Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Once the Mountain of Song was conquered, the power of the songs that are sung there would be the Evil One’s to use any way it wanted, making the magic the ancient entity had siphoned out of the Warl of the Living less valuable. Once the crystalline city bowed to its will, the Evil One could end its regrettable dependence on the frail human necessity forced it into and shuck off Ab’Don’s body without losing strength needed to keep control of things.

  So, after swatting at the air where the griffin were most likely flying and punching itself in the chest over and over again, like it had a piece of food lodged in its wind pipe, to disrupt those doing the excavating, the mountain-sized giant started to climb the Mountain of Song’s slopes. But before it had gotten more than three quick steps, the Hammer of Power slammed against the back of its over-sized head, droppin it to one knee.

  Turning around, the ancient entity put up an arm to stop a greatly diminished Hammer Bearer’s next blow. Though the impact sent a jolt of pain into its arm, the Evil One was pleased at being able to stop the hammer from reaching its head again without the help of the fraethym sword that was conspicuously absent from the Hammer Bearer’s chest.

  Calling the fraethym back to itself, the ancient entity was disappointed when he saw the evil spirits were engaged in an ongoing battle they couldn’t get free from, one where three wraiths latched onto them like shackles they couldn’t shake off no matter what form they took- fire, smoke, or brilliant light.

  Not having a history in fighting the type of Healing Magic that was hurled at them, the fraethym had no answer for the supernatural assault that treated them like they were an infection that needed to be destroyed. When a host of Healers rose out of the throng of Righteous Dead that were gathering to stand between the Evil One and the Great City that sat on top of the Mountain of Song, and join those who struggled with the fraehtym, any chance of the evil spirits responding to their master’s summons was removed.

  The fire-blasted elf could be seen walking on the ground below the aerial wrestling match as he moved among the stunned Fane J’Shrym, who had been forced out of the Hammer Bearer’s body when the fraethym used their foul powers to inflict pain on their hapless victim. A cloud of amber light went before him. A man playing a guitar followed, walking among the throng of disconcerted warriors who lay among the debris that had once been part of the Thrall Mountians and the farmlands that ran up against them. The warriors and rubble, scattered over the grassless plain, accounted for the Hammer Bearer’s lose in size that had given the Evil One the upper hand in the fight even though it lacked a weapon of its own.

  Rising to its feet, the Evil One blocked every blow the Hammer Bearer threw its way. In time, it traded punches for blows as it hit its opponent with huge fists that split the Hammer Bearer’s skin, sending blood flowing out of cuts on Jeaf’s forehead and cheeks. All the while, the excavation continued as Travyn, Kaylan, Ay’Roan and J’Aryl put the tips of their swords together to create a stream of searing energy that eventually cut its way through Ab’Don’s armored breastplate and into the skin and muscle that lay beneath. The blood that should have flowed with how severe the wounding was, was held back by the ice dragons who used their breath to freeze the flow.

  Cutting their way past ribs as thick as a field of corn was wide, the Oakenfel brothers finally reached Ab’Don’s cavernous chest cavity, whereupon they used there Mind Ciphering abilities they inherited from their parents to summon their mother.

  “Grour Blood,” Muriel encouraged her huge winged-friend on as they flew along, “our time has arrived.”

  Not lacking the ability to pick up thoughts as they were transferred among those who didn’t care that he heard them, the griifn replied, “Yes, I heard your sons’ beckoning call too.”

  “Hurry then, I don’t know how much more of a battering Jeaf can take.”

  Flying passed her husband’s blood-covered face that was contorted in pain from the punch it had just absorbed, Muriel reached out with her thoughts and said, Jeaf, swing your hammer just one more time.

  Once that thought entered his mind, Jeaf gathered himself, lifted the Hammer of Power, and swung it at the Evil One who was in the process of delivering another devastating blow.

  While the Hammer of Power’s silver head and Evil One’s gargantuan fist were crashing into each other, Grour Blood and his charge shot into the hole punched into the mountain-sized, black chest as another shock wave rolled across the plains and up the Mountain of Song’s steep slopes. The Community of Blood followed.

  Feeling Crooked Finger’s magic enter its body, the Evil One forgot about the Hammer Bearer and begin to tear at its chest like it wanted to reach in and pull its own heart out, a heart it wouldn’t have if it hadn’t taken possession of Ab’Don’s body, a heart that made it vulnerable to the talisman that raced deeper into its chest as Muriel worked her way to the life- giving organ.

  With the griffin escorting the Prophetess past the wraith warriors that dislodged themselves from the tunnel’s walls to try and stop Crooked Finger from travelling deeper into their master’s body, Muriel and Grour Blood flew through the middle of a battle that increased in strength as time passed.

  When Muriel’s sons arrived from deeper inside the giant’s monstrous body with the ice dragons in tow, the ongoing battle turned decisively in the Prophetess’ favor. The Evil One doubled over as the pain in its chest grew along with the violence his enemies were using to destroy the wraith warriors it sent against them, violence that included bolts of lightning that discriminated between the combatants, choosing its prey with an intelligence that came from the four men who controlled their energy.

  Soon, Grour Blood was speeding past the rib that had been breached and into a chest cavity whose liquid had been frozen by the ice dragons in a way that kept a path open to the mountainous mass of muscle whose beating quickened along with the Evil One’s anxiety.

  Clutching at his chest with fingers that tore deep into his black flesh, the Evil One looked up at the Mountain of Song and opened its mouth to let out a cry of despair that didn’t come as it went rigid as a statue.

  Sensing what had happened, the fraethym joined the darkness that let go of the Evil One as it flew back over Gulf Fix and off into the distance.

  Hundreds of ice dragons exited the puncture wound in the giant’s chest, looking like colorful bubbles were escaping the hole and rising into the air. Travyn, Kaylan, Ay’Roan and J’Aryl were mounted on the last of the dragons. Grour Blood followed them with Muriel on his back and the rest of the pride of winged-lions trailing behind.

  Surprising as it seemed, Crooked Finger was still in the Prophetess hand, though one-third of its length was now gone, a third that was buried in Ab’Don’s heart.

  When Grour Blood landed on the ground before her husband who had been knocked to the ground by the final final blow, Muriel slipped off her guardian’s back and ran to him.

  “Help me Muriel,” Jeaf said as he gasped for the air he had trouble breathing. “Somethings wrong. I can’t feel my arms and legs, and my vision is blurring. What did that monster do to me?”

  “He’s dying,” Andara said as his spirit came to stand beside Muriel.

  “He’s been through too much,” Mar’Gul added as she sided up to the Healing Wizard. “And the price for all Jeaf has had to endure is finally being paid.”

  “But if he dies now,” Rowniel was the wraith who now spoke, “all the living that are inside of him will die with him.”

  “You mustn’t let that happen,” Alynd said as he slid off Bacchanor’s back before the shape-shifting wizard changed out of his griffin form. “Sing the Song of Breaking and free the brave Fane J’Shrym who are inside Jeaf so they can live to see tomorrow.”

  “Sing the songs, Muriel.” Bear’s rumbling voice was heard as he slid off the ice dragon who was kind enough to carry him. “Jeaf would wants ya to do its for tha others.”

  Chapert 27: The Song of Breaking

  Looking at the mammoth creatur
e with the glazed-over stare, Muriel wept as she looked on her husband’s face. Separated for five winters while he endured a litany of torture too cruel to describe, finally to meet him in the midst of a war that gave them little time together, now to have death part them on the cusp of victory was nearly too much to handle. But still she sang thinking she might be saving someone else’s husband, though she couldn’t save her own.

  A voice as beautiful as a well-crafted woodwind was heard.

  Do not rejoice over me my enemy,

  You who look at innocence with your eye,

  Do not rejoice or take pleasure when I fall,

  For I will arise.

  Overcome by grief, Muriel lowered her head and quit singing as memories of Jeaf came flooding at her. The one where the beached ship, that had miraculously been restored and set sail with a vision of her and Jeaf on its deck and four young men standing behind them, rose out of her confusion as Lylah and three other ice dragons carried her sons to her side.

  “Don’t stop singing Mother,” Lylah said. “Look.”

  When Muriel lifted her head, she saw the Great Ctiy made of crystal was, once again, filled with flashing lights of every color and description possible and some impossible to imagine. The coloring of the ice dragons themselves had taken on a luminous aspect.

  “Sing Mother,” Kaylan added.

  Looking from the mountain top back to her husband, Muriel lifted her voice once again.

  Now that the day of darkness is over,

  As she sang the ring on her finger began to vibrate and give off illumination of its own.

  And the father’s love has brought me to the light.

  The ring’s illumination grew until it looked like a small star was resting on her hand.

  Now all chains will be broken,

  At the exact moment the line was voiced, both Jeaf and the Evil One’s bodies began to disintegrate into particles the same way the black mountain had broken apart earlier. Many of the particles were living beings, others were spirits of the deceased, and some were Dream-Messengers. Pieces of soil, rock, water, trees, grass, and shrubs were mixed in with the residue that fell off Jeaf. Countless bits of material used to build the Hall of Voyd and the vast root system that reached out from it were included in the things the Evil One’s body was sluffing off at rate that made it look like an avalanche was cascading down its massive sides.

  And Parm Warl will come to make things right.

  Like the last time she sang the Song of Breaking, Muriel added verses to the song, and as she did grass began to grow on the barren plains.

  I can run farther than my feet can carry me.

  I can lift weight greater than my arms can hold.

  Surrounding themselves with cloud once more, the Dream-Messengers went and stood between the Great City and those who had fought on the plain. Their multiplied thousands were visible in the glistening vapor that surrounded them.

  I am more than the things that have befallen me.

  For the Valley of Trouble has made me bold.

  The host of Righteous Dead that were blown up higher on the Mountain of Song’s steep slopes by the shock waves the warring giants sent across the plains, moved closer as the Prophetess sang the song they all longed to hear.

  Shadows flee before my song, to the safety of your lair.

  No solace will your children find within the darkness they find there.

  For the warl is yours no more, it is given to the just.

  I’ll find you there my enemy and crush you into dust.

  By the time the Song of Breaking had been sung, both the Hammer Bearer and the Evil One had returned to their original size, though each was atop of a pile of detritus that continued to shrink as it spread out over the devastated plain. When the Prophetess sang the last verse, half of the wraiths that had been inculcated into the ancient evil’s body began to flee from the song’s magic toward Gulf Fix’s chasm that was closing as they approached to let them continue running after the darkness that fled that way.

  “Let them go,” Whistyme’s calm voice was heard as the others held their breaths like often happens before important decisions are made. “Without their master leading them, they’re no longer of any consequence. The battle was won when the Prophetess thrust her talisman into Ab’Don’s heart. By doing this, she trapped the Evil One inside the body it used to wage its war through. Is it not ironic that the body the Evil One expected to carry it to victory has been turned into its prison?”

  Taking time to examine Ab’Don’s body that was frozen in the middle of the Evil One’s anguished cry, he added, “The Evil One has truly trapped himself inside a prison of his own making. The talisman that is buried in its host’s body has seen to that. Now it’s time to complete the prison cell that will hold the ancient evil captive.

  “Muriel, if you please.” Whistyme lifted his arm in Ab’Don’s direction

  Surprised the Dream-Messenger would defer to her, Muriel lifted her head for a moment as an idea came to her. Not knowing if she could use the power emanating from the Great City that sat atop the Mountain of Song or not, the Prophetess, nevertheless, lifted the talisman she held in her hand, the portion of Crooked Finger that her Powers of Intuition had led her to keep for herself, and pointed it at Ab’Don. Using the power of her thoughts to invision the kind of tree the Sorcerer had cruelly hung her body on when he first rammed Crooked Finger into her heart, Muriel took the rubble that had once been the Hall of Voyd and shaped into a tree that mirrored what she remembered about her dour perch.

  Though it had been made with dark magic, the tube-shaped material readily obeyed Muriel. Why wouldn’t it, since it was created in the pursuit of power; and the supernatural might Muriel now wielded was just such an irresistible force?

  Lifting Ab’Don’s body up in its tentacle-like arms, the material wrapped around itself in a way that created a tree trunk large enough to carry the weight that would be added to it. Once that was begun, it wasn’t hard for the tubes and cables to crawl past the growing base to become the branches of an enormous tree. Like a mammoth swarm of snakes were heading for the den they would spend the winter together all balled up for protection, the tubes slithered along the grassless plains from the places where they had come to rest after exiting the giant they helped create and into the tree trunk that beckoned them. In time, a massive, intricately-designed tree stood before the onlookers, one that would have been bigger than the Hall of Voyd itself if it wasn’t for the arbor’s base that had to be broad enough and dense enough to hold the massive sculpture aloft.

  Looking at Ab’Don’s rigid form that was held in the upper branches grasp, Muriel pointed her talisman at the Sorcerer and envisioned his star’s blood breastplate that had a hole cut into it over his heart enveloped him like a suit of armor without joints.

  The first thing the star’s blood did was to fill in the hole and remove any way to take hold of the part of Crooked Finger that had been thrust into Ab’Don’s heart. Then it quickly spread over the Sorcerer’s body, making him look like a statue made with the precious metal.

  Anticiapting the Prophetess’ next request, the branches reached out to the statue and pulled it deeper inside the tree. Wrapped up as he was, the Sorcerer disappeared in the mass of branches that clutched him as he was passed along. In time, the knot with Ab’Don’s body inside worked its way down to the tree trunk where it disappeared like the arbor’s massive base had swallowed the Sorcerer.

  Satisfied with all the tree had done, Muriel pointed Crooked Finger and said, “Off with you. To the darkness now go and stand as a monument to evil’s failure. But before you go, let the name I’ve given the Evil One appear on your bark. No longer nameless, let the fiend be called Vanquished.”

  As Muriel used Crooked Finger to sketch the letters that spelled Vanquished in the air, their likeness appeared on the giant tree trunk that stood before her. Then with a wave of the Prophetess hand, the tree rose up off the greening plain and flew through the air, lo
oking like a cloud was floating through the sky until it disappeared over the distant horizon.

  After a moment of quiet reflection, Bacchanor said, “Well, Ab’Don got what he wanted, everlasting life, though it was given to him under different circumstances than he expected.”

  The truth of the Brown Wizard’s words were sobering indeed, for immortality was his for as long as the broken talisman remained in his heart; and none, save the Prophetess herself, could remove Crooked Finger’s Child once it was planted.

  A cracking noise rose out the distance as the Mountain of Song stretched out in the direction the darkness had fled, growing in height as it did. While the nearby Gulf Fix closed, another one was opening up far enough away that it sounded like the distant rumbling of thunder intermixed with sharper sounds made by masses of rock being broken apart. The black terrain stretching out in that direction, once filled with countless jagged gorges, became a rolling plain and greened accordingly.

  ****

  Once the tree travelled out of sight, Muriel hurried off to her husband who looked like a corpse lying on an unlit pyre filled with trees and stones. But before she could reach him, a company of Dream-Messengers swept past her, lifted the Hammer Bearer up, and carried him up the Mountain of Songs slopes and into the cloud that covered them all.

  “What’s happening?” Muriel cried out. “Can’t the Warl of the Dead let me embrace my husband one last time before it claims him?”

  Turning toward the cloud, Muriel added, “I will have my embrace and much more.”

  “Did ya hear her?” Bear trumpeted as he fell in step with the Prophetess and the griffin who walked beside her. “Don’t ya dares take Jeaf away until Muriels sees him.”

  As if it was offended by the giant’s hubris, though it wasn’t, the Great City atop the Mountain of Song lit up with white light that was so blinding that the visitors from the Warl of the Living had to close their eyes, including the ice dragons and griffin. The cloud of Dream-Messengers responded to the Great City by absorbing its light and holding onto it once the city’s illumination vanished.