by Paul Yoder
Reza sat, Lanereth allowing her to ponder on her words in silence, the rush of wind outside clattering at the structure doors.
Slowly getting to her feet, looking to the front of the large room at the marbled statue of Sareth momentarily, she said in a quietly determined tone, “Then attend your council and do nothing. I’ll bring that son of a bitch down myself.”
Reza turned and walked down the aisle.
“Reza,” Lanereth said, a heaviness in her voice, “I don’t condone your decision, but if you’re going to chase after this High Lord, then I won’t stop you. The most I can do is offer you some advice. Whoever this Isis is you spoke of earlier, the one that protected you from the High Lord, if you want to stand even the slightest of chances at surviving another encounter with the enemy, make sure to have them with you at all times.”
Reza, standing in the middle of the aisle, rubbed a finger over the old diamond, silver ring, fighting an internal battle. She was so frustrated with Lanereth, but she knew, through all their disagreements, Lanereth was the one High Priestess that tolerated her to any extent. She alone seemed to care about her in her faith. She knew parting on somewhat good grounds would put her conscience at ease later down the road.
“Isis—she’s gone now,” Reza reverently said, remembering tenderly the shared plight and interactions she had with the spirit inside the ring she now wore.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” Lanereth tenderly said, getting up to walk to the grief-stricken woman.
Reza recovered quickly, brushing off the forlorn look she wore for a brief moment, attempting at a casual tone, mentioning, “At least I think she’s gone. Not sure she was ever really there to begin with, at least physically. It all could have been a spell—but I think she was real.”
Lanereth gently held Reza’s arm, attempting to comfort her, asking, more than a little bemused by Reza’s strange chatter, “What do you mean? Who was this Isis? A spell you say? Was she not a real person?”
Taking her ring off, Reza cleared her throat and handed the silver hoop over to Lanereth, allowing her to inspect it while she explained further.
“I found it in a tomb, an old place, centuries old. The ring, at first when I put it on summoned an apparition of a grieving woman, Isis. She was some sort of royalty, a queen of her time. Her husband sacrificed her and magically bound her through a hex to this ring. She said the hex was old and the magic was almost all spent by the time I found her, so in the fight with Lashik and his master, she used up the last of the ring’s enchantment to save me from—a very unpleasant fate.”
Lanereth, who had stood there slack-jawed, mumbled, “Astounding,” turning the ring over and over in her fingers, gazing endlessly into the faceted diamond that still glimmered with an unusually bright sparkle.
“I think you’re wrong, though,” Lanereth said in a hushed voice. “A residue of that hex still remains. I can see it. Yes, as you said, old magic is right. I wish you had spent more time in books, girl, but nonetheless, come. The Gaia’s altar may just kindle some of that flame that once burned so bright.”
Grabbing Reza’s hand, Lanereth rushed to the doors, opening them to a blast of wind and snow. Reza didn’t feel the cold though, only the burning feeling of renewed hope in regaining a lost friend.
5
Gaia’s Altar
The dark of the night mixed with the storm of snow and wind made it hard for Reza to navigate the overgrown path to the spot on the cliffside, which rarely saw visitors.
“The altar shouldn’t be much further,” Lanereth said, her soft voice almost getting lost on the wind.
“Why is it so far out here again?” Reza asked hesitantly, feeling as though she should know the answer, not sure if Lanereth had lectured her on the use and purpose of the altar before.
“It was a gift from a very old ally, an arch druid of Farenlome. The stone has to be kept in a place of seclusion, or rather, offset from structures and grounds cultivated. Its uses are limited, and it is out of the way, so for this reason, this path and the altar are not visited very often.”
Reza, trying to keep up with Lanereth’s quick step, asked, “Limited in what way? It was hardly discussed at all in my studies.”
“The druids draw their magic from arcane currents, whereas we draw our power from a divine source, our heavenly mother, Sareth. She is more liberal than most lords of the heavens, but still, we have no power without her allowing us to use it. The druids however can freely tap into the arcane currents of Una at will, without even the permission of Farenlome, the goddess they worship.
“It is this distinction that makes using the Gaia’s altar artifact that they gifted to us, tricky. I’ve been taught from the druids to see and manipulate the arcane currents, but, as you know, we do not condone mixing with other faiths, especially in terms of mixing magic. I was given special permission in order to nurture a relationship with our allies as well as to have a bit of utility since there are benefits of having access to arcane ways.
“I’m not a master in their ways by any means, but I might know just enough to help refill that ring of yours with new life. If Isis is still in there, I might be able to call upon someone who can arouse her spirit once more.”
Lanereth slowed and pulled aside a curtain of vines, showing a ledge, the grey blizzard hiding how high up they actually were.
In the center of the slab of granite that they stepped out upon was a stone, cracked and etched in frozen moss, a symbol long ago carved deep into the center of it. The symbol was simple enough, Reza understanding what they represented, and she had seen the same symbol in connection with the druids before. It was a circle with crescents on the outside, representing the sun and moons. Stars were scattered over the circle, which, within that circle was a smaller circle with a fire in its center.
Both now looking down at the rock, Reza asked, “That smaller circle with the flame, is that Una?”
“Yes,” Lanereth spoke, “that is our world. Farenlome is said to be the heart of our planet, and without her constant flame, Una would become a cold and uninhabitable place. She is a very integral part of our existence.”
The wind whipped the two’s clothes violently, causing Lanereth to clutch at her loose robes. Looking to Reza, she held out a hand.
“The ring,” she said as Reza pulled it from her finger, handing it over.
Looking it over once more, Lanereth clutched it to her chest, kneeling down upon the stone in silence, seeming to go into some meditative state.
Reza was still as could be for the first few minutes, but after a while of standing in the cold, Lanereth not appearing to be performing any sort of ritual, she went to huddle next to a bush on the cliffside of the curtain of icy vines.
Just as she was getting settled, Lanereth got to her feet, stepping back, a green sprout growing from the base of the altar.
The sprout grew impossibly fast, winding and twisting upwards until it slowed to a stop at Lanereth’s waist. A bud towards the top grew and then opened to reveal a red and white flower blooming towards Lanereth.
The strange vine-like plant stopped its miraculous growth just as suddenly as it began, and Lanereth placed the ring directly in the center of the red, white flower, it beginning to close immediately after until the ring was consumed within the flower’s petals.
Though Reza saw nothing, she began to feel a heaviness. Not uncomfortably so, but an impactful presence, her senses going numb and her soul opening to accept the old spirit that now graced the spot they lingered at.
The wind died to a light breeze, the snow falling almost straight down, and Reza thought she saw for a moment the snow fall upon an invisible object, hovering above the ground next to Lanereth. Only after a few seconds of strange stillness did the snow and wind begin to bluster again.
Almost as suddenly as the presence had come, it began to depart, relinquishing Reza’s physical faculties back to her. The flower began to open once more with Isis’ ring brightl
y aglow momentarily before whisking off with the breeze that started up once more.
“Take it,” Lanereth whispered, gesturing to the ring.
Reza, speechless still from the strange experience, got to her feet, a bit shakily, and made her way over to the ring, plucking it from the flower, the petals and plant wilting somewhat as she did so.
“Was that Farenlome that was here?” Reza asked in a hushed whisper.
“No, no,” Lanereth said, somewhat amused at Reza’s inexperience on the subject of deities. “That was an old spirit though, a grandchild of Farenlome. He has been with me since the druids charged him to me, to stay in our lands, to watch over us, and to give me tutelage in the ways of Farenlome and this precious gift, Gaia’s Stone.”
Reza did not reply, still awestruck at the encounter, and Lanereth continued, saying, “I suppose now is not the time for a class. Go on, put the ring on. Let’s see if old Quehuar met our plea.”
Reza’s heart fluttered, hesitation of hope still holding her hand back from trying the ring back on. She missed Isis, and if she did not come back to her now after hope of having her constant companionship returned, she felt that the loss would be worse than losing her the first time.
“Go on, Reza,” Lanereth prodded, placing an arm around the young saren’s shoulders.
Turning over the ring, just as she had done when she had first found it, she traced the worn inscription along the ring’s underside.
Whispering the line she knew now by heart, she closed her eyes, putting the ring back on her right ring finger.
“Sa-ahlorn tulleip—decant ethül-long,” the cryptic words hung in the air momentarily before speaking them again in her tongue. “Our love shall bind us—in this life, and the next.”
Hot tears flashed to her eyes as she was overcome with a burst of spectral teal-white light that shot out from the diamond atop the ring, the surrounding cliffside now set aglow in its ghostly light. The swirling snow whizzed past her tear-streaked face like shooting stars.
She felt a familiar presence—one that had been with her through difficult times. Isis was present then, visiting her—lovingly communicating with her soul.
The flurry of light and energy bubbled, then dissipated, letting Reza’s hopeful heart slowly down. She had been expecting Isis to come back to her, in spirit form, but as the wintry calm of the cliffside began its gentle breeze back up with no further signs of change from the ring she wore, her spirits sunk.
“Is the ring made whole?” Lanereth asked, worrying that from Reza’s expression that the rite had not been given Farenlome’s blessing.
“I felt so at first—” Reza stopped, considering the ring that was now on her finger, “but she is not here as she used to be. Something’s different.”
There was a silence between them as the wind picked up, the biting cold seeping into their garb doubly so now that they had enjoyed a reprieve from the storm momentarily.
“The gifts of Farenlome are not always easily discernable,” Lanereth whispered to Reza, clearly seeing the disappointment on her former student’s face.
“Come, the cold gathers along this cliff,” her mentor said, guiding Reza back through a curtain of frigid vines, the two silently pondering the meaning of Farenlome’s blessing and the ring.
6
Demon In Irons
“Another ale,” Reza slurred, holding up a hand until a freshly filled mug was placed in it.
Rarely did she drink, and to her recollection, never had she been this drunk, but for some reason, that night, she had lost reason to care. Perhaps it was the hopelessness of her newly charted mission, or perhaps it was the company she kept, a half haltia she didn’t care for and a half-dead friend that had been unconscious for three days now.
She realized that even with the odds being overwhelmingly poor in locating and destroying the Telenth High Lord, having to lug around an unconscious body while doing the impossible had quickly dampened her resolution to save her friend. There was no hope in achieving what she had so adamantly told Lanereth she would do, and the reality of that was beginning to set in.
Slipping the mug out of Reza’s hand, Arie paid the waiting barmaid a gold strip for her running tab of drinks and faced down her seething companion.
“That was my ale. And by the way, I’ll not have you pay my way! You owe nothing to me, and I nothing to you, and that’s how it’ll stay,” Reza blurted out, causing a patron or two at the surrounding tables to sneak a glance over at the two bickering women.
“That’s it. You’ve had your fill. I’m starting to see you’ll cause us all trouble if you have more, and the Sephentho castle guard is not known for their tolerance for ruckus foreigners.”
Grabbing her hand, Arie jerked Reza to her feet, all but dragging her out of the bar, disheveled platinum hair bobbing frantically as Arie led them down tight alleys back to the inn they were staying at.
The moonlight fluttered in through the breezy tree above the inn’s façade as Arie held Reza up, saving her from tripping right into the doorframe. Adjusting the bulk of Reza’s weight, Arie opened the door with her other hand, leading them inside.
The front room was dimly lit, but the candle on the front counter clearly showed the terrified features of the innkeeper who looked at the two women as though they were there to end him.
Arie considered asking what the problem was, but Reza’s gut lurched, the saren holding unusually still for a moment before Arie realized what was happening.
“Damn girl,” Arie cursed under her breath, dragging her nauseous companion back to her room, unlocking the door and finding the bedpan just in time.
Holding her hair back for her, patting her on the side as she finished expelling the rest of the intoxicant, she handed Reza a rag as she poured a large glass of water for her to wash out with.
Reza groaned, knowing she had gone too far that night and now not wanting to deal with the consequences, the cold weight of hopelessness slowly creeping back into the corners of her consciousness.
“I’m going to check on Nomad while you—clear your head,” Arie said, the strain in her voice clear now.
Fishing out the key to her room, she unlatched and opened the door to her room, freezing in place as her eyes scanned the room for Nomad.
“He’s not there,” Arie blurted out as she rushed back into Reza’s room, who had sobered up a bit after vomiting.
“What—” Reza began, trying to catch up to the meaning of Arie’s statement.
“He’s not in there,” she stated again, looking quickly down the hall before rushing into her bedroom momentarily, showing up at Reza’s door fastening her dagger belt.
“I’m going out to look for him,” Arie said, already rushing off down the hall to the front desk, Reza stumbling after her.
The innkeeper, seeming to have calmed since their entrance, still looked on edge as the two barreled into the room, Arie urgently asking, “Did you see the man we came in with leave recently?”
The pale man quickly nodded his head, pointing out the front door, adding, “There’s something not right with him. His eyes—”
Arie looked to the side in momentary confusion, then glanced over at Reza whose head bobbed a bit, holding back a hiccup.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Arie ran for the door, not bothering to wait for her inebriated companion.
“You’d better stay in your room. I’ll find Nomad,” Arie yelled back, rushing out the door just as Reza made it to her.
“I’m coming,” Reza shot back, leaving no ground in her voice for debate.
Arie tore down the street, looking down the alleys as she made her way to the castle village’s main street. Reza, though off-balance, managed to stay in tow.
A scream and a horrified gasp sounded further up Main Street towards the castle, spurring Arie and Reza headlong towards the commotion.
Rounding the corner, Arie slowed, trying to figure out what exactly she was lo
oking at. Reza, however, seeing a figure that resembled Nomad standing before two locals who stood frozen in front of him, rushed towards him. Arie yelled for Reza to wait, but Reza easily ignored her companion’s promptings.
“Nomad!” Reza blurted out, sprinting towards the dark figure.
Nomad slowly turned to face Reza who was rushing towards him, the frightened couple taking the moment to bolt off down an adjoining street.
A glint of red in Nomad’s eyes caused Reza to stumble to a halt right before him. His hands clamped around her arms, holding her firm as Nomad’s pallid visage looked down on her worried face, his mouth splitting into a wide, unnatural grin, black sludge seeping through the cracks in his teeth, all while empty eyes with a sheen of crimson, like that of an animal’s in the dark, bore down on her.
She tried to break his grasp, but it was locked like steel. She saw then that something was horribly different about Nomad. Something that with but a single look told her that he saw her now not as a friend, but as prey.
He clinched down on her arms harder, tightening his grip as he gazed at her.
Mewling quickly turned into screaming as Reza felt her bones under enough pressure to snap at any moment.
“Hiro!” Arie shouted, using his given name.
The tightening stopped, and his grin faded, some level of recognition seeping in as Arie slowly approached the two.
The inner castle gates opened down the street from them and the sounds of soldiers in armor clamored towards them.
“We need to go, now,” Arie harshly whispered to Nomad and Reza, grabbing both of them, attempting to haul them off down the street to the outer gate’s exit.
Nomad swatted Arie’s hand away, a feral snarl making it clear that he was not in the mood to listen to her orders.
“You! Turn around, now!” the lead guard yelled, three other armored men with iron maces following close behind.