again, he would come ready to push against their limitations. An answering tremor of her fingers within his confirmed that she had caught hold of the thread as well.

  “Thank you again, my brothers,” Lorace said with a final bow before withdrawing with his wife back to the temple where he knelt beside her.

  Lorace rose from the stone floor and pulled Iris lightly to her feet, sharing a lingering moment within the vast pools of her eyes. When he allowed his awareness to extend beyond the world within her gaze he saw that there were still many guardsmen and citizens kneeling in prayer. Even former Zuxrans were entering with the flood of early afternoon light through the temple’s open portal. A great many of the cleansed men were now wearing the blue and white surcoats of Halversome over their black armor, more had white circles emblazoned on their breasts. Halversome welcomed her new pilgrims completely.

  Oen stepped up to Lorace and clasped his shoulder. “Lord Aran bade us call forth all the people of Halversome to receive his blessing of life energy. My priests are being filled with his light.”

  “It is our means of resisting undeath should it touch us,” Lorace said after a moment’s thought. “This strengthening of life is a direct counter to what is happening in Ousenar. I believe that once we arrive within reach of its spreading blight it will drain the life from us. Oen, you and every priest you can spare to accompany us must learn to focus this energy. If it is strong enough, it may be a weapon against this God of Undeath and the Devourer both.”

  Oen gave Lorace a nod and set about gathering his priests.

  “Can they do it?” Iris asked.

  “Yes,” Lorace said, smiling down at her. “They have the will and the ability. Their spirits have all grown a great deal stronger since their channeling of the wards this morning. The guardsmen and Zuxrans who lent them their strength have grown in spirit as well.”

  A new light shone in Iris’s eyes as she clasped his hands in hers. “If they can focus this life force as a sorcerer can lightning or fire, it would be a potent weapon indeed. If life is the opposite of undeath, as fire is to water, it will be devastating.”

  “I would have thought death was life’s opposite,” Lorace said. “But death is necessary for life, as are the roots of a tree buried in the earth necessary for the leaves and branches of a tree that reach up into the air. I am an example of how the grand cycle of souls works through the rhythm of life and death. It is supposed to be an endless cycle. Undeath is the ending of that cycle. It is the opposite of both life and death. The dead I see walking in Ousenar do so without souls. If they have spirits it is something more alien to us than even the demons. Perhaps they are spirits that have oozed over from the realm of this God of Undeath.”

  “Lorace, I must share with Oen and his priests what I can of my understandings of focusing energy,” Iris said with urgency. “I have studied every tome and scroll I could find on the subject, for it is integral to the working of magic. I think if the priests can harness the energies of life in the same way, they stand a good chance of becoming novice sorcerers quickly.”

  Lorace gave her a hug and let her go to her task.

  “She is right,” Hethal said as she ran, a flurry of voluminous white robes, to where the priests of Aran gathered with Oen. “There is very little that separates sorcery from the holy powers that priests wield. Sorcery derives its strength from the energies inherent in the elements and spirit of Vorallon, where divine magic flows from the spirits of the gods. Iris may be the first with enough brilliance to forge a bridge between the two.”

  Hethal’s observation drew Lorace the beginnings of an idea. Shifting his sight he saw that the spirits of the praying citizens were each transfixed by the rich glowing gold of Aran’s spirit emerging from the altar. This was how the gods are able to interact with them directly, spirit to spirit as he saw Sir Rindal’s linked with that of the Lady. The spirit of Aran flowed down through each person, reaching past them into the silver and indigo shimmer of the spirit of Vorallon to lift a wisp of its essence up into each praying citizen.

  He cast his sight out to view the entirety of Vorallon’s spirit once more. The black blight of undeath continued to spread. Worse, grasping tendrils of its darkness were sinking downward toward Vorallon’s bright core.

  Chapter 14

  THE CHILD’S SECRET

  Twenty-Eighth day of the Moon of the Thief

  -in Halversome

  Lorace hastened to rejoin Iris where she stood with Oen and his priests. He removed his chain
from his satchel and extended it among them all, asking them to take hold of it.

  “I must show you all something,” Lorace said as the chain linked their spirits. He opened his sight to them, showing them the vast round spirit of Vorallon and the attack upon it by that of undeath. “What you see is the spirit of Vorallon, it is the life force of the world that Aran shares with you. It extends throughout the world and our spirits are all linked to it as those who pray here now are linked to the spirit of Lord Aran. The darkness is the undead blight. It is killing the spirit Vorallon.”

  Many gasps were heard along the length of Sakke Vrang. “I see it,” Oen said. “We are meant to use the spirit of Vorallon himself to save him from destruction. We must focus and direct his spirit as he cannot do himself to defeat this undeath. He is vulnerable without us to channel his strength.”

  Lorace shifted his sight so that all could see Iris and her white and golden spirit. “Iris can you call forth fire safely here?”

  “Yes,” she released her hold on Sakke Vrang to take a step back and speak the brief words of a well memorized spell.

  Those linked to Lorace’s sight watched as a tendril of silver and indigo spirit rose up from Vorallon to pass through Iris’s spirit. It emerged through her hand to focus down into a bright point before igniting into dancing flames. The flames coalesced into a small ball of fire hovering over her palm. She held the spell for a few moments before dismissing it, at which point the tendril of Vorallon’s spirit snapped back down.

  Many of the priests exclaimed in wonder at this vision of interacting spirits. It pleased Lorace to note how intrigued they were by this revelation. Even Oen, who had always been able to see the flow of spirits around him had never seen a sorcery performed, never seen how the very essence of Vorallon’s spirit answered the call of a sorcerer’s will. Lorace nodded acknowledgement to Hethal, who simply stood satisfied with the push he had given.