Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six)

by Downs, Gregory J.

  “Me?” Lauro stepped away from Traveller, finally feeling strong enough to stand on his own. “Why not you? You… didn’t even…” he tried to force down the anger that threatened to rise again in his heart.

  “I… was required elsewhere,” Traveller said. “An old friend… needed to be shown the way. And now the Prophet has his fighting chance, just as you do. I was wrong, Lauro… wrong about so many things… but now the Prophet needs my help, and I must go to him.” The Gray Aura’s image flickered, and the light within him shone all the brighter. Lauro blinked. “Turn to the Creator, when you have need to heal the scars Sheolus has torn in your land,” Traveller finished. “And perhaps one day, we will meet again… King of Vastion.”

  “Wait!” Lauro called, suddenly feeling afraid. The wind blew his hair across his face, and he pushed it away frantically. “You make it sound like you’re not coming back! What’s happening to Gribly? Why isn’t…?”

  “Goodbye,” Traveller whispered, and vanished in a flash of light.

  “Blast it!” Lauro yelled. He scooped up the Midnight Sword and stabbed it deep into the ground, out of sheer anger. “BLAST!” Lauro yelled again.

  The ground ten yards ahead of him erupted in a spray of ice and loam. A Clockwork Demon climbed out of the resulting hole, blood staining the spikes on his hands and arms. He turned his fiery eyes on Lauro, who snarled angrily and raised the Midnight Sword, spitting.

  “Just try it,” the king snarled. He felt no fear, even though without Sky Striding he wouldn’t be near fast enough to beat the thing. For a moment, the demon looked as if it might… then it hissed and scuttled away over the ice, fleeing. “That’s right, you bloody…” Lauro began, but he was interrupted by another voice from behind.

  “Lauro? Lauro?”

  He spun, wondering what new enemy had found him… and saw only a battered troop of wood nymphs, slinking over the muddy hill behind him in search of prey. At their head was…

  …Avarine.

  He dropped the Midnight Sword for the third time that day, walking towards her in a daze. “Avarine…”

  “Lauro!” She hit him like a bolt of lightning, and for once… he didn’t mind the pain. Sky Striding didn’t matter. War didn’t matter.

  His enemies wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Seventeen: Fidesa Ascendr

  Vague memories… of feeling the dagger… of warning Gramling… of trying to fight the blackness… succumbing… It all faded away into cold, hard reality. Gribly jolted awake, his senses returning in a painful wave. Memory flooded back, and he opened his eyes with a silent curse, ready for any challenge… except the one that he found himself facing.

  He was in a tall, vaulted chamber, with a ceiling so high it was lost in the shadows. A tower, perhaps? But it was hot… very hot. And it felt… deep. So a tower, but underground… at least where he was. He guessed. It was hard to think hard facts. But the walls were black. There was only a little light from above, and he couldn’t see where it came from.

  He was hanging. Or perching. No, hanging was more like it. He was in an alcove, on a wall. There were twisting tendrils of black stone holding him in place. They seemed to radiate dark energy… he couldn’t Stride them. He couldn’t move anything but his head; his body, legs, and arms were all pinned.

  Gribly stretched his neck as far to the left as he could. Nothing… just the wall, stretching off into darkness. He looked in the other direction.

  A gate. Great, dark, double doors, spiked metal, twisting stone, carved with infinitely intricate shapes of horror and violence. Wide stone steps ran up to it. The gate had no latch that he could see… not on this side, anyway… but it was old. Very old. Cracks were beginning to form, splitting the doors at the top and bottom. Only the center was untouched, but not for long.

  There were faces in the gate. Huge, carven faces. Screaming, raging, ugly, blasphemous faces, with horns and teeth and too many eyes. There were nine of them, shrieking in eerily silent rage, carved in a circle around the center of the gate. One, near the bottom, had been smashed in and almost erased, though he couldn’t see where the pieces had gone.

  But… there in the center! A tenth face, not ugly like the rest, but solemn. Heavy-lidded eyes. Thin mouth. A hood, draped over its head. Gribly shivered. Ashen.

  Wait… nine faces. One missing. Ashen. Gribly tried as hard as he could to stay calm, but a frightened shout nearly broke from his lips anyway.

  The Legion’s prison. He was hanging from the physical portion of the Legion’s prison. And since the Day of Norne was almost certainly here by now…

  “Finally awake, Prophet?”

  Sheolus’s voice froze the blood in Gribly’s veins. He jerked his head up, watching with horror as the Golden Legion stepped majestically from the shadows to stand menacingly at the foot of the gate’s stairs. The darkness seemed to bend in towards him, caressing his wizened form before sliding away into oblivion.

  Instead of the customary gold, Sheolus was adorned in spiked black armor, with a voluminous black cape and hood that flapped and twisted unnaturally behind him for at least a dozen feet. There was no wind, yet it moved. The Legion’s face was once more a mask of smooth gold, and red eyes burned from behind it. Straggly gray hair gathered at the edges of his hood, and even walking with back bent, Sheolus was easily ten feet tall.

  Gribly struggled, icily afraid, but his body failed him as Striding had.

  “Go to the Blaze,” he spat defiantly, but his voice shook. Sheolus only laughed.

  “I will, little fool. I will! But I can’t get there without spilling your blood. And… your brother’s.” The villain gestured to the side, and Gribly saw to his utter mortification that on the far side of the door was an empty alcove identical to his.

  “You can’t,” he said in a low voice. “He’ll beat you. It’s what he was destined for.”

  “You lie, Boy,” Sheolus snapped, walking over to Gribly. Even high up as he was, the lad could look at the Legion eye-to-eye. His blood ran cold with fear. “YOU are the Prophet, not him. It was a curse that there were two of you. The blood-debt I used to weaken this prison was not enough.”

  The Legion brought the Midnight Dagger out from his robe, and to Gribly’s horror he saw that the blade had turned glossy blood-red. The white had been eaten away by Sheolus’s evil. “There will be only one chance for me to open it completely,” the Legion snarled, “And it is coming closer with every second…”

  Gribly! A voice not his own sounded in his mind. The mental contact sent shivers up his spine… Gramling was out there!

  Gramling!

  Where are you? I’m in the… right now… see… The sendings were brief and fragmented, but Gribly understood.

  Keep coming, Brother. I’ll stall him. Aloud, Gribly interrupted whatever Sheolus had been going to say next.

  “You can’t open the prison, and it won’t break apart in time,” he snapped. Sheolus made a sound akin to a snort… but it sounded like thunder.

  Gribly! Gramling’s voice was urgent. I’m almost there! You’re in the mountain… the tower goes straight down into it! I’m coming… just… hold on!

  I will.

  “It must… and it will.” The Golden Legion stepped closer, fingering the curved blade in his hand. “It was built on the sacrifice of the Aura… and only in the same way can it be opened. I could not capture an Aura without the Midnight Sword… but you will do. With your holy blood, I will gain enough power to break my brethren free… and with the blood of your brother, I will forge a prison to hold the Aura themselves!”

  Hurry, Brother…

  “One by one, I will hunt them down… the loss of Automo means nothing!”

  Loss of Automo?

  From far above, two lights shone. Sheolus turned, distracted from his macabre speech, and Gribly strained at his bonds once more. If only he could Stone Stride again! Blast it!

  Spirit. I have to Stride Spirit. These bonds are probably made of Pit, and they’re ov
ercoming my Stone Striding too easily.

  Gribly reached deep inside, calling on the Power of Spirit. It was like swimming through tar… but he could feel it. Just barely… but it was there. He pulled on it, coaxing it, summoning it forth a drop at a time.

  The lights above grew stronger. It was as if two stars had fallen from the Heavens, one bright, one brighter, diving deep into this pit in order to rescue him and bring him back to the world where he belonged.

  SLAM! SLAM! The stars fell to earth, sending shockwaves rippling through the shadowy chamber. One of them held a glowing light in his hand, and the other glowed from within. They had come to save him!

  They?

  “Back, Sheolus!” Gramling’s rough shout was like music to Gribly’s ears. And was that… Gram? His father? How in Vast…

  “How… accommodating of you to give yourself up,” Sheolus snarled, turning on them. “And Gram! My old friend… have you come to the slaughter, too? Ready to watch your sons die for your mistake?”

  The specter of Gribly’s father just spat, glowing painfully bright. The shadows in the room were banished, and Gribly saw that they were indeed in a tower that stretched deep into the earth. Spirit. I need to Stride Spirit. I need… It was just too blasted slow! Why couldn’t he think right?

  “You won’t be slaughtering anyone,” Gramling said coldly, stalking forward with that terrible light in his hand. Gribly could barely see.

  Time stopped. All sound died, except for the beating of his heart. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Oh, Brother... don’t say that…

  “Oh, no?” Sheolus hissed. Before the would-be rescuers could react, the Golden Legion whipped around, slashing Gribly’s throat open with the Midnight Dagger.

  “NO!” Gramling screamed, and Gram’s specter joined in with a wordless shout of desperation.

  Gribly blinked. Warm blood was pouring down his neck. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt… but not as bad as… he… had thought. Had he thought that? Gramling was fighting Sheolus. Gram, too. They were hurling bolts of white light… Spirit Striding like he’d never encountered before… Gribly could barely see. Everything was so… dim… He was dying. And Gramling… was carrying Traveller’s staff.

  As his life’s blood seeped away, it all fell into place.

  I’m not the Prophet. He is.

  Who am I?

  Then, too late, Gribly felt the Power of Spirit flow through him. The Pit bonds fell away, and Gribly tumbled out of the wall, falling heavily on the stairs, rolling to the bottom. His brother and father fought a demon, mere feet away…

  He was dying. Blood pooled on the stone beneath him.

  You will not come out of this alive, even if you succeed, Ashen had said.

  I can’t. I won’t. But Gramling… he CAN. Gribly raised his head. He couldn’t even see anymore. It was too late…

  A hand touched his shoulder. For a brief second, his world was illuminated like never before. He could see again, and…

  “You have mere moments, Gribly,” Ashen said, kneeling beside him in shimmering silver robes. “I am released, but the Legion will follow. You have to act.”

  You have to act.

  Behind him, Ashen was joining in the battle against Sheolus… But huge, shadowy shapes were beginning to form at the edges of the chamber. The Legion. They were coming. Not physically… not yet. But time was up.

  You have to act.

  At the end, Gribly felt peace. So this was why he had come. This was why all that had happened… had happened.

  Whatever Ashen had done to prolong his life, it was fading. Gribly stumbled to his feet, almost crawling up the steps to fall on his knees in front of the gate. Dark mist seeped from the cracks, and the eyes of the screaming faces began to glow. Gribly’s vision began to fade again. The door cracked open, even as he opened himself fully to the Power of Spirit.

  Gribly’s eyes glazed over. His mind and spirit fled… fled to a place beyond the World… beyond the Otherworld… where the elements were no barrier. Where Pit and Spirit were two sides of the same face. Where Sea, Stone, and Sky were mere facets of a greater Power. Where there was only One Who mattered.

  A sickly white arm, hairless, but muscled, pushed through the slowly opening door, intent on escape. On freedom. Its long, black, claw-like nails dug furrows in the solid stone, and in the shadows Beyond Gribly could see one clear blue eye. An eye filled with infinite malice.

  The Day of Norne had reached its climax.

  Gribly closed his eyes as the thing moved forward, and the clawed hand seized his throat. It’s too late for you, Gribly thought… and he opened himself to the Power of the Creator. White light surged through his veins as his body was filled with a force beyond mortality. Gribly’s eyes shot open, and he seized the arm in his own grip. With his other hand, he reached past the Legion’s door…

  …and for the last time, Gribly Strode.

  ~

  There were voices, beyond Life. And they thanked him, for the evil he had averted. They… apologized, for failing in their duty. And they swore never to fail again. When they had finished, they withdrew.

  There was the One, beyond Death. And the One spoke.

  Well done, My Prophet.

  ~

  The Stride that ripped through Gribly like a wave of light surged through the Legion’s door, obliterating all and anything beyond it. Gramling, Gram, Sheolus and Ashen were picked up and hurled across the chamber in different directions, from just the tail end of the blow. When Gramling picked himself up again, ears ringing, he found his face wet with tears… and not the tears of pain.

  Gribly… why? Why did you…? Why did I? Why… why is any of this happening? His brother was dead. And it was his fault. Gramling let the tears fall… there would soon be no one to mock him.

  Vengeance. That was all he had left.

  Sheolus was across the room. Gramling lifted Traveller’s staff, letting its light engulf him and willing it to bend reality. The next instant, he was standing over his enemy, who crouched on the ground, hissing and spewing what looked like golden blood.

  “Damnation… and fire…” the broken archdemon mumbled, slowly turning glazed eyes to stare up at Gramling. “It shouldn’t… be… possible…”

  Gramling’s lip curled. He whirled Traveller’s staff over his head and stabbed it straight through Sheolus’s body, pinning him to the stone floor. The flesh around the staff glowed bright red.

  “Ahhhhhhh!”

  The Golden Legion screamed, convulsing, fire spewing from mouth and nose and eyes. The fire spread until it engulfed him, ravaged him, and left him in a charred heap. Then Sheolus fell limp. His body was dead… Gramling knew the signs. But up from the ashes of his corpse rose a ghostly apparition, glowing with unholy light.

  It was Sheolus, but twice as tall. He towered over Gramling, a twenty-foot titan formed from the heart of flames, with eyes of black shadow and claws of darkness. The Midnight Dagger burned away in his fiery essence, as the Legion threw back his head, laughing insanely.

  “I do not need them to rise, you fool! I do not need the rest of the Legion! You think to slay me? The prison is destroyed, but its power is not gone! I have broken free, at last! My true form is far more powerful than any Prophet… or any AURA!”

  With an inhuman shriek, the fiery giant sent flames roaring from his maw, engulfing Ashen as the silver-clad Aura attempted to attack from the side. Ashen screamed, throwing off his cloak and vanishing in a cloud of sparks. Not dead… but gone, all the same. Gram, insubstantial as ever but looking twice as determined, scrambled to his feet and rushed to Gramling’s side.

  “We take him together, Son. Together!” But there were tears staining his face, too. All we work for, all Gribly has sacrificed… and still we fail? Gramling felt numb.

  “Run, fools! Flee like that craven coward, Ashen!” Sheolus laughed as they backed away, unsure of their attack… unsure of their defense… unsure of anything. Traveller’s staff grew heavy in Gramling’s han
d, and its glow began to dim. The shadowy forms at the edges of the chamber, banished by Gribly’s last Stride, began to take shape again. “Do you see?” Sheolus cackled manically, his voice like a river of fire. “Your fool of a Prophet has only slain the forms of the Legion! I command their shadows! I command what is left of their souls! With these I shall…”

  “Shall nothing!” Gram called. The light from within him shone brighter than the sun. “You have cost this world enough!”

  Gramling watched in awe as his father raised his hands. A white arc of light, a hundred times more intense than any Fellspark, lashed out at Sheolus. The Legion answered with a Stride of his own, black fire that met the arc and held it at bay. White against Black. Life against Death. Good against Evil.