Standing at the edge of the dais, equally spaced around the golden throne, stood all six Lordytes, wearing voluminous blood-colored cloaks over shimmering plate-armor, and silvery masks of expressionless metal. Tight-fitting hoods stretched over their heads, shadowing the masks only a little, yet somehow making the effect much more frightening. Elia caught her breath as they approached the first steps of the massive monument to Pit Strider power.
The Lordytes will all be on our side, Gramling had assured her. Wait for my move then strike with all your might. They will protect you while you work your Striding… but you have to let them. Don’t get yourself killed. She didn’t intend to… but things were looking grim from anyone’s point of view. Could she be strong enough? Would she?
Gramling paused behind her, almost imperceptibly patting her on the shoulder as he passed by. As he mounted the steps ahead of her, she got her first good look at him during the ceremony. It was a short glance, and the next few moments were frantic as she tried not to collapse without his support… but the image he left her with was both quieting and terrifying.
He wore a long, flowing black coat with a high collar and bronze-spiked shoulder armor. His boots were studded with spiked gold, and his bare chest was tattooed with swirling, diving golden symbols that seemed to glow in the red light. A transparent ribbon of dark cloth was wrapped around his eyes, making it hard to see his expression. Strapped to his back was his curved white sword in a gilded sheath… and somewhere beneath his clothing was the Midnight Dagger he had stolen.
Halfway up, Elia staggered, struck by both weakness and a cringe-inducing thought. What if S… the Golden One suspects? Instantly she quieted her thoughts, concentrating on nothing but the feeling of awe she had at actually surviving the final test.
Finally Gramling knelt at the top of the stairs, just below the dais, motioning for Elia to do the same beside him. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a voice that boomed out over the arena, deeper and louder than mortally possible, aided by some unnamed facet of his gifts.
“O Master of the Golden Sepulcher, I present to you this day… Elia Treele!”
A single, vibrating shout shook the arena as every Pit Strider in attendance pumped their fist once, calling out “Skore!” with unified voices. Afterwards, Gramling continued.
“She has been broken, O Golden One, and forged in your likeness, as have we all. She has learned discipline and fortitude, loyalty and ruthlessness. Fury is her blood and terror her blade. She comes to you a new being… entirely ready to serve you, in any capacity you might wish. She is yours. May your will never leave her!”
“Skore!” roared the throng of Pit Striders.
Silence fell. It stretched over the entire arena like a suffocating noose, drawing tighter with each second. Then the Golden One spoke, in a voice like thunder and shards of ice, and the noose snapped close, vanishing.
“Rise, Elia Kinn. No longer are you your own. Now you stand as one of the Golden Nation… powerful beyond compare, and glorious as only I can make you in all this world.” With trembling fingers, Elia pushed herself up, standing, acutely aware of the tattered, bloodstained testing uniform she wore. The Golden One continued.
“Step forward, Elia Kinn. You have received the mark of the Pit on your flesh, carved by the claw of one of my own. Now prostrate yourself before me, swearing fealty to my ways, and you will receive the mark of the Pit… on your soul.”
Elia had unsteadily approached the throne, and at his word she fell to one knee… shocked. She had not thought swearing to the darkness would be taken to such… literal… levels.
Her heart beat faster.
“All the way,” Gramling hissed behind her. That he had even spoken told her what danger she was in. She had to lie down and swear… or it was the end.
I wouldn’t have to mean it. I could pretend to swear, but in my mind stay loyal to the Aura… It was a pleasant thought. But… she knew it was false. This swearing would mean more than the words. It would bind her, as it had bound Gramling and all the others. It would be an indelible part of her being… a betrayal of the Aura, and, by extension, the Creator Himself!
Her heartbeat reached a fever pitch.
“Please…” pleaded Gramling.
The arena was silent as a tomb, waiting on the outcome. The Golden One’s face was unreadable, but he shifted forward in his throne, and his color-shifting eyes seemed to glow with new intensity.
“Fall, and swear,” he ordered her, deathly quiet.
A bit unsteadily, Elia rose to her feet. Her sense of survival screamed at her to abandon this foolish notion, and do as he asked… but her heart told her otherwise.
“No,” she whispered.
Thunder crackled overhead, though there were no clouds in the sky. Then… silence.
“No…” murmured Sheolus, seeming to muse over the word.
What are you waiting for? Elia told herself. He’s going to kill you! At least put up a fight! She was about to summon a Fellspark when a hollow scream interrupted her. She jumped in fright as Gramling bolted past her, falling on his knees before Sheolus.
“Don’t,” he panted, shaking. “She can be taught! I can still bring her to heel! She doesn’t realize… just give me…”
Sheolus didn’t move a muscle, but suddenly Gramling was flung to the side, suspended in midair as bonds of flowing wind wrapped him and gagged him a yard above the dais. In the split second before she could move, Elia saw his eyes bulge… not with fear, as she’d expect, but urgency. He’d planned this, and somehow it would help them. She just had to distract Sheolus.
Now, his eyes said.
Elia whipped her arms forward, summoning a Fellspark, just as Sheolus raised his scepter. The stone at her feet seemed to come to life, surging upward and inward as if it wanted to consume her. Manacles of air slammed shut on every muscle in her body, slowing her movement and trying to crush her with their immense strength.
For a moment Elia was stabbed with fear. The godlike powers of the Aura and their dark counterparts, the Legion, gave them total control over all the physical elements. How could she hope to win against such odds? But she was no ordinary Strider, and this was no ordinary Stride.
Time slowed. The stone sprung up in tendrils of grasping death, and the air thickened around her, but not before she had raised her hands high enough to unleash the power of her Stormspark.
The spark jumped from palm to palm, agonizingly slow… then time returned to normal, just as the blue-white inferno burst from her hands, blasting away the stone and air that assailed her, engulfing Sheolus with the twin rage of Fire and Sea. To the side, Gramling’s eyes grew wide, but his struggles were still useless against the Golden One’s bonds. Despite her crushing fatigue, Elia held the Stormspark steady for almost half a minute, during which not a soul of the gathered Pit Striders moved to intercept the duel.
It’s not going to be enough, she realized. Just then, a mad, cackling laugh broke from the midst of the blaze… and she faltered.
The Stormspark flickered out, and a gauntleted hand broke through the tempest of ice and fire, seizing her face with white-hot metal claws. She would have screamed, had the sudden piercing pain not been so great that she merely dropped limp, shaken like she had no bones. Then Sheolus lifted her bodily into the air, a hiss of fury escaping his garbled lips. His golden face had melted from her attack, dripping and sliding in a grotesque mockery of a smile.
The heat of his clawed grasp was too much to bear. She felt herself breathing far too quickly, then far too slowly, then not at all. Her vision grew dark, but through two of the massive armored fingers, she saw Gramling. He was free, creeping up behind the Golden One with the curved bone dagger…
…Then Sheolus seized her head in both hands, and the white-hot claws pierced her eyes…
…She shrieked in agony, losing consciousness from the sheer shock of the blow…
…And the world went dark forever.
Chapter Thirteen: Breathing
Darkness. Pressure. Cold. Pressure. Wind inside her. Pressure.
“Breathe, Elia. Breathe. Come back…”
She was… alive. The realization slowly dawned on her, and with it, an overwhelming sense of peace. She could be captured, or worse… but she was alive.
“G… Gramling? Is that you?” She had heard his voice, that much was sure. But why was it so dark out? Were they in a dungeon? She could feel wind on her skin, and there was no echo. A faint crackling sounded on the edge of her hearing, but she paid it no heed. Why couldn’t she remember coming here? Her memory was all too hazy.
“It’s me, Elia.” It was him. “I got you away from the battle, and I healed your wounds.” Though it was still too dark to see, she felt him pressing a flask of something into her hands. “Drink this. It’ll give you strength. You’ll need all you can get, for the journey.”
Journey? She was too tired to question. Fumbling a little in the dark, Elia uncorked the flask and put it to her mouth. Liquid fire seemed to pour down her throat: she gasped in pain and pleasure as a surge of energy swept through her, burning and healing at the same time. When she had drained the small flask, she felt Gramling take it back. Her head clear again, Elia became aware of an acute aching in her head, neck, and back.
“Ow,” she said, twitching. Then, “Gramling, where are we? It’s so dark I can’t see.” She heard a sharp intake of breath, as if Gramling didn’t want to answer. After a pause, he did.
“We’re… outside the Sepulcher. Far outside.” In the darkness, he helped her to her feet. His next words were laden with worry. “We need to go. It… the Sepulcher is burning, and he’s looking for us.”
Elia stopped dead. “He?”
Gramling sounded exasperated now, as he tried to pull her along. “You remember, Elia. Him. He’s coming. It’s been almost six hours. We’re out of time. I can’t hide us forever.”
She did remember. ‘He’ was ‘Sheolus.’ They had been going to…
Oh no. It had failed, then. They were fleeing. Oh, Aura above… no.
She let him pull her. Sand and stones at her feet kept surprising her, as if they should not have been there… but every time she stumbled, he kept her up.
“Gramling… why can’t you light a flame?” her voice wavered, as an evil suspicion slid icy fingers into her chest. “I can’t see a thing in this night.” He didn’t answer. She tripped over a stone, almost sprawling before he managed to haul her back up, increasing their pace. Elia felt like crying, but no tears would come. “Gramling?” She whispered, now.
“It’s not night,” he said hoarsely. He slowed, then stopped.
“Wh… what do you mean?” she said, pressing hands to his chest to assure herself he was there.
“When you stood up to Sheolus… I used the distraction to stab him with the Midnight Dagger.” His voice was thick with emotion. “But… not before he hurt you. Badly. I tried to heal it… but…”
“But what?” she almost shrieked.
“You… you’re blind. I restored your eyes… but they don’t work. I’m not skilled enough in Pit Healing, or I could’ve done it. Maybe. I just… just…” He seemed on the verge of tears.
Blind. Elia trembled. The implications didn’t bear thinking about. Her mind pounced on the first distraction that came.
“Then… Sheolus is dead?” she asked uncertainly.
“No.” Gramling sounded bitter. “The Dagger wasn’t powerful enough. It slowed him, and it may have made him permanently weaker… but that’s not saying much, is it?”
“No.” she trembled. “But that was our hope! Without it… the rebellion…” She was shaking, and he was trying to comfort her. She did not want comfort… she wanted to die.
“…will fail?” She heard him laugh mirthlessly. “It already has. It was always going to. Sheolus knew the whole time.”
“He… he… what?”
Gramling’s voice grew soft. “I told him.”
Elia felt her heart turn to ice, and shatter. “No.”
“Yes. I told him… but I told him so that he would trust me. So that in the last minute… he wouldn’t suspect me.”
All thoughts of her blindness fled as Elia seized the nearest piece of Gramling’s clothing she could feel, shaking as hard as she could.
“Why should I believe that?”
He removed her hands easily, speaking in a hard tone. “Because I did it to save you.”
She stopped, and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. It seemed too ludicrous to be true.
“Why?”
“Because the rebellion was doomed, Elia! If I hadn’t betrayed them and spirited you away, we would have died, too!”
“Death is better than cowardice,” she sneered, but she felt too hollow to put force behind the words.
“No, it isn’t,” he said, supporting her and starting them moving again. “And now, your friends in Vast will have a fighting chance for the first time in months.”
“What?” she felt like a child, questioning everything he said… but she felt so cold, so numb… it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Why had any of this happened? “Why?” she whispered.
His answer was not what she’d expected.
“Because I’m bringing them you,” he told her. “You changed me. You are the reason I fight. And… I’ve had visions. Dreams.”
It can’t be…
“I’m just like Gribly,” Gramling finished. “That’s why Sheolus thought I was so important, and he was right. You know what I’ve seen, Elia?” She didn’t dare guess. “I’ve seen you. And it won’t be Lauro, or Gribly, who leads Vast to victory in the Last War. It’ll be you.”
~
Gramling had felt more than his share of fear in life. He knew that this chase, with an angry god behind, and the terrifying unknown ahead, should scare him. Badly.
But it didn’t. For the first time in his life, he felt strangely… peaceful. It was a new sensation, and one he savored. It gave him strength, and that was one thing he needed in vast amounts if he was to bring Elia and himself out of this alive. When he had first fled the Sepulcher with Elia, the gem-cave had hidden him from Sheolus’s retaliation. Now, a full fifth of the Golden Nation’s length lay between him and Goldenport, where he planned on leaving the mainland behind.
It was a deadly gamble. Sheolus knew that Goldenport was the closest avenue of escape, and he knew Gramling knew. Would he think his former slave foolish enough to choose Goldenport, then? Or would he suspect Gramling’s intelligence to lead him South, to Goldenpoint, where escape would be harder and therefore least expected? He was counting on the latter, but in the end it might not matter at all.
Were it not for Elia’s presence, he would have given up immediately. She seemed to have given up all hope, letting him lead her as he saw fit. Very well… his life’s mission would be to bring her back, despite her handicap, and restore her to the destiny he had seen. Or foretold. Or made up. It all seemed deceptively similar, now.
Shaking himself to stay awake, Gramling once more took stock of their surroundings. They were in a stony gully just east of one of the Golden Nation’s many city compounds, and it was night. He had to wake Elia in a moment. They had to keep moving. He’d stolen much of what they needed from this place. Pit Striding made for excellent thieving, if one did not wish to be seen, but all his cleverness wouldn’t help them if they were sighted and caught by one of the wartime patrols.
For a time, he waited. The events of a week ago still plagued his dreams, and he had not slept for several days. Closing his eyes, he could remember it all clearly.
I stabbed you. I broke free of the wind-bonds, and I stabbed you. I felt the dagger cut your mortal form. I felt it pierce the metal and pierce your heart from behind.
I saw the rage in your face as you dropped her and turned on me. I saw the betrayal. I saw that you would crush me like an insect if you let your anger take hold.
I told Elia the dagger slowed you… weakened you. Did it? I
t should have. It might have. But when I ripped it free of you, and the ichor poured out… you didn’t even pause.
Sheolus. You weren’t hurt at all. Or at least, not enough. You could have killed me right there, or taken the blade and stabbed my soul with it. But you didn’t.
You didn’t look frightened. You didn’t even look betrayed any more. I just stood there, staring… I couldn’t believe you hadn’t even been affected. And you stared back.
Then you laughed. You LAUGHED. Why? You laughed in my face, and then you ignored me. You ignored Elia, too… though I thought you had killed her at the time.
Dire Sparks (Song of the Aura, Book Five) Page 12