by Azalea Ellis
The cosmic whale, which I imagined to be the sentience of the Other Place, or Blue, as I had taken to calling it, after it found this description pleasing, swirled around me as I repaid my debt to it, one day at a time. More and more often, as its anger toward us mellowed, we would talk.
“The day of darkness comes,” Blue said, one gigantic eye looking down on the flames from the edge of the darkness.
“An eclipse,” I said. “The Estreyans are holding a big party.”
“Perhaps you will need my help again, then?” Its voice held the slither of characteristic slyness and a blatant measure of greed.
The fire faltered. “What? Why?”
“Keep burning,” it ordered. “You are not tired yet.”
When I complied, it swirled around me a few more times watchfully before answering. “I have not seen you use the last Aspect of Chaos. If you require my help again, Zed,” and it said the name with ire, “shall not rip into the void with his clumsy fingers. You will learn yourself.”
I swallowed, blood rushing in my ears. “Do you know something? Is something bad going to happen?”
The swirling slowed, and the impression of the gargantuan eye pressed closer. “Are you not meant to fight against the Abhorrent?”
“We were. I was. But we killed him. Or at least—banished. Is there some way for him to get back here again?” My voice tightened as I spoke, and the fire died down as I lost concentration.
Blue’s temper pressed in around me like the beat of a giant drum. “You killed Pestilence, you foolish morsel. Now, if you will not continue to bring me life, get out.”
The realm contracted, receding in around me till I found myself stumbling out of the rip Zed had left open for me.
I tried to go back through, but there was nothing on the other side, no replica of my immediate surroundings, just a jagged pane of darkness and the faint impression of Blue’s form receding into the distance.
I ran for the palace, sending a mental Window to the others as I went.
People bowed to me as I passed, and called greetings.
I blew past without acknowledging them.
Torliam met me in the throne room, and, as the sky darkened in midday, the sun being blotted out by the joint efforts of the double moons, the others arrived as well.
My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the Oracle’s third gift. As the day turned into night, its pieces fitted together. I held back a sob.
My hands shook as I settled the multi-banded crown on my head. It writhed and tightened, weaving through my hair and settling on my brow. Then came the pain, as it injected its contents into me.
YOUR CHARISMA HAS INCREASED!
I fell into the vision. When I finally opened my eyes, with blood in my mouth and my team’s grim faces all around me, I bowed my head and let angry tears run down my cheeks. They flowed into my mouth and dripped off my chin, sliding into my scales. “We were wrong,” I choked out. “Pestilence is not the Abhorrent. He is merely one of its Aspects. One of nine. The first of the greater Trials.”
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Also by Azalea Ellis
Seeds of Chaos Series
Gods of Blood and Bone
Gods of Rust and Ruin
Gods of Myth and Midnight
Gods of Smoke and Stars — Coming Winter 2018
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About the Author
I am an author of science fiction and fantasy. I love to hear from my readers, so feel free to reach out to me.
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