Dire Sparks (Song of the Aura, Book Five)

by Gregory J. Downs

  “I’m trying, Father,” she whispered, willing the Power of Sea to pour into him. His eyes glowed blue, sparkling with the energy she fed him through her healing gift… but then they faded, and she felt the stream of Sea lose its hold. Her father was just too weak. It wouldn’t work.

  “So… cold…” he moaned. She almost screamed. Guttural roars sounded from far off, and she realized with a shock that the draiks must be coming back for the last kill. Her.

  No. Wait. Stop! Her senses, enlivened by the frigid Inkwell air, went haywire. This already happened… and NOT like this! It’s a trick! A trap! A test! Dream, remember? The fourth test is a DREAM. Gramling said so!

  Could it be? But everything was so… real. Present. Vital. She couldn’t let her father die!

  “Elia…” he moaned again.

  “Father…”

  “It isn’t like this… it’s just… it’s all…” he spasmed again, coughing and hacking. She pressed him close to her, ignoring his weight. Dying, he felt light as air.

  “I know, Father… I know… but I can’t let you go. I can’t… can’t…” she realized that she was sobbing so hard tears were falling on her father’s face. She turned her head, trying to stop the flow…

  …when a series of growls and a heavy whump caught her ear. The tent in front of her exploded in a whirlwind of burning hide-shreds as a bloody-fanged draik charged through, breathing fire. Flames engulfed the pair, but she protected them with an upraised hand and the force of her will.

  The draik swiped at her head with its claws. She instinctively leaned out of the way, arching her back in a painful U-shape to avoid the bloody death she should have met. Roaring in rage at its failure, the draik lunged with its mouth. Elia tried to twist away, but there was nowhere to go. Too late, though, she realized it hadn’t been aiming for her.

  It had come for her father.

  He barked a curse as it snatched him in its jaws, the old fight burning in him again for just a moment. Raising a lacerated arm, he stabbed the creature in the eye with a shard of ice Elia hadn’t noticed he held. The sudden frenzy knocked Elia onto her back. As she twisted to her feet, the draik bellowed in pain, wringing its head to either side.

  “NO!” she screamed, throwing her arms out and Striding with all her might. The move she had learned fighting Cjathrier served her well, and the draik’s spine exploded in a fountain of frozen blood-spikes as she killed it from the inside.

  The monster fell, skull driving into the ground so hard the ice cracked… but her father’s limp body was bent over at an impossible angle. She knew he was dead before she pulled him from the sharp jaws, screaming and sobbing, desperate and shaken beyond recovery. One word echoed through her mind again and again.

  Why… Why… Why? If none of it is real… WHY?

  “WHY?!?” she screamed to the sky.

  Lightning flashed.

  The world went white.

  ~

  Elia found herself back in the final testing chamber, curled limply between the first and second floor circle. Her wounds still hurt abominably, but the blood dripped from them a little slower, and an all-encompassing numbness dulled the pain to an almost bearable point.

  Was she dying? Or growing stronger? Was she winning, or losing? Everything seemed to so gray, so lifeless, so without point… her father had died before her eyes!

  But then she saw Tressa, also between the first and second circles on the opposite side, breathing in and out at a frantic pace, shaking uncontrollably, her good hand across her eyes.

  She had to go on.

  With infinite difficulty, Elia forced herself to kneel, then crouch… then stand. Whatever she would meet beyond the next circle, she would meet it with strength.

  Just one step.

  The world flashed white.

  ~

  She was in a cold stone room, dimly lit, like so many in the Sepulcher’s lower reaches. She was healthy again, but she was also a captive… that much she knew, and no more.

  Someone was behind her, grabbing her, forcing her arms behind her back. She fought soundlessly, but to no avail. The Someone bent her wrists, and she cried out in pain. Then cold chains wrapped around her, pinning her arms, and she was forced to kneel with her cheek pressed down on a low, stone altar. One eye was blinded by her position, but the other could see a line of other stone altars stretching off into the darkness. And there were people kneeling in front of them, held down by figures in dark cloaks and hoods…

  Gribly! Her mouth tried to scream his name, but no sound would come. The person by the nearest altar was Gribly, she was sure of it! Beyond him knelt Lauro, and beyond them… Captain Berne. Beyond the Captain, a woman in dark clothes and a flowing mane of hair; beyond her, a nymph cleric in white robes. The line of people went on past the limits of her sight, off into the shadows of the vast hall, where a steady thunk-thud, thunk-thud echoed in the darkness.

  Oh no. Oh, Aura… no…

  She tried to scream. Nothing came. She thrashed and fought, but the black-robe behind her kept her motionless with his crushing weight on her neck and back. How was the thing so blasted strong? Or was she just too weak?

  Thunk. Thud. Thunk. Thud. Thunk. Thud. As the sound grew nearer, her ears caught the sound of swishing before each repeat.

  Out of the shadows strode him. The figure that haunted her dreams and darkened her days. The slayer of light and the sword of the dark.

  Sheolus.

  The Golden One’s face had been remade, as she had seen before, smooth gold replacing the decaying gray. Hope fled her. How could anyone fight an enemy who was unable to die? How could Gramling and she hope to topple a god, even if he was a false one?

  Sheolus raised a huge, two-handed, bone-white sword. The prisoner before him cowered, whimpering…

  Swish. Thunk. Thud. The unfortunate victim’s head rolled away past Sheolus’s feet, and the blood…

  Elia closed her eyes, feeling sick.

  Swish. Thunk. Thud.

  He was getting closer. Her eyes shot open as the cleric in white actually managed to speak as he fought vainly for freedom.

  “Fiend! You will die! You will worse than die! You will be ended forever! Eternity itself shall consume you! The fire of Halla shall fall on-”

  Thunk.

  This time, Elia watched the beheading in all its grisly detail. She was inches away from vomiting, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. The next prisoner was the woman in black.

  Sheolus raised the bloody sword. The woman thrashed, writhing, and managed to twist around so that she had a clear view of her executioner… but instead of trying to avoid the coming stroke, she spit right in the Golden One’s face. The archdemon twitched angrily, but his swing did not miss.

  Thunk.

  Captain Berne did not struggle, but he spoke, right before he, too, died. His voice lifted in a melancholy song, in words of an ancient tongue Elia did not know, but broke her heart anyway…

  Thunk.

  Crimson stained the ground, warming the cold stones. Sheolus moved on. Elia began to shake. Lauro was next.

  A commotion. A spray of blood- not Lauro’s- and a scream. Also not his. She could hardly believe her eyes: the prince was winning free! He slew the black-clad guard with a bolt of lightning that leaped from his fist, and wheeled around wildly. Elia’s heart jumped. He would save them! He would do it! He would slay Sheolus!

  Then the prince’s eyes met hers, and her hope died again. He was terrified… stark, raving, madcap terrified. Sheolus hefted his sword, laughing loud and long, cold as Death.

  Then Lauro Vale, prince of Vastion, leader of men and Strider of Sky, turned and ran off into the darkness.

  Why? Why would he abandon us? Elia felt hot tears dripping down her cheeks, but still she was unable to make a sound. The Golden One made no move after Lauro, but he laughed for more than a minute, hideous and chilling.

  Then he moved on to Gribly. The young Prophet began to struggle wildly as his doom drew near, and
at last managed to get his head out from under the dark guardian’s hand. Twisting his neck, he turned and saw her.

  Elia met his eyes… and Gribly stopped fighting. Tears glistened in his eyes, and he nodded to her slowly. The guard’s hand smacked his head down again… and Elia found her voice.

  “No!” she screamed louder than she ever had before, “Don’t give up! Fight!”

  Sheolus raised his sword. Scarlet drops fell on Gribly’s neck… and he spoke.

  “It wasn’t me, Elia…” his voice was a despairing whisper. “It wasn’t me… I was wrong.”

  “NO!” she screamed, fighting harder than she ever had before.

  Sheolus swung. Thunk. Blood splashed on the altar, on Sheolus’s knees, and the floor. Elia screamed again and again, cursing the Golden One and everything he had done to her.

  The fiend stepped over to her altar. The last one. He raised his sword.

  “Why?” she found herself shrieking. “Why?!?”

  Sheolus swung…

  “WHY?!?”

  The world flashed white.

  ~

  She hit the metal floor in a crouch, still screaming. All around her, she heard wailing and curses: the other Acolytes. Aura knew what they were undergoing… it couldn’t be worse than her test, could it?

  Whatever the dream-circles did to her, she was no longer dying. That much she could tell, for though she felt weaker than a corpse, her wounds had all but closed up. Shaking, only just able to steel herself, Elia stepped towards the third and final circle…

  …Just before the world went white again, she saw Tressa lying across the third line, unmoving.

  ~

  Memory fled, and time faded.

  Elia walked along a warm dirt pathway amid the myriad splendor of an enormous garden. Plants of every shade and shape mixed with flowers and fruit trees of all imaginable sizes and textures, like a living crown of glory on the pinnacle of the world. The sun shone down on her back, just hot enough to be pleasant without burning.

  She looked down at herself, and gasped in pleasant surprise. She was wearing the most beautiful gown she had ever seen: a cascade of interwoven silky strands, deep red, that twined about her form as if they were a natural part of her. The next instant she forgot it, eyes drawn to the intricate array of tiny silver gems down the front of the gown. They swirled and curved like living streamlets of ice, sparkling in the light. Where had she received such a queenly gift?

  Then she rounded a corner in the garden path… and almost ran straight into the last person she expected to see in this paradise.

  Lauro Vale.

  Memory tugged at her. Something wasn’t right. Lauro couldn’t be here, could he? Was the garden his? Had he given her the gown? He was dressed in rich, royal robes, and a jeweled crown with curving wings on either side sat on his head. His hair had grown out, finally, and he looked incredibly… handsome.

  “Elia!” He seemed as genuinely surprised to see her as she was to see him. “You came! I didn’t think…” his face went through a movement, almost a spasm, that for an instant sent a jolt of fear down her spine. But then he was drawing her along the path beside him, arm in arm, a radiant smile on his face. “It’s… soothing to see you, you know. Ever since the Day of Norne… well, I just don’t know sometimes.”

  Elia froze in her tracks. Lauro paused, looking at her strangely. He was older, she realized… at least ten years older, and in the prime of his manhood. For that matter, she was older too. More mature. Taller, slightly. In the flower of beauty, she would have said, if she was vain. But she wasn’t… was she? Her mind seemed so slow, right now. What was going on?

  “The Day of Norne…” she breathed. Traveller had mentioned that. But it couldn’t have happened yet. Not before Gribly was ready to fight… Oh, Aura. Not this. Please not this. Memories began pouring back into her, and she shuddered involuntarily.

  “Yes,” Lauro nodded, looking sad. “I regret it with all my heart, though it turned out for the better of Vast. If only I could… ah, but no matter. It’s over. I had to kill him, Elia. I had no choice.”

  “No!” she yelped, pulling away. “You couldn’t! This can’t… it can’t be!”

  “But… I told you!” he protested. “You came, didn’t you? I… the letter… don’t you understand? You must know! Didn’t I make myself clear? I’m the Emperor of Vast, Elia. I do what I want! I had to make a deal with the demons, Elia! There too many! We would have died if I hadn’t… and… and… I love you, Elia! More than he ever did!”

  “NO! Why, Lauro?” she yelled at him, and realized she was sobbing. Again. “Why? WHY?!?”

  The world went white.

  ~

  Elia collapsed at the brink of the portal, just inside the last circle, white light shining in her tear-swollen eyes. Her heart was pounding like every beat would be its last.

  That was NOT Lauro. Just like it was NOT my father, and NOT Gribly.

  That is NOT my future.

  She stared broken-heartedly around the chamber. Bodies were splayed out in various poses of horror and suffering. Some of the Acolytes hadn’t made it past the first circle, and some of them had only fallen at the last… but none of them had survived the whole test. Not even Tressa. Elia was wracked by a sob as she saw the small body of her friend curled up over part of the third circle. She wanted more than anything to reach out, to crawl around the edge of the final portal and wrap her arms around the girl… but it would be no use, and she knew it. Tressa was dead, just like all the rest.

  I’m the only one left. It hit her like a blow to the chest. As she clambered shakily to her feet, her heart began to pound even faster… but not from fear.

  The last test had challenged more than just her life… it had challenged her dignity, submerging her in a dream-land where her greatest allies were her worst enemies… It had been false, that she knew with the very fiber of her being.

  Trembling with weakness and anger, Elia stared directly into the white light of the portal.

  He even took Tressa from me. The only Kinn who cared.

  Sheolus would pay, no matter what the cost.

  She jumped, and the portal swallowed her with its brilliance.

  Chapter Twelve: Ascending

  It was like falling through water. Or liquid light. Or both.

  When she emerged, Elia was so disoriented that she almost fell to the ground. But through the white haze, someone took her from behind, keeping her steady and ushering her slowly forward.

  The haze began to fade, and she realized she was walking along a golden carpet, lined with what must have been a hundred or more Pit Striders on either side. There were Acolytes from different groups, Malcytes, Morgens and Spines, all with faces covered or in shadow. As she passed by, each of them raised an open palm in her direction, in some strange salute of the Kinn for new Pit Striders.

  She shuddered with the gravity of the situation. She had made it. She had won! Slowly, a cautious smile crept over her face.

  “Don’t get too cocky,” a voice whispered in her ear. “The hard part’s just coming.”

  Gramling. As the last shreds of confusion dropped away, she realized that it had been he who had caught her as she stumbled; he who was keeping her from toppling over from exhaustion right now. She smiled ruefully.

  “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” she whispered sarcastically.

  “Always,” Gramling chuckled, but he sounded nervous… and rightly so. A boy who can’t decide who he is, and a girl who can barely walk… off to challenge the dark lord of the Golden Nation. How touching. The thought did nothing to comfort her. Eventually, her vision cleared enough for her to clearly see where they were, and where they were heading… and the sight took her breath away.

  The whole assembly of Pit Striders was packed into the high, open arena where she had first begun her training, more than a month before. Though it had been night when she was taken to the testing, now the Golden Nation “day” was in full swing,
and the red auroras shone overhead with a vigor she had never witnessed before.

  Gramling was leading her down the golden carpet, which ran through the pillar-ringed circle from end to end. At the far wall of cliffs, where she had noticed no such thing before, sat an enormous flight of stone stairs that ended in a round dais several yards across. On the dais was a titanic throne of beaten gold, spiked and shaped in intricate designs that caught her eye from hundreds of yards away.

  On the throne lounged Sheolus himself, clad in flanged golden armor, with a long golden scepter held loosely in his right hand, with a golden skull set upon its tip. On his head was a great, golden-winged crown… The same one Lauro wore in the dream-test, Elia realized. It had to be false then.