by 5kops
Giving the dragon a grunt of disapproval, Thurm closed his eyes and drew upon the vastness of eternity, molding it into his mind. He sought creation, the source of all healing magic. His hands glowed blue and he extended them down to the young man. Upon touching the human, his power tripled, sending an uncontrollable backlash up his arms and pushing him backward.
The olthari sat back up and frowned; his magic had had very little effect on the human. He almost reached back out for the human, but paused.
He sighed. These were very odd circumstances. He wondered if he should look more into it, due to the fact that his master had told him to look for miracles. He pinched his lips into a frown.
I owe this human a debt of gratitude, he thought. Even if be were the one, which is nigh impossible, I cannot possibly take him now.
Sensing that the dragon was watching him with interest, Thurm looked up. He did not see the devout follower that he assumed all dragons were. A shroud of shadow crossed its soul. He was about to comment when she interrupted him.
"This human's settlement is close. If you can place him in my foreclaw, I would like to take him back," said Silverwing.
"Why?" asked Thurm, his bushy eyebrows drawing into a scowl. He wondered what the dragon wasn't telling him.
"I don't know," Silverwing admitted. "But this one is destined for great things. I can feel it."
There it was. This human was a pawn in some dragon game of chess. Thurm was disgusted, yet he would watch this dragon and her pet human. His previous thought about the young man as his possible mark faded.
Nodding, Thurm picked up the human and laid the fragile body inside the dragon's foreclaw. He closed his eyes and sent a spark of eternity into the dragon, searing a small mark in her leg, a soul-link, which would allow him to track her at any time.
Silverwing flinched as though she knew what Thurm had done, but made no aggressive move. Instead, she drew her massive maw into a giant scowl and nodded. With that, she took three massive strides, flapped her wings in a giant sweeping motion, and leapt into the air.
As the dragon flew off into the dawn, Thurm rubbed his chin. "A very unusual human," he mused, recalling the nights events in crystal clear detail.
And a very strange day, he thought. Could it be that the dragon was right? Could it be that he had just met a special human, one who was worth watching?
"Maybe it is time I start paying closer attention . . . maybe this is the world that will end my great crusade," he said. He turned into the forest thoughtfully and disappeared into the world of Aryth.
****
The world burned as demons poured forth from the void. There was so much death, horror, and damnation, on such a grand scale, that Areck's mortal mind thought reality was being undone.
It was almost unbearable for the squire. He had never imagined a nightmare could be so vivid, so real, so unsettling. His subconscious mind called to him. It whispered that this was not a nightmare; this was prophecy, given by God.
Areck refused to listen, believing that God would never allow something so tragic to happen. This vision predicted the end of the world. It sent a shiver down his incorporeal spine.
What if this is truth? his subconscious asked. Maybe God is giving me a glimpse of the future.
For the briefest of moments Areck glimpsed God, in all of His ever-shimmering glory, calling out to him, welcoming him into Heaven. It made his heart soar and his sickness rose up. It hurt so good. For so long he had thought that he was a failure to the order, to Starsgalt. However, if his Lord was accepting him into Heaven, he had gotten it all wrong. At that moment he knew he could go in peace, his soul clean.
Areck looked to the sky and opened his arms in acceptance. He was greeted with a beautiful starburst of divine power. The sky split open and he saw eternity. He glimpsed Heaven, or rather, what his limited mind wished to see.
He stopped. Something else beckoned. Though he couldn't fathom why, the sounds of his dying world called out to Areck. He looked around, looked at the carnage that was about to happen.
He no longer saw the world die but was instead standing in the middle of a great battlefield littered with corpses. He heard the distant echo of steel ringing all around him, as spiritual combatants danced in and out of his vision. He felt a ghostly apparition brush against his skin and vivid memories of the battle flooded into his mind. He became aware of the pain, of the suffering, of the tragic downfall of. . . of Arsgoth!
"What are you telling me?" Areck screamed. "Why are you telling me this?" He began to cry. He knew that he was dying or dead, and that God was trying to show him the future. The question was, Why? Why would God show him this then offer him the chance to ascend to Heaven?
Understand. An angelic voice teased his mind. The divine voice sent a thousand possibilities scattering across Areck's vision. He saw himself being killed again and again until a single reality opened, a reality where he did not die and the world was saved. Not by him, he hastened to add, for he was unworthy of such honor, but because he chose not to heed God's welcome.
Areck looked to the sky one more time. He was sure that the ghostly apparitions had stopped and were now staring at him, waiting for him to make his choice.
Once again, Starsgalt beckoned him. God is asking me to come home, Areck cried. How can I refuse him?
An explosion in the distance rumbled the nightmare. The screams of the dying flooded his senses. Lowering his gaze, Areck knew he could not end his life like this, not with such a threat looming, not knowing that he had failed the knighthood, ignorant of what God was trying to show him!
"I do not know what you want of me, my Lord, but as ever, I shall serve my purpose!" Areck shouted. With all of his resolve he turned away from the call. Images exploded, the ground rumbled, and there was darkness.
****
"Lie is alive," someone said from very far away.
Areck felt gentle hands search for his pulse. He tried to open his eyes but they did not work. He was sure that he was blind.
"Praise Starsgalt, Lieutenant Redmon! His chest, it moves!" said another.
"Wha . . . happened?" Areck croaked.
"Do not speak, my lord, you are terribly wounded." Squire Redmon knelt next to Areck, doing his best to keep his voice calm. "During the battle you were struck in the chest and knocked from your warhorse, only to be dragged into the forest by the beast. I ordered our best trackers to search the area, hoping to recover you from the fiends. They found your dead horse but not you, and reported that your tracks had, ahem . . . vanished."
Areck felt Redmon's hand squeeze his shoulder in comfort. He tried to speak again, but only incoherent babbling came out. He wished that he could see his comrade's face before he died ... or was he already dead?
Is this Heaven? he wondered. No. I refused God's offer; refused Heaven's call. I must warn Lord Lightbringer.
Areck groaned and his mind became numb from the pain. He shivered.
Redmon yelled, "He is going in to shock! Get back to Brenly and ask the count to prepare whatever medical aid he can spare. If he is going to survive this, we need to get him back to Brenly . . . now!"
Areck passed out.
****
"Can you save him?" The familiar voice of Squire Redmon woke Areck up again.
"I do not know," said a female voice. "He is in terrible shape. It looks like he has lost a lot of blood and suffers from internal wounds as well. Honestly, I do not know how he is alive."
"It is a miracle, my lady," said Redmon. "Starsgalt is truly merciful and compassionate toward His commanders. My point is proven just by looking at this leg wound. Look at it ... it was already beginning to scar when we found him. How is that possible? Then you show up, led by The Merciful, to this town, at this time, to seek out a long forgotten temple in this region. What are the chances of that, my lady? I mean, this has to be God's handiwork."
"I have to admit that either God or His servants intervened on this young man's behalf," said
the female. "W'here did you say you found him, Lord Redmon?"
"Another miracle, Lady Elyana," Redmon replied. "The scout said that he saw a white dragon land in field and decided to investigate the area. Commander Areck was lying on the ground, covered in orcish blood. From the report, Areck was dead until the moment I arrived."
"Can you confirm that there was indeed a dragon?" Elyana asked.
"No, my lady," replied Redmon. "I was penning a note to Lord Light-bringer about Commander Areck's death when the news came. He was barely alive when I got to him and seemed unaware of his surroundings. In fact, he asked me what had happened to him!"
There was silence.
Areck tried to turn his head and groaned. Though he could not be sure, he knew the name of Lady Elyana. But ... if it was the woman he remembered, why was she here?
"Squire Redmon, will you order one of the servants to bring me some fresh water?" Elyana asked, seeing Areck's eyes flutter.
"Of course, my lady," Redmon replied and raced from the room.
When Redmon was gone, Elyana peeked around the corner to make sure no one was near. She strolled to Areck and placed a hand upon his head, casting a simple healing incantation.
The healing magic instandy started working, closing several small wounds before it fizzled and made Areck heave. The woman simply turned his heard to the side and put a small piece of wood in his mouth, keeping it open should any vomit leak out. After a moment, she recast the healing spell, only to be met with the same results—a bout of coughing and throw up.
For what seemed like an eternity, Lady Elyana stood over Areck casting the same healing spell time after dme. On her last attempt she grunted with effort and almost fell onto him.
The shock of the blow was enough to make Areck open his eyes to see a familiar face staring down at him. It was her! The woman who had poisoned him. But why, how . . .? He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but his tongue did not work.
She smiled at his struggles, put a trembling hand on his face, and righted herself.
"Rest, Sir Areck, so that I may heal your wounds," she said, her perfect brow covered in perspiration.
Areck mumbled incoherent wounds and tried to pull away, spitting up more vomit.
"Shh," she said. "Didn't I tell you that we would meet again? Now close your eyes so that I may fully heal you." Elyana began to chant again, this time with a trembling voice. It sounded as if she was under a great deal of discomfort.
Areck thought that she had to be an angel. He felt another powerful wave of divinity wash over him, this one wracking his body and mind. As quickly as the power had come, the exhausted voice ceased and it dissipated.
Areck stumbled out of consciousness. If he survived, he would have to ask her why he had been chosen. He was so young and so unworthy of God's embrace! These were all things he would ask . . . but not now, not until he was sure of himself.
Areck let his mind slip away.
Darkness overcame him.
25
". . . PLEASE, FATHER, hear the plea of your faithful servant," Knight-Captain Bowon Silvershield muttered, trying to hide his grief. "I am in need of . . . of you, God, now more than ever."
Silence.
Bowon raised his red-rimmed eyes to the alabaster statue of God, the One God, Starsgalt the Just, The All-Knowing, He Who Is, as tears streaked down his face. Once again, he was greeted with silence. This was the eighth hour of his communion and still the One God had not responded. He felt great humiliation at the thought that God no longer wished to hear what he had to say.
He felt a great weight press down on his lungs, as if the world was upon his shoulders. For the first time in eleven years, pent up anguish and guilt burst forth.
"My God, Starsgalt, please, Father, your faithful servant comes to you in time of his greatest need . . .!"
Bowon continued, uncaring that once again there was no response, no divine presence in the chamber. Words spilled incoherendy from his mouth. ". . . the source! I think ... I may have found it at after all these years. But I cannot destroy it . . . you cannot ask me to do this thing!"
Bowon rocked back and forth, his gaundeted hands clasped in prayer, and utter silence descended upon the room.
". . . give me strength, Father, please," he choked, "give your faithful servant strength! I cannot do this alone!"
"He cannot hear you, my son," a gentle voice whispered as softly as a gende breeze. "But, I have heard your call and have come to offer aid."
The voice caught Bowon by surprise, freezing him in fetal position, his scaled mail clicking into place. He told himself many things in that moment, thinking God had answered his prayers. Starsgalt must have found it in his heart to forgive a broken old knight for his sins ... He became aware that he was curled in a ball, crying like a newborn babe, acting like a squire who had just been punished.
Bowon pushed himself into a kneeling position, inhaling to slow the caustic phlegm of his sobs from working its way up his throat. He decided that it was best not to open his eyes, especially without composure, for fear of insulting the celestial being.
Or is it a celestial being? He thought. What if God has sent a. . . a—
"I am not an angel, child."
Bowon went rigid, realizing that the being had read his thoughts. Furthermore, he might have insulted the divine messenger by not knowing what it was. Fear surged down Bowon's spine
What if I just called God an angel? Bowon close his eyes tight. He felt the shame of his failure constrict his heart.
"Oh, come, boy, we do not have time for this," the voice snapped. "I am not insulted by your premonitions. Anyway, if you would just open your eyes, you will see who stands before you."
The indifferent tone of the voice and lack of command starded Bowon. Although he had not communed with a servant of God for many years, he remembered what it was like. An angel had a superior demeanor about it, a powerful aura of law which made the room prickle with divine energy. Yet he felt nothing except perfect silence.
"Come, come, stop trying to divine who I am and just open your eyes," the voice said with irritation.
Puzzled, Bowon raised his chin and cracked his eyes, still blurred by tears. The sight before him caused his eyes to snap shut and his body shifted nervously. He told himself it was an illusion. There was no way the old man of his nightmares could be standing in front of him so casually, leaning upon a small oak cane, black eyes frowning at him.
This is a figment of my imagination, Bowon thought, remembering his last
visit with the blind prophet Malacheye. This cannot be real!
"I assure you, young man, I am very real," Malacheye said, puffing his chest out and tapping the ground.
Bowon let his thoughts fade away as fear and confusion surrounded his soul. "How can you be here, old man?"
The prophet laughed heartily at the question. "Why son, I am everywhere, I am all things. Some would say I am existence."
The comment stung Bowon. The old man had in one comment had denounced everything his religion cherished. "You lie, old man!" he screamed and stood.
"An observation for another time," Malacheye responded, his mouth turning into a slight smile.
"Do not mock me, sir!" yelled Bowon. "I am of the Bre'Dmorian Order, a servant to the One True God and should you continue down this blasphemous path, I shall judge you treasonous!"
Again the old man laughed.
Bowon let his fear slip away, focusing his wrath upon the old man. He drew his sword and stalked forward, intent on destroying the nightmare that had led him down this path.
Malacheye's smile never faltered. Instead the old man watched despite sightless eyes as Bowon approached and just before he set foot upon the altar, an unseen force coalesced around the man. Another step forward and the force unleashed itself upon the knight, picking him up off the ground, hurding him through the air, and slamming him against the marbled walls of the chapel.
Bowon's body cracked again
st the wall as bones snapped and metal rang out against stone. It was followed by an anguished grunt. He felt conscious thought slip from his mind, as the pain of broken limbs exploded throughout his body. As he slid down the wall, his sight blurred and a trickle of blood ran from his ears.
"Why does everyone think himself a hero?" Malacheye shook his head in frustration, hobbling down the altar towards the broken form of Bowon.
The knight lay on his side coughing and blood poured from his mouth. As Malacheye approached, Bowon's vision began to slip away, his mind receding into the depths of unconsciousness.
". . . failed you, God . . . forgiveness . . . please ... let .me . . . .come home." Bowon's breath became jagged.
"Young one, I am sorry I had to show, rather than tell you," Malacheye said, dropping the cane and standing straight. He began to grow, increasing his size to that of a full grown ogre, his features becoming handsome, that of a god.
Bowon's mind was fading fast, unable to understand the perfection that exuded from the god-like being. He could only lay there and look up into the fathomless eyes, his life ebbing away into eternity.
"What are you?" Bowon asked with his last breath. His body went limp and his eyes glazed over in death.
New consciousness awoke Bowon as his spirit shed its shell and began to pull away from its mortal coil, longing for Heaven.
The creature, once the prophet Malacheye, smiled at Bowon's corpse, infinite pity in its features. It said nothing as Bowon's spirit pulled away and holy light from heaven spilled forth to envelope the pair. It heard the angels preparing to gather the spirit so that the gods of heaven might feed.
The creature began to chant. It was calling forth pure existence. At its bidding unbridled energy gathered around the godly being, and a new light, pure and unaltered balance, exploded in a massive shockwave, changing everything in its path. The angels shrieked as the portal to Heaven collapsed and they were forced to recede into eternity or be winked out of existence.