Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Once the living had been absorbed, the dead came next with Aryl in the lead. Still astride the strange horse-like creature, he shouted to his son. “Stand up Jeaf, we’ll come to you.”

  Obeying his father like he had a thousand times before in his life, Jeaf rose to his feet and looked down as Aryl kicked his mount in the flanks. Leaping like it was more deer than horse, the beautiful animal with the long flowing mane and tail landed on the Hammer Bearer’s massive boot and ran up his leg blurring into a swirling mass of colors until it disappeared inside the leg it was climbing. Thousands of strange horse-like creatures followed, each carrying a Fane J’Shrym on its back. With the swift animals being absorbed along with their riders and the clothing they wore, Jeaf’s growth took a noticeable boost. Still, with all the hundreds of thousands of wraith-warriors the Evil One was inculcating into its being, the Hammer Bearer was noticeably smaller. Neither did he have a weapon in hand.

  Next, Jeaf extended his hands to the thousands of Fane J’Shrym that lay on the ground where the Healers were tending to their wounds. Willing them to change into the swirling mass of colors as they kneeled, sat, or lay prone in the receding black mud- which was the first step in melding them into his body- the Hammer Bearer summoned the colorful, turbulent haze into his hands before it wound its way up to his forearms and disappeared inside his flesh.

  Having melded all the Fane J’Shrym into himself- including Vald’War, Shloman the Great, Vlad’Aeroth, his son Poroth and so many more- the Hammer Bearer saw that he was only a fourth of the Evil One’s size who wasn’t finished absorbing the mud.

  Not certain what he could do to lessen the descrepency that would surely mean his and all the rebels ruin, Jeaf’s attention was drawn to a flash of blue light at his feet. Looking down he saw Alynd standing there shouting up to him. As small as the Elf-Man was, Jeaf had a hard time making sense out of the words he could barely hear. “Say again,” he replied with a frown.

  A gentle buzzing sound filled Jeaf’s massive ear as he listened to Alynd’s second attempt to get his message to his giant friend. Lifting his hand to swat the creature that was making the distracting noise away, a high-pitched voice shouted, “Don’t you dare! It’s me Bala.”

  Turning to look at the green speck that flew about his massive head, Jeaf asked the diminuitive cretchym a question. “Can you make out what Alynd’s shouting?”

  “I can do more than that.” Bala looked down at the Elf-Man, who was encouraging her on with a wave of his arms, before she added, “He sent me up here to give you his message.”

  “And that is?”

  “Remember Mystlkynd and the Elf-Queen’s blessing.”

  “Thanks, Bala.” Jeaf, lowering himself to one knee said, “Alynd, tell everyone to move back, it seems things are taking a life of their own. I don’t know how big I’ll have to get to have a chance at defeating Ab’Don. I’m already much larger than I was during the Battle of the Temple of the Oak Tree. When all is said and done, I’m worried I won’t be able to keep up with the Sorcerer.”

  All the humiliation Jeaf experienced in Chylgroyd’s Keep crept into his thinking, casting doubt on his ability to complete the epic task he was undertaking. No matter how much magic one had at their disposal, being made to feel as helpless as Jeaf did for as long as he had, five interminable winters of imprisonment, wasn’t something that could be easily shaken off.

  Sensing his friend’s struggles, Alynd’s eyes gave off a flash of blue light before he said, “You’re not a prisoner any more. You’re a free man filled with the Hammer of Powers Magic and all the magic embedded in the Fane J’Shrym bloodline. And don’t forget, you’re an Elf-Friend who was given Alegramor’s blessing at the Feast of Brosantanney.”

  The memory of the feast that Alynd’s words elicited in Jeaf’s mind made him smile and nod his head as he plunged his massive hand into the ground he knelt on. Alegramor’s blessing not only shared the elves’ inimitable relationship to nature with Jeaf, the Elf-Queen bestowed her own magical giftings on him as well, so he could do all she believed he had to do to fulfill his role as the Hammer Bearer.

  In her prophetic mind, she knew Jeaf needed to marry the Hammer of Power’s magic with the magic that was inherent in nature itself. In the elves’ view of things, they believed magic was found in more places than in talismans like candles, crystals, swords, and hammers. Their unusual sensitivity to nature made them aware of the enchantment found in rock and soil, an enchantment that was transferred to tree and fern and to every creature living in the warl, an enchantment Jeaf was calling on as he fingers turned into roots that drew this power and the substance it dwelled in, into his body.

  At first the taste of soil, that had been plowed up over and again as harvest time came and went in its cyclical fashion, filled Jeaf’s mouth. In time, a faint scent of the nearby greenwood touched his nostrils. The taste of hard rock followed, along with the sweetness that came with newly fallen rain that had soaked into the ground. The dusky taste of a forest floor freshly washed by the thunderhead’s showers joined the panoply of flavors detected by Jeaf’s pallete.

  Jeaf’s amber-colored eyes took on an unusual light as he gorged himself with nature’s power and its substance. The magic that enabled him to increase his size took a portion of the material being inculcated into his body and added it to his clothing. Not carrying the sword he had unstrapped from his waist before he shape-shifted into a griffin earlier in the battle, he didn’t have any weapons that needed to grow along with his body.

  Reaching down to bedrock to acquire the material he needed to make himself larger, Jeaf was mindful to keep from depleting the rich soil that was used to grow vital crops. He had no desire to devastate the place he hoped the warl’s diverse beings would one day live together in peace. The ground water was fair game to include in his mass along with the gravel, rock, trees, brush, wild grasses, lichen, moss, fern and the like.

  The ground groaned and shook as Jeaf summoned its strength. The groaning increased in volume as the Hammer Bearer grew. As wet as it was because of the recent deluge, the soil was turned into a quagmire that threatened to suck the elves, hunchmen, humans and giants into like it was quicksand found in the Lorn Fast Swamp. Having been warned by Jeaf to retreat to a safe distance, the rebels still had to flee further to keep from being caught by one of the side effects that came with his unprecedented transformation. Barely able to keep their balance as they ran, the rebels looked like an endless swarm of rats abandoning a sinking ship as they fled from the one they hoped could save them from the incredible monster the Evil One had become, the monster that was startled by how quickly the Hammer Bearer grew.

  When the ground shook so violently that the upper reaches of the Voyd Gorge collapsed in on itself as its foundations were stripped away by the demands the Hammer Bearer’s expanding body put on it, for the Elf Magic made sure Jeaf gleaned the materials needed for growth from a broad expanse so that a single location wouldn’t be disproportionately taxed, the Evil One recognized the Hammer Bearer was accessing resources it couldn’t. With Jeaf already catching up with it in size, the fiend came up with a solution that came into play when pale, root-like appendages reached out of the ground and worked their way up the ancient entity’s legs like vines growing on a statue.

  The ground began to quiver like it was frightened by what was happening to it before it burst apart to reveal that the vines on the Evil One’s legs had their origins elsewhere. The way the Hag were talking to each other, with worried looks on faces almost entirely hidden by their black robes’ hoods, they appeared to know what the Evil One’s solution was. And what they knew troubled them to no end. When the Words of Power they spoke over their black candles failed to light their wicks, fear replaced worry, for the one who possessed Ab’Don’s body was consuming the source of their power.

  The pale, nearly white vines that wound their way around the Evil One’s legs were made of the same magical material used to build the Hall of Voyd. In fact, they we
re some of the tens of thousands of root-like appendages the hall sent throughout Ar Warl, those that extended Ab’Don’s reach by enabling him to detect magic wherever it was found as well as empowering him to feed on the supernatural-might that was being used if those responsible for tapping into their magical resources remained too long in one place.

  The way the vines kept moving up the Evil One’s legs but disappeared before they reached its waist, told the Hag that their master was feeding on more than magic, it was ingesting the roots themselves. Ab’Con’s body’s continually increasing size was proof of this. When the sliding, slithering sound that accompanied the quivering ground was heard coming out of the battlefield’s farthest reaches, the black-robed wizards new for certain that the Evil One was consuming their handiwork. When rumblings were heard coming from the Hall of Voyd itself, the Hag realized their home was in jeopardy.

  With everyone bolting from the two giants that were attaining mountainous proportions, the arena where the duel would be fought was marked out by the fleeing host.

  When Jeaf finally pulled his hand out of the gound his fingers left holes the size of his childhood home. Satisfied he was large enough now, Jeaf went to meet Not-Ab’Don and end the war. Feeling the magics from the Warl of Dead and the Warl of the Living intermingling inside of him, the Hammer Bearer- now a comparable size to his opponent- felt he was ready to take the Evil One on.

  Looking down at the Voyd River’s empty riverbed, frowning when he saw that the tiny Bjorkian longboats looked like wood shavings laying at whittler’s feet, he paused to get his bearings. Had he absorbed that much water? How big had he become?

  Seeing the rebels looked like they were no bigger than ants, as they continued to move away from him, confirmed the perspective the size of the longboats had already given him. The insect-sized ice dragons and griffin flew about his head as he watched the Hall of Voyd being sucked into the island it was built on as it continued to be drawn into the Evil One’s mountainous form. The vines that ran up Not-Ab’Don’s legs pulsed like they were throats accommodating food that thousands of mouths had swallowed. Jeaf, recognizing the need to continue to grow, found that he could continue drawing nature’s ingredients in through the soles of his feet as he walked.

  “What are you going to do?” Ay’Roan’s voice, as little sound as it made in relationship to Jeaf’s humongous ears, was, nevertheless, heard.

  “I’m going to attack Ab’Don now. There’s no need for this insane growth to continue. I’m not going to consume the whole warl, am I?” The Hammer of Power emerged from his forearm and slid into his hand as he spoke to all of his sons, wife and friends, “You boys stay close by, but not close enough that the fire-blasted Sorcerer can reach you with his sword. Same goes for you Muriel. Keep the Blood around you and don’t come any closer than Grour Blood thinks is safe. Bacchanor, Pearl, Bala, go get Alynd.”

  Not wasting any time, Jeaf sprinted at Not-Ab’Don heedless of the fiery sword he wielded, the one made with fraethym who grew along with the one who wielded the weapon they were used to construct.

  Seeing the Hammer Bearer moving as fast as he was, for the magic Jeaf fed on kept him from being a behemoth that clomped along like an old man carrying a heavy burden, the Evil One broke away from the root-like appendages that had latched onto his legs as they fed him all the Hag magic they could, including the Hall of Voyd that had fallen in on itself like a piece of rotten fruit, and drew his flaming sword back to strike its first blow.

  Feinting like he was going to swing the Hammer of Power overhead like it was an ax used to chop firewood, Jeaf dropped to the ground and slid along swinging his weapon in a sweeping motion that took the Evil One’s feet out from under it. Turning as he rose to one knee, Jeaf brought Vlad’War’s Child down on the star’s blood armor covering Not-Ab’Don’s chest. Blue light exploded at the point of impact as the Hammer of Power dented the breastplate where the image of a blazing sun had been embossed on it, the symbol of Ab’Don’s authority. Driving the air out of the Sorcerer’s lungs, a thunderous HUUUHHHHHH sound to fill the air.

  Pulling the Hammer of Power back, Jeaf felt the gigantic flaming sword slam into his side before he could deliver a second blow. Worse than hearing his ribs break, Jeaf felt the fraethym’s magic cut into his mind and resurrect the memories of the worst parts of the torture he had been subjected to in Chylgroyd’s Keep, those that made him long for the gift of unconcsciousness that brought temporary relief from the the excruciating pain racking his body, a gift that Hag magic kept him from receiving.

  Crying out in agony, Jeaf rolled away from the sword that was pressed up against his side. As he did, the Evil One withdrew the weapon and scrambled to its feet where the fiend swung the flaming sword into Jeaf’s back. This time, the fraethym attacked the minds of the Fane J’Shrym that were melded into the Hammer Bearer’s mountainous body. Thousands of memories that replayed the worst things the Fane J’shrym had experienced in the lives they lived in the Warl of the Living assailed their unsuspecting minds: loved ones with illnesses that ravaged their bodies long before they died were seen in their hour of despair, recollections of wives dying in childbirth were rehearsed, moments of betrayal at the hands of friends were recalled, drownings, murders, abandonment, starvation, childhood scenes of being abused both emotionally and physically were replayed, and much more.

  Since the Fane J’Shrym were scattered about Jeaf’s enormous body, providing the supernatural glue that kept the mountainess frame intact, the emotional pain that was released touched every part of the Hammer Bearer, making him feel like he had been skinned alive, crippling him like one who had every nerve ending they possessed burned by fire.

  Collapsing into the mud, Jeaf felt the Evil One’s flaming sword strike him over and over again. Each time it did, a new batch of debilitating memories were released into the Fane J’Shrym, ensuring the searing pain would remain. Then to Jeaf’s utter horror, the Evil One buried the flaming sword in his chest just like it had thrust the slender, iron branch into Muriel’s heart. Like Crooked Finger before it, the flaming sword took control of Jeaf just as thoroughly as the slender, iron talisman had taken control of Muriel when it first entered her heart.

  Flying overhead, Muriel shouted, “NOOOOO!” while Grour Blood and the enraged griffin’s roars filled the sky along with the lightning the Oakenfel brothers summoned out of the thunderhead to strike the Evil One in a futile attempt to make the fiend pay for what he had done to their father and their Fane J’shrym brothers and sisters who were inside of him. Though Muriel had taken control of Crooked Finger after it had been washed in her blood so many times, and after the Evil One made the mistake of repeatedly twisting it in her heart, Jeaf was not likely to bend the Fraethym sword to his will since this was the only time it had been rammed into his chest; nor could anyone else save Not-Ab’Don withdraw the talisman; and without this happening, all was lost.

  Knowing it had won, the ancient entity, who looked out of Ab’Don’s raptor-yellow eyes, surveyed the battlefield and allowed itself to laugh out loud, unabashedly celebrating its victory in an unusual display of emotion. Now all he had to do was isolate the Prohetess to keep Crooked Finger from becoming a nuisance. Once his wraith warriors were released again when he divested himself of the enormous size it no longer needed, the spirits of the living would be harvested once more and added to the overwhelming force it was collecting to accompany it when the assault on the Mountain of Song took place.

  “Run,” Not-Ab’Don shouted to the rebels who looked like ants swarming over an ant hill as they fled carrying their wounded and those who had been burned by the Fires of Darkness along with them, “but you’ll not escape me, not now that I’ve defeated your champion.”

  Something big hit the Evil One in the head right after it said champion. Stumbling sideways, the mountain of a giant was hit again in the very same spot, knocking him down to one knee with a hand in the mud to keep its balance. Catching on to what was happening, Not-Ab’Don dodge
d the Hammer of Power as it made a third pass at its head. Then lifting its hand that wasn’t in the mud, the Evil One blocked two more passes before the Hammer of Power changed targets and hit the breastplate again. Blue light flashed at the site of impact like it did the first time the armor was struck.

  Separating itself from Jeaf before the fraethym sword’s magic had time to reach out and take control of it, the Hammer of Power attacked the one responsible for trapping the Hammer Bearer. If the Evil One’s sword was going to strike Jeaf, then the Hammer Bearer’s weapon was going to reply in kind.

  Finding itself on its back, Not-Ab’Don felt how much larger the dent in the breastplate had become before it quickly rolled over to avoid the next attack the fiend knew was coming.

  Enough mud flew into the sky to cover a farmhouse garden four hands deep with rich soil when the Hammer of Power slammed into the ground where the Evil One had been laying. Just as quick as Jeaf was- since the magic both giants had summoned not only gave them enormous size, but also speed to match- the Evil One leapt to its feet and had its hands up blocking the hammer as it continued its assault.

  Not-Ab’Don soon found itself staggering beneath the barrage of blows that the hammer, now as big as the King’s Great Hall in Eagle’s Vale, doled out. In time, the Evil One became so undone by the thunderous assault, fearing it wasn’t nearly as victorious as it once thought, that it reached for the flaming sword in desperation and pulled it out of Jeaf’s chest to use the fierce talisman to defend itself against the Hammer of Power that showed it could act independently from the Hammer Bearer. The fiend concluded that it was better off fighting the Hammer Bearer and the Hammer of Power with its fraethym sword in hand than to fight the monsterous, silver-headed weapon with its bare hands alone. Besides, the foul entity knew where Jeaf’s heart was and could always slam its weapon back into the Hammer Bearer’s chest once it figured out how to contain his fire-blasted talisman.