by Davis Ashura
After that, there was no more time for future plans.
The male Elemental attacked first. He rolled below Lienna's thrust at his head and came up on the other side of Her. She had already set Her staff to block the strike She knew was coming at Her knees. The woman attacked with a horizontal slash at Lienna's midsection. A twirl of the staff blocked that blow as well. Lienna rose higher, gaining separation from the two before they could hem Her in.
A Fireball burned Her way. She batted it aside with Her staff. It smashed into the sea in an explosion of boiling water and thunder. She ducked a Spear. The man pressed Her. He launched a series of strikes that Lienna calmly parried, including a final overhand swing. Her return front kick met empty space as the man stepped out of range. From Lienna's right, the woman feinted. It was a distraction. Lienna didn't bother with it. It would be the man . . . She mentally smiled. He came just as expected, from Her left. She blocked his downward slash at Her knees and stepped back. The woman's thrust at Lienna's shoulder didn't connect.
Lienna laughed. She had always loved sparring. It was a game of position, movement, and moment. There was no time or space needed for distracting thought.
Again came the woman from Lienna's right. Again it was a distraction. Lienna mentally sighed at the repetitive attack. Her opponents should have come up with something more original. She prepared for the man who would come from Her left. Her staff twirled into place, but the man wasn't there.
Tremendous pain erupted from Lienna's back. The man had shifted underneath and behind Her. He'd stabbed Her in the back! His sword extended all the way through Her chest.
Somehow, Lienna managed to pull Herself free of the man's weapon. Pain blotted out Her senses. It felt like She was being torn asunder. She sobbed from the agony. Another blow, this time from the woman, nearly struck off Her arm. Lienna screamed. She had to do something. She would die if She didn't.
One arm hung limp, and Lienna tried to clip the woman in the head with Her staff as She spun about to face the man. But both had already moved beyond the range of Her staff.
“You will die today,” the woman vowed in a chilling voice. “For all the evil You have done to Humanity, death is Your just reward.”
Lienna shuddered. The pain in her back. It made it difficult to focus, but of one thing She was certain. She needed to retreat. She needed time and distance to Heal from the tremendous wounds She had received.
Lienna threw a series of Fireballs at the ships down below. If these two loved Humanity so much, let them save those She had just condemned to death.
As the other two Elementals shouted in outrage, Lienna raced away to safety.
A cry from high above startled Bree, and her gaze flew to the sky. What she saw caused her mouth to go dry with fear. Suwraith. There could be no mistaking that stormcloud figure. The Queen had come back. It meant that Ashoka had died. It meant that Bree's home was no more. Everyone she knew was dead, and the Sorrow Bringer had returned to destroy those who had escaped the city's demise.
“Mercy,” she whispered.
Farn cursed their luck. “Only two days, and we'd have been safe,” he said.
Bree exhaled heavily at the karmic disappointment. Two days might as well have been two years. The two hundred or so ships of the Maharajs extended for miles in every direction, and Bree couldn't help but feel bitter about the days of calm water that had slowed their travel. If not for that, they would have already arrived in Defiance.
She turned away from the swirling vortex and mass of wild lightning that was Suwraith and faced west instead. She wanted to see the sun one last time before she died.
There it stood, bright in the late afternoon sky, but it would soon set. It would be both a literal and figurative setting as the last of Ashoka's hopes would set today as well. The new Caste, the Maharajs, was doomed. They would die out here, far away from home and hearth, unknown and unremembered beneath the waves of the Sickle Sea.
Bree returned her gaze to the Sorrow Bringer. How would Suwraith come at them this time? And would they have any chance of thwarting Her? Bree doubted it. This time she knew that the Queen would annihilate them. This time, there would be no miraculous diversion to distract Her attention.
“What's that?” Farn asked, breaking Bree out of her morose musing. He pointed to two bright blurs that blazed like shooting stars as they streaked in from the west.
Laya held a spyglass to her eyes. “It looks like a man and a woman,” she said. “But they're moving too fast for me to focus on them.”
Farn held a spyglass to his eyes as well. “It does look like a man and a woman,” he agreed, sounding baffled.
Bree no longer needed Farn's confirmation. By now, the streaks—whatever they were—were visible even without a spyglass, and they did have the vague appearance of a blue-hued man and a green-colored woman. What were they? Were they new servants of the Sorrow Bringer? And were those swords they held in their hands?
“Look,” Laya cried out, pointing to the Queen.
Suwraith's cloud-like form had slowly gathered upon itself and taken on the shape of a bruise-purple woman. A staff slowly extruded from Her hands, and She cried out in defiance.
The man and woman raced straight at Her. That first clash of swords and staff landed with the force of a mountain falling. The sound flattened the air, compressing it and pushing the Ashokan ships deeper into the water. Waves rose and fell in mad abandon.
Bree stared upward with mouth agape. Chills raced up her spine. Rukh had once fought the Sorrow Bringer, and that had been as sublime a sight as she had ever dreamt of seeing, but this . . . this was something else entirely. This was magnificence. The two who battled the Sorrow Bringer were smaller than the Queen, and they likely didn't have Her fearsome power, but they had enough. They fought Her, stood Her off, defied Her will. And She seemed afraid of them.
“What are they?” Laya asked in a voice full of awe.
Bree didn't know, but as the battle progressed, small details became apparent to her. She recognized the sword forms one of them used. It was pure Ashokan, from Caste Kumma and House Shektan. Bree gasped. There was only one man who moved with the fluid grace as the being who battled up above. There was only man who fought with such superlative skill. And there could only be one woman who would fight alongside him.
Bree shouted wordlessly as tears of joy fell from her eyes.
Farn must have figured out who they were at the same. “It's Rukh and Jessira,” he cried out. “They're the ones fighting the Sorrow Bringer.”
“How can you tell?” someone asked.
Farn explained his reasonings. “It has to be him.”
“They'll kill the Queen!” Laya shouted in voice full of joy.
It was a feeling Bree shared. She laughed as Rukh and Jessira hounded the Queen across the sky. To witness the Sorrow Bringer, the demon synonymous with death and suffering, battered about and beaten, was a glorious sight. The thudding of thunder continued to play out with every strike of sword against staff. Lightning lit the clouds in a wild riot.
There came a moment when the Queen missed a parry, and Rukh slipped behind Her. His sword slammed through Her chest. The Sorrow Bringer screamed in pain. She shrieked even as She lifted Herself off of Rukh's blade. Jessira swung, and one of Suwraith's arms nearly came off.
Bree found herself cheering, shouting encouragement. This was it. This was the moment dreamt of by countless generations of Humanity. This was the death of Suwraith. And Bree was blessed enough to be able to watch it happen.
A moment later, her excitement turned to horror. The Sorrow Bringer fired off a series of Fireballs. They blazed hot as the sun. Lightning shredded from each of them as they burned toward the ships.
The Fireballs piled downward, roaring like wide-open furnaces. The air shimmered in the wake of their passage as lightning bled from them, crackling like a thousand whips.
Jessira watched them descend, hating her impotence. There was nothing she could do to stop
them. Despite the great power she now possessed, she couldn't destroy them before they reached the ships floating down below.
Rukh fired a Bow, eradicating one Fireball. He quickly destroyed another.
His action sparked an idea. “Go. We can't let the Queen escape,” Jessira urged. “I can take care of the Fireballs.”
Rukh left without seeing what she would do. He trusted her word.
Jessira's ocean-wide Jivatma pulsed in time to her need. She stretched her will into a thick, golden bar. The tip glowed like quicksilver. From it streaked lightning, nine different crackling bolts. Each one connected with a Fireball, destroying it on impact.
However, two Fireballs managed to reach their destination. Thankfully, both merely smacked into the sea with an explosive spout of steam and roiling water. The waves raised from the concussive blasts managed to almost capsize a couple of ships. Several people were thrown into the water, and Jessira paused long enough to rescue them.
But as soon as she was sure they were safe, she raced off in the direction Rukh had taken. Jessira had to rejoin the fight against the Sorrow Bringer as quickly as possible. On his own, Rukh couldn't handle the Queen. Suwraith was simply too powerful. Only together could Jessira and Rukh hope to stand a chance of defeating the Sorrow Bringer. Then the Queen would finally be called to account for all the evil She had done.
It took Jessira far longer than she would have liked to finally catch up with Rukh and Suwraith. They had passed over the Sickle Sea and into Continent Catalyst, traveling so far east that it was now twilight in this part of the world. There, deep in a desert—the Prayer—Jessira found them. They warred. Jessira had followed her sense of Rukh's presence to locate them, but she could have just as easily traced the patches of glowing glass that had been created by the violence of their conflict. Jessira had briefly puzzled at those strange, iridescent decorations on the desert floor until she saw a Fireball slam into the the ground. There, at the point of impact, sand burst upward and what was left behind was turned to glass.
The battle broke off when Jessira arrived. Suwraith snapped off a few strokes with Her staff before snarling wordlessly and racing away south. There was no evidence of the injury the Queen had received during their brief battle over the Sickle Sea. Nevertheless, Her expression had been one of fear.
Once again, Rukh and Jessira gave chase. Hills rose, becoming green with stunted grass and shrubs. Trees appeared. The hills grew taller before giving away to foothills and a winding river.
Finally, over a broad body of muddy water—from her study of maps, Jessira realized it had to be Lake Corruption—the Queen turned and faced them. She stood tall, proud and defiant with Her staff held in hand. She beckoned them forth. “Now you will meet your doom. This is the place where I was birthed into this fallen world, and here is the place where you shall die.”
Jessira's response was a Fireball that burned the short distance to the Sorrow Bringer and slammed against Her Shield. The Queen was hurled back by the force of the impact.
Rukh swept down. He came in below Suwraith. Jessira came in from high. They met in the middle. The Queen twirled Her staff. She blocked Rukh. Jessira's thrust missed. The Queen had bent around it. The Sorrow Bringer pivoted, and Her staff was ready for Rukh's next blow.
Another series of strikes were exchanged before Suwraith swept upward. She taunted them, keeping just ahead of their racing forms. Suddenly, the Queen halted and swung about to face them. Jessira cursed as she went too far. She overswept Suwraith. Rukh, though, had managed to stop in time. He and the Queen traded blows. Neither succeeded in touching the other.
Jessira shot straight up and raced straight down. She aimed another thrust at the Sorrow Bringer. It was the same move she had used only moments before. This time, she pulled her blow. Suwraith's staff met air and passed unencumbered. It left Her briefly out of position. Jessira took the opening. A glancing strike struck the Queen high on one of Her arms.
It wasn't a telling injury, but Suwraith growled in response. She lashed out with a lightning-fast kick and a Bow.
Jessira avoided the first but took the second straight on Her Shield. It melted. Some of the heat and energy of the Bow went straight into her, and Jessira cried out in pain. It was like taking a stab to her heart. Her body felt afire. It wasn't as bad as the Withering Knife, but only barely. Her Jivatma boiled.
Jessira pulled back from the battle. She needed to Heal, but Suwraith kept after Her. Meanwhile, Rukh had been thrown aside by a clip of the staff to his temple.
Jessira defended desperately. She tried to keep the Sorrow Bringer in front of her. She blocked a diagonal slash aimed at her head. She backed away from the follow-up swings targeting her knees. A heavy jab pounded into her abdomen, and Jessira gasped. On top of all her other pain, it felt like she'd taken a liver shot. Her body, though it was ephemeral and made of light, locked up. She moved as slow as a slug.
Another blow descended toward Jessira's head. It seemed to fall glacially, but her arms were too heavy to intercept it. They wouldn't respond. Her entire body wouldn't respond. With a tired comprehension, Jessira realized that she couldn't block the blow. However, the Queen's position revealed an unforeseen opening. Just before the Sorrow Bringer's overhand strike connected, Jessira lifted her sword and stabbed the Sorrow Bringer in the abdomen. It was a deep wound, but not a fatal one.
The Queen screamed pain and outrage.
Good. Maybe the injury would allow Rukh to overcome the Sorrow Bringer and end Her for all time.
The Queen's overhand strike connected, and pain erupted in Jessira's mind. She fell to the lake down below and felt herself come apart.
Rukh watched in horror as Jessira was struck down by a blow to her head. She instantly went limp and plummeted toward the lake. Rukh swooped down, intent on saving her, but he couldn't reach her in time. She plunged into the muddy water of Lake Corruption, and the sparkling green motes of her essence came unglued. The womanly shape Jessira had taken on spread out over the water's surface like a slowly dissipating mist that eventually sank and disappeared.
Rukh could barely sense his wife presence's. Jessira's essence had once been a firm brightness centered within his mind, but now, all that was left was a touch that was softer than a snowflake's kiss and a dim light more faint than a firefly in fog. Rukh wasn't even sure if any of what he was still feeling of his wife was actually real. Maybe the trace sensations were merely a remembrance of her fiery core, like an afterimage from staring at the sun.
It was just as possible that Jessira was gone, and Rukh cried out at the realization. He had been too slow to defend her, too filled with fury at the Queen to fight with clarity. It had been his mistake that had led to Jessira's demise.
He turned to face the Sorrow Bringer.
She seemed to look down at him with the eyes of a vulture. Her ugly mouth stretched into a slow lupine grin. Suwraith's face was the image of cruelty. She gestured for him to come to Her, still wearing that awful smile.
Rukh snarled. He wanted to charge that fragging, evil monster. He wanted to tear Her apart. He wanted to stab out Her eyes, chop Her limb from limb, hurt Her as horribly as it was possible to hurt another being before finally killing Her. He wanted Her to suffer, to feel the agony and anguish he was feeling.
You are not a man made to hate. The words came from his memory. They belonged to Jessira, and grief, a more painful blade than the Withering Knife, stabbed Rukh's heart, replacing some of the anger. Somehow, through it all, a semblance of reason returned.
Rukh had to defeat the Sorrow Bringer. It was his duty, his calling, his purpose. The Queen's death was the long-sought, unfulfilled dream of generations of Humanity. His anger cooled further. Hatred would not win the day, but rational thought and planning might.
Rukh studied his foe. She still floated up above, taunting him with Her cruel smirk. After defeating Jessira, why hadn't Suwraith immediately attacked him? The answer came to Rukh. The Queen was injured. He could see it now t
hat he was looking. It was a deep wound to Her abdomen. Jessira's mark. Suwraith hadn't attacked because She needed time to Heal.
It was time She would not have.
Rukh ascended silently. He sought that glacial stillness that he had first seen manifested by Kinsu Makren when the two of them had fought in the Tournament of Hume in what seemed like another life. Rukh forced the burning hate to flow through him, past him; let it drain it out through his feet.
The Queen cried out challenge and swooped toward him like a falcon.
Rukh twisted away from Her attack. The Sorrow Bringer came again, and Rukh waited on Her. The Queen's staff arced in a blur toward his head. His abdomen. His knees. Rukh parried every blow.
All emotions were set aside except for one, a single focus: the absolute need for victory. It compelled his every movement and thought. Again, the Queen came in a flood of furious motion. Lightning arced toward him. It coruscated as he slapped it away with his sword. He dodged a Fireball, and it detonated in an explosion of steam and mud as it hit the boggy ground.
The Sorrow Bringer came in behind the Fireball. Rukh tried to disengage, but She was too swift. She wasn't as slowed by Her injury as he had hoped. A series of rapid swings and thrusts had Rukh off balance. He took a blow to his Shield, and it keened like a horse screaming in pain. Another blow landed against his Shield. This one punched through, and Rukh's left shoulder ached as though it had been broken. He pulled away, seeking distance to resettle himself.
Once more, Suwraith advanced. Her staff whirled. It buzzed through the air like a nest of angry hornets. It came fast and hard. Rukh was hard-pressed to block Her every blow, but he managed. His shoulder slowly improved. With each passing second, it grew stronger. Rukh circled away, defending, looking for an opening. Again and again, he merely held guard, blocking Her every blow.