A Summoner's Calling

by Jacquelyn Evans

  After Valedent and Drotonic leave, Froztia changes her form. The beautiful woman, once dressed in white, was gone. Now, a monstrous beast stood before all of them. Her skin, once a beautiful pale crystal blue, was now a midnight blue with white scratch scars all over her body.

  Giant ice shards sprout along the spine of her back. Ice shoots out of her wrists that rip all the way up to her shoulders, creating ice blades. Her corset bursts off and out from the middle of her chest, springing ice which wrapped around her breasts like a rib cage. Her calves sprout three ice shards outward on each leg.

  She breathes out nothing but frost, as her nails on both feet and toes become claws. A bandage covers her stomach and lower privates. The broken bondage chain around her wrists and ankles seem to be tattered. A blizzard swirls around her along with a vibrant blue aura.

  Froztia screeches like a banshee, “Kosmos, you’re dead!” She moves quicker than Vladimir witnessed with the TEDDs.

  “How does she know? Bring it, you witch!” Vladimir trumpets his order. “Full-on attack. Kill the witch.”

  Vladimir’s army charges Froztia.

  The blood pouring from Erryn’s wound leaks onto the battlefield, creating a puddle.

  Froztia’s wrath changes the environment into a frozen tundra as she disappears into the slowly falling snow.

  She begins spinning through them, and the mages begin casting at her. While she dodges some of the attacks, her rage continues, and she dashes for Vladimir.

  “Kosmos?” Vladimir fears for his life.

  Kosmos takes control of his body and he casts his time ability, halting her movements.

  “Now! Hit her with everything you got,” Kosmos shouts in Vladimir’s voice.

  Then an array of attacks get thrown at her from yellow orbs and arrows to men charging with swords. While they attack, Froztia gained enough magic. She breaks the surrounding area, turning Kosmos’s time into ice and shattering it. Throwing the shards into a burst, she hits the soldiers around her.

  She runs at Vladimir, throwing ice dagger shards from her forearm. Kosmos wrenches Vladimir’s body out of the way. He then conjures some Kozrot while keeping it in a liquid moldable form as she closes in, as he strikes her like a whip.

  As the whip slashes her across her chest, he spins the Kozrot in the air, making it larger. Then he snatches her as she phases back in from the snow, throwing her into a building. After which, he uses the Kozrot to throw her up into the air. The Kozrot hovers in the air, impaling her stomach and slamming her into the ground where she lands in Erryn’s puddle of blood.

  “Sorry…Erryn,” Froztia says as Gesthal steps in between them to keep them apart, breaking their eye contact.

  A blue tear lands in the puddle, making a deep, slow ripple.

  “The ground is warm,” Erryn says, pressing her hand into her blood pool and an orangey-red aura glows around her.

  Pinya : Erryn

  41

  Gesthal steps away as Erryn sees Froztia exhausted, bloodied, and flushed with tears. The heat of the ground continues to increase as the puddle of Erryn’s blood begins to boil. Her aura continues to glow brighter.

  “Bro, why’re her eyes flaming white?” Cory whispers.

  “I’d move back if I were you,” Froztia whispers to Kozic and he doesn’t hesitate.

  Kozic lays down Erryn’s immobilized, sapped body, which lacks any physical strength. Her skin becomes pinkish, and the blood becomes a blaze as a hand in a white gauntlet rises out. Froztia cackles as the single gauntlet touches her face.

  “Sir?” Cory calls attention to the blood as Vladimir steps back, not knowing what’s to come. He watches in awe as a figure suited for war comes out of the blood pool.

  The figure bends down to Froztia, and his touch smolders against her frozen skin.

  “It’s okay now, I’m here,” the armored man comforts her.

  “Zak, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect her. I’ve failed the young again. He’s not just a single entity. Zak, I—.” Tears continue to shower her face.

  “Go rest. I’ll take care of this. You’ve done enough,” he assures her with a kiss. She vanishes into snow, carried away in a wind.

  “Oh, my sweet Felicia. They will pay for what they’ve done,” he whispers in seething rage, clenching his fist. His gauntlet glows with white flares, the brightest flame. The fire intensifies as it erupts into a massive blaze. It activates a unique suit, continuing to cover his entire arm, shoulder. The top of his chest and his back-shoulder blade are a solid armor piece. His familiar hair becomes a blazing white in the wind, before transforming into a warrior’s helmet. The flames burn the bandages, revealing his beast like jaw line not protected by the helmet.

  His muscles bulge, and his body grows rapidly, becoming larger. Runic markings appear on his left unarmored arm. The bandages intertwined with his armor on his calves. Heels flame with an ever-flowing encompassing lava.

  Erryn’s clouded mind fails to recognize who or what she sees at first. Then she remembers the voice that spoke when communing with Froztia. Erryn laughs from her realization.

  “Nice look. Thank you for showing up,” Erryn applauds him. She stops laughing, for although she’s overjoyed that he is there, it’s still painful.

  “It seems you have found yourself in the middle of some trouble with an interesting crowd. However, even in dire times you prevail, eh Erryn?” he says.

  “I try to, but you remember our dear friend, Vladimir, don’t you?” Erryn attempts to gesture with her head but the pain in her abdomen prevents her.

  “You don’t say? Sit tight. Everything will be fine,” Zaravarn assures her.

  “I’m sorry, have we met? Please excuse me, for I have never met a knight of your caliber before. You should join me. I have much to offer.” Vladimir attempts to bribe Zaravarn.

  “Oh, you don’t know me, but your right hand seems to,” He points out Gesthal’s pale face.

  “Gesthal, what is this man talking about?” Vladimir asks him.

  “Yes, Gesthal; don’t be rude. Tell your king who I am. A man….,” he laughs, and Gesthal walks over.

  “My king, this is not a man that stands in front of you but a god,” Gesthal informs him.

  “Please, Gesthal, I understand strength and power may be equal to a god, but no man could be a god. So, who are you, sir? Your name has escaped my underling,” Vladimir asks.

  “Why, I’m THE god of Destruction and Chaos. I am Zaravarn!” Zaravarn introduces himself. He unleashes out of his back brilliant blue flames shaped into wings that carry him into the air. Zaravarn puts out his armored hand, manifesting a great sword. Then, he swoops from the sky, swinging first at Vladimir.

  Vladimir pulls out his great sword to meet Zaravarn’s.

  “You ready to go toe to toe with a king such as I?” Vladimir taunts him.

  “Stop talking,” Zaravarn says, swooping backward and charging Vladimir’s body quickly, igniting waves of flames. The blast continues to burst outward as waves of raging flames, originating from his realm, expand in a circumference. Vladimir and all his pawns opposed to Zaravarn are thrown beyond the gate’s walls. However, the remaining mages fight as Zaravarn conjures a storm as dark clouds brew. Zaravarn flies down, putting his great sword in the ground by Erryn.

  “That’s a huge sword you got there.” Erryn jokes as he helps her to sit up against his blade like a brace. Cory retracts his chains from Erryn and leaps to attack Zaravarn.

  Zaravarn catches him holding his head with his unarmored hand as Cory swings his scythe, stabbing the back of his hand. He narrows his eyes, growling with annoyance as the illumination of his runes flicker wildly and starts tightening his grip.

  “Wait, please don’t. He’s my brother!” Kozic begs.

  Zaravarn stops, glancing over at him, noticing tribal markings on Kozic’s neck as he throws him at Vladimir.

  He unequips his gauntlet that collapses the armor from his hand to his shoulder into a bracer, placing it rig
ht next to his greatsword as it radiates a fire shield around her.

  “Do you me a favor and stay in this fire bubble while I manipulate this storm,” Zaravarn says.

  “Not like I’m going anywhere right away.” She manages a weak smile.

  “And you,” Zaravarn grabs Kozic by his jaw and instructs, “you stay in here protecting her from your so-called friends, or you die. Got it?” He shoves him down beside her, remembering a notion, “Oh, and one more thing… don’t touch the bracer.”

  “Ye-yes, sir,” Kozic replies, and Zaravarn returns to the storm. Kozic sits with her, but he can’t stop staring at the bracer.

  “Brimstone Reign!” Zaravarn casts. The storm rains lava upon the enemy, forcing them to retreat.

  “Hey, he said not to touch. So don’t touch. You’ll burn to death if you do,” she warns Kozic.

  “How come you can touch his blade, then, and not get hurt?” Kozic asks.

  “I don’t know, probably because I’m a Summoner,” Erryn shrugs.

  “Well, if I burn up, it’s one less soldier you’ve to worry about,” Kozic says.

  She sighs, “Fine. If you want to die that much, then touch it,” she dares him. Erryn can see Kozic pondering it for a moment. Vladimir’s men were either being melted by the lava or forced far into the woods.

  “Oh, what the hell,” Kozic mumbles and grabs the gauntlet.

  Erryn is blinded by a bright flash of light. She falls backward as the sword on which she is leaning disappears. Once her sight returns, she finds herself prone on the ground with both the sword and the bracer gone.

  “Huh? What, do you know?” Kozic says.

  “What the hell was that? His weapon; what’d you do to it? Give it back,” Erryn demands as the storm and skies clear, returning the sun.

  “Whoa, what’s this? When did this get here?” Kozic looks at his original gauntlet finishes melting away, revealing an unfamiliar marking that’s now inscribed on both sides of his right hand.

  “Hello, Arthro to Kozic. Stop ignoring me.” Erryn waves her hand in his face.

  Erryn hears Zaravarn’s thundering voice from the other side of the gate. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me; I can promise you that. Huh, so you two want to play, eh? You better run because you’re next, Vladimir. Or should I say Kosmos?”

  There’s roaring, growling, and tearing coming from behind the gate. It’s what Erryn imagines demons would sound like fighting. It fades to silence.

  “Hope he is okay,” she says. Erryn catches a glimpse of Drotonic and Valedent picking their way through the bodies toward her.

  Erryn is distracted by Kozic, who thrusts his hand in front of her that now bears a tribal fire mark.

  “Let me see that.” She struggles to see the back of his hand clearly and turns it to the sunlight for clarity. A bright light then radiates from the markings, transferring to the rest of his body. A giant bird of light the size of a manor emerges.

  “Ah, you have awakened finally,” says the bird.

  “It talks,” Kozic pulls back, a look of surprise on his face.

  “And may this be the Lady Erryn that I’ve heard so much about?” the bird asks.

  “I am?” she answers, unsure how it knew.

  “I’ll be waiting for when I meet with your sister,” the bird says.

  “Who are you and what of my sister?” Erryn asks.

  “I’m called Hotaru. Till next time,” the bird replies, flying across the city as feathers of light fall from his wings.

  “What just happened?” Kozic asks, scratching his head.

  “A lot. You better catch up to your king before my friends get here,” she says.

  Kozic takes the hint, taking off toward the gate.

  “Hey, get back here,” Valedent yells, chasing him but stops at the gate.

  “You okay? It pained me knowing you were stuck in the middle of all this,” Drotonic says, hugging her.

  Erryn moans in pain. “I’m still alive, but it hurts.” Her words are barely audible.

  Valedent comes back, sprouting about what was beyond the gate. “You should see it out there. Zaravarn is making mincemeat of them. He ripped out the throat of one of the TEDDs. Blood everywhere.” Then his eyes fall on Erryn. “Knuckle head! Be careful!” Valedent knocks Drotonic on the back of the head.

  “Let’s find you a healing room in the temple,” Drotonic suggests.

  “That sounds nice,” Erryn’s eyes roll in her head.

  “Wait, you’re agreeing without a fit? You sure you’re okay,” Valedent smiles, belying the look of concern on his face.

  “Do you think you can stand?” Drotonic asks.

  Erryn balances herself with Drotonic’s help, but as she tries to take a step, dizziness overtakes her. She falls forward, hitting the ground as her vision becomes blurred and fades into a swirling blackness.

  Pinya : Drotonic

  42

  Drotonic guides her onto her feet. With his arm around her waist, she wobbles a bit but regains composure. It doesn’t last. As she takes a few steps, her equilibrium becomes unbalanced and her wounds gape. She tumbles, hitting her head on the ground. Drotonic crouches beside her and brushes her hair off her face. Her skin is paler than snow.

  Drotonic turns to Valedent. There’s anguish in his face at her motionless form.

  Valedent leans in. “She barely has a breath.” He picks her up and swears, “I refuse to lose anybody else.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Drotonic asks.

  “Yes, clear a path for me through these crowds. She’s already lost a significant amount of blood. If you haven’t noticed, we can’t waste time,” he answers indicating the pool of blood in which she was sitting.

  The realization of just how much blood Erryn had lost hits Drotonic like a punch in the stomach. Why isn’t she healing? Please, help her Froztia, he prays as he watches blood drip from the wounds.

  “Come on. Out of my way. Wounded summoner coming through,” Drotonic says forcing a path through the crowd for Valedent. Then he crashes into an old traditionally dressed monk.

  Drotonic falls to the ground and picks himself up. “Sorry sir. Please excuse me.”

  Once at the temple, Valedent kicks the door open. Standing in the doorway, he bellows, “Vincent!”

  Those in the foyer turn to face him. As they look at Erryn, some cry out, others pray, and some cover their mouths, trembling.

  The bishop hurries into the lobby to see Valedent standing with his right arm saturated in her blood from her back, and his torso is covered in blood due to her abdomen. Drotonic comes in, catching his breath as Valedent steps forward, lying her down on a bench the bookkeep drags out.

  “My god. What did this to her?” the bishop asks.

  “Does it really matter right now? You’re the only one that can save her. Most of her blood is spilled on Pinya’s road. Save your pity,” Valedent says.

  Drotonic is about to say something when he hears feet coming from the tavern stairs.

  “That sounded like Valedent,” a young woman’s voice says.

  “Oo, let’s go see. You made it back.” A little girl crests the stairs smiling at Valedent. Valedent’s head snaps towards her as Liza walks right behind her, carrying platters of food for the prayer room.

  “Kiley, no. Liza, stop her,” he shouts.

  Liza looks confused as Kiley runs over to Erryn, screaming, “No, no, no. Angel, wake up. You just have to wake up.” Kiley pounds her chest and shakes her to awaken as Valedent yanks her away. The bookkeep takes the platters, as Liza rests a gentle hand on Kiley’s head. Kiley is now covered in Erryn’s blood. “Come on, honey; let the bishop do his job.”

  “Take her downstairs and keep her there,” Valedent implores Liza who leads Kiley down the stairs as she continues to scream for her angel.

  The bishop squats on the floor and he removes his gloves. Drotonic prays she awakens from his healing. A radiating symbol lights on the bishop’s hands as an aura f
orms around them, and he places them on her body. Come on Erryn. Don’t give up. Come back to us, please, Drotonic begs in prayer.

  The room quiets as the aura now transfers to her body. The wounds begin to close, stopping the bleeding. However, the bishop continues channeling as much healing as he can muster through her, but his face cringes.

  “What’s wrong?” Drotonic asks as the bishop lifts his hands and sighs. The bishop places a hand on her forehead and closes his eyes, focusing until he opens them with tears.

  Those assembled in the foyer look at him as he sniffles, admitting, “I…I can’t save her.”

  Drotonic barely hears the outburst of grief from those around him. His mind refuses to accept what is happening.

  “How’s this possible?”

  “I was able to heal her external wounds so she wouldn’t bleed to death, but now she continues to bleed internally where my magic isn’t effective,” the bishop explains.

  Could that soldier’s blade be to blame? Drotonic wonders.

  “I don’t believe you. You can heal any wound; any person; any creature. Now, when it counts most, you can’t save one girl?” Valedent yells at him as a sister of the temple bursts through the door.

  “My Lord, we’ve been blessed by a miracle,” the sister says.

  “Forgive me if I lack the care unless you found something to bring back someone from the brink of death,” Valedent says.

  Drotonic gathers his composure and strength. “What’s your miracle?”

  “A monk wearing robes of the old order visited the old ruined temple and told me to use the place to help the wounded. With the wave of his hand, he created a healing sanctuary where pristine water is continuously running into it. There’s ice flowers and hot springs. People are already walking out completely healed of their injuries,” she says.

  Drotonic looks at Valedent. They both look at Erryn and back at each other. Valedent scoops Erryn into his arms.

  “Lead the way,” Drotonic requests the sister.

  The route to the temple seems to take forever to Drotonic, and he wishes he was carrying Erryn. Therefore, he could hold her in his protective embrace. On approaching the old temple, he sees a crowd waiting, and his heart sinks.