by Dan Avera
Forod was furious, but now Koutoum's rage had bubbled over. “He sought only to give our flawed creation perfection!” he cried. “But you have been so blinded by anger that you can only see what you wish to!”
The Titans were siblings, and their love for each other was unquestioned. But each knew that Koutoum had loved Keth the most, and they did not care to fuel the flames of his wrath even further.
Then Dinn, the oldest, spoke. “Brothers,” she said, and her voice calmed their rage, “this is not the way. We have done this—through our machinations, the world has been cast into darkness. We created the Dark One, but now we must stop it.”
“But how?” Beros asked. “We can create armies to fight for humanity, but it will never be enough. Keth is infinitely more imaginative. And infinitely more powerful.”
“Not more powerful than Koutoum,” Sorr countered, but when she looked at her brother for confirmation Koutoum only hung his head in sadness.
“I have an idea,” Dinn said, and they all looked to her. “We cannot provide the assistance humanity needs from this place. So we will become human.”
~
He was a tall man, with beautiful shoulder-length hair that shimmered red-gold in the ethereal sunlight. He wore only a pair of deerskin breeches; his upper-body and feet were completely bare, exposing pale skin and a muscular physique that moved, unlike Will's predatory gait, with an ease that spoke of a life of peace and quiescence. His hazel eyes, very much like Clare's, were flecked with gold. They were kind eyes, almost grandfatherly, and within them Will could see the steady march of time that, despite countless tragedies and an unfathomably long life, had failed to take its toll on the man. And when the man smiled, Will felt his heart warm in response.
“Brother!” Serah cried, and rushed forward to embrace him. He lifted her up and spun her around in a circle, laughing, and then set her down and turned his gaze to Will.
“Feothon,” Will breathed, for the man could be no other. Feothon, the Titan of life—the Lord of the Forest.
“Dragon King,” said Feothon, his smile widening, and he took a step in Will's direction. The plants leaned in toward him as he passed by, the stalks of grass brushing his skin and the flowers tilting their petals to kiss his divine flesh. Even the trees high overhead seemed to move ever so slightly closer, an eerie effect that made Will feel as though the woods were closing in around him. Grim, silent until that moment, moved toward the Titan tentatively as though testing unknown waters. Feothon knelt and held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation the warhound bounded forward to nuzzle his palm.
The low, heavy throb of energy that announced the arrival of another person through the portal resonated steadily behind Will, and suddenly he was aware of dozens—no, hundreds of other people walking toward him from out of the trees. They were all dressed similarly to Feothon, with the same pale skin and red-gold hair, and each carried baskets of food or skins of water for the Pradian refugees. And as he watched, Will saw dozens of animals join the throng, each carrying their own contribution for the battered humans. The sight almost made him laugh out loud—he seemed to have been transported right into the middle of one of his mother's faerie stories.
He watched in amazement as the animals, both predator and prey alike, walked peacefully among one another—he saw a fawn carrying a bunch of grapes stumble and fall, only to have a full-grown wolf put its nose under the fawn's chin and gently lift it to its feet. Will gaped and shook his head.
“What in the name of the Void...” he whispered.
“Is it not wonderful?” Feothon asked him softly. He spoke with a strange accent, one that Will had never heard before. It almost made him want to dance. Will turned back to the man with his mouth still hanging open. “The Dark Forest is home to many such miracles,” Feothon continued. “Witness your friend.” He indicated the lump of vegetation that obscured Clare from view. A ring of flowers had sprung up in an outline of her body, and small saplings were growing in a protective circle around her to fend off stray feet.
“Will she be alright?” Will asked in a hushed voice.
Feothon put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “As I said before—'tis my forest, and I say she lives. She will live, I promise. I am, after all, the god of life.” He smiled. “Have a little faith, Brother.”
He put his arm around Will's shoulders and began to lead him away. Serah and Grim followed close behind. “Where are we going?” Will asked, trying to pull away from Feothon's grasp, but the Titan was surprisingly strong. “I need to stay with Clare, and the other people—”
“Will,” said Feothon, “I told you, she will be fine. No harm will come to her in my forest. And my people and Serah's will see to your refugees. You must follow me now. We are going to a secluded place where we will be able to talk undisturbed.” Will looked behind them and saw that the crowd of Pradians and forest dwellers had grown significantly, with the portal of light continuing to flash and throb and emit more survivors. “'Tis too crowded here for my liking.” He patted Will on the back. “And besides, we've some catching up to do.” He smiled warmly and Will found that he could not resist the urge to smile back.
They walked for a short while longer until the throng of people behind them was swallowed by the forest. Eventually the trees before them thinned out and vanished, leaving in their place an enormous lake. Its surface churned amiably, and the quiet way in which its waters lapped at the edge of the shore put Will's mind at ease despite the multitude of troubles tumbling around inside his head. Feothon motioned for both him and Serah to sit on the grass, and they did. Grim laid down on his belly next to Will and watched the Lord of the Forest intently, who sat and folded his legs beneath him.
“I imagine you've quite a few questions for me,” he said. “And for Serah as well.”
Will could barely think. Everything that had happened—the yaru attacks, Pestilence, Clare, and now Feothon—had left him in something of a daze, and his mind buzzed drunkenly. He felt as though he were being tossed about in a whirlwind that showed no sign of abating any time soon. He shook his head, trying to order his scrambled thoughts. “Erm...are...are the Pradians going to be alright?”
Rather than look surprised as Will had expected, Feothon looked pleased. “The survivors will recover—physically, at least. You lost many people in the defense of that city.” For a moment his eyes took on a distant look. “They are in so much pain,” he whispered.
Will's face fell. Now, along with the men he had lost over a week ago, he could add several hundred more to his tally. Feothon must have seen him, though, for he said quietly, “Will, 'twas not your fault.”
Will glared at him. “Oh? It wasn't? So the fact that Pestilence and his yaru were stalking me had nothing to do with it?”
“You did not know, Will—” Serah began, but he cut her off.
“But you gave me the hint—you told me I was the Dragon King. And Pestilence kept hinting at it the first time I met him.” His voice shook with the anger that had been bubbling inside of him ever since his first fight with the yaru. “He was hunting me all along and he told me, but I didn't do anything.” He shook his head, eyes downcast, and whispered, “If I had just left instead of going back to that city...”
“Stop it,” Serah said, and the anger in her voice took Will aback. “Stop it right now. They would have come to Prado regardless of whether or not you were there. You were blocked from Pestilence's sight just as he and his yaru were blocked from mine. Do you not see that Prado was the next logical step in his hunt for you?”
“Wait...how do you know he couldn't see me?”
“I know because I could not see you, either.” She paused for a moment, a look of confusion crossing her features, and then she closed her eyes. “Wait...how odd. I can see you now. It is...vague, blurry...but you are there all the same.”
Feothon gave Will a searching look. “Very curious,” he murmured. “I wonder what has changed.”
Will looked at Serah, and he saw
an expression of dawning realization. She said nothing, though, which confused him. Feothon followed his gaze a moment later, and tilted his head inquisitively. “Serah?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “It is nothing,” she murmured. “Just...a feeling.” Abruptly she changed subjects. “Will, there is much explaining to be done. I never did finish the story I started telling you. Would you like to hear the rest of it?”
The question caught him completely off guard. “I think I very much would,” Will admitted after a moment, realizing that he did indeed want to hear the end. Perhaps it would shed some light on the madness that had so recently become his life. “Your words at our first meeting have been ringing around inside my head for a while now. And I really would like some answers.”
“Then I shall be happy to continue.” Serah settled into a more comfortable position, and Feothon leaned back to rest on one elbow. A vine sprouted from the ground beside him, producing in scant moments several large, plump bunches of grapes. He tossed a cluster to Will and then popped a single grape in his mouth with a smile.
“Storytelling is always better with a full belly,” he explained. Will shrugged and ate a grape. It was very good, and he found that the sweet juices helped to revitalize him and narrow his focus. He smiled, and then settled his attention on Serah.
“So,” she began, her dark eyes taking on a distant look as memories long past began to form on her lips, “I believe we had ended on the note of the Phoenix Empress.”
Will nodded in affirmation.
“Then that is where I shall begin.
“Talyn was Davin's equal in every way. No foe could best her in battle, and with a mere glance she could set a forest to flame or melt an army's weapons and armor in a matter of moments—along with the men wearing them. Together she and Davin could overcome any obstacle, defeat any challenge. Nothing could stand in their way and live.
“But they did these things reluctantly, and only in times of great need. They feared their power, and fought constantly to keep it under control, just as each avatar of Koutoum has done since the very first days of the reign of the Immortals. The spirit of Koutoum is a strong one, even when it is only half a spirit, and for a human mind to control it is a difficult thing indeed. Davin was Talyn's lifeline, and she his—because of each other they never lost focus, and consequently their power never escaped their grasp. Chaos and control are two sides of the same coin, and without each other Davin and Talyn would have ceased to exist long before the traitors killed them.
“Naturally, when the traitors struck, it was when the two were separated. I have told you before of the seven treacherous High Councilors, but only in passing and never what they did to drive us into exile or who they truly are. They go by many names now, but the one you are perhaps most familiar with is 'Belahan'. It is an old word from a civilization that has not set foot in the Inner Kingdoms for centuries. In the Eastlands they are known as the Krish, and in the Northlands they are the Lok Tarr. Regardless of its origin, each name is simply a word for the evil things that lurk in the dark reaches of the world, and to us they will always be the traitorous Fallen. The Fallen have done much to cultivate their own myths and legends, and we are the last few who know the truth.
“They were Sirens once: men and women chosen by the Titans to learn our ways. Every living thing on Pallamar can trace its origins to the Void, and because of this a human can be taught to reach into the ether. It is a difficult process, and never safe. Only those we trusted most were trained, and the traitorous seven have guaranteed that no Siren shall ever walk the earth again by our hand. It was the power we taught them to control that allowed them to seize the Dark One's soul for their own, and we will not make such a mistake again. They are responsible for the Great Fall, and the consequences of their actions continue to ripple throughout history even today.”
“You have never known a different life, Will,” Feothon quietly interrupted, “but we can remember a time when Ainos was little more than a backwater nation of angry Northmen who posed no real threat to the civilized world. I myself witnessed the birth and rise to power of the people you now know as Karkashians. Before the Great Fall, when the Soréllian Empire was still very much alive in your Southlands, Karkash was merely an inconstant annoyance.” He chuckled softly to himself. “Of course, I can also remember when the tyrants in the Northern Hinterlands were a problem. They are not anymore.” Serah looked at him patiently and he motioned for her to continue.
“They split their forces in two in order to draw the Fire Hearts away from one another,” she said, and now there was sadness in her voice. “They knew that only Koutoum was strong enough to defeat the likes of Keth, and so by dividing their horde and making it seem as though they were in several places at once, they ensured that Davin and Talyn would be forced to go their separate ways. They waited until Davin was fighting the Dark One's hordes far away from Talyn,” she breathed a small sigh, “and then they went to her at Castle Phoenix, her stronghold in the Kahara desert.
“She and her Phoenix Guard fought the traitors, bringing ruination to the enemy's army in ways I cannot describe. And for a time it seemed she had the upper hand—but what she did not have was Davin. We should have known that the forces the traitors brought with them were little more than fodder. We should have known what they were planning. But we did not expect all seven of them to appear at Castle Phoenix.
“Talyn and her warriors fought valiantly. I...I watched the entire ordeal, powerless to stop it, just as I watched her die in Davin's arms four months later atop the Dragonskeep. And the more she fought, the weaker her self-control became. Power is a heady mix, after all, and she had drunk too much. The inner sanctum of Castle Phoenix is now little more than a cavern of cooled molten rock, a dead, silent testament to her fury. There are still traces of gold left from the armor of those Phoenix Guard who refused to leave her side. I hope their spirits have found peace.
“The traitors knew they could not beat her in a frontal assault, though, so they waited her out, toying with her and picking off her defenders until she finally gave in and, just as you almost did, lost herself. When that happened they struck quickly and without mercy. Adrift in the depths of her power, Talyn was unable to resist, and her soul was smothered beneath their will. We still do not know how they managed such an atrocity. And that was why Davin had to die, though he realized it before the rest of us did. One cannot live without the other. By the time she marched on the Dragonskeep, he already knew that the world's only hope was to await the birth of the new Dragon King and Phoenix Empress, uncorrupted by the Fallen. Had he not...killed himself, they would have subdued him and taken him to the Black Fortress forever. And they still would have had Talyn.” Serah's eyes glistened wetly, and Will looked away out of courtesy.
Silence settled upon the trio for a moment, and all three seemed lost in deep thought. “Who were the Fallen, exactly?” Will finally asked. “Before they became the Fallen, I mean.”
Serah's eyes took on a haunted look. “A fair question. They were once great men and women in their own right, revered councilors of the Dragon King. They advised the Titans in almost every matter, and we trusted them—foolishly. They coveted our immortality and our power too much. We should have seen it. Mortals are fickle, untrustworthy wretches.”
“All mortals?” Feothon asked quietly, and Serah's face fell as though she had been struck. “Even the Lord Commander?”
“No,” she murmured. “I...forgive me. I should not have said that.”
But Feothon only smiled at her. “Please, continue.”
Serah cleared her throat and, after a moment, began once again. “The traitors' former names are lost to history now, and I shall not repeat them. To give them human names would be to imply their own humanity, and that is something they gave up long ago. They have chosen to seclude themselves in their Black Fortress deep in the marshlands to the south, where they bide their time—though they are done biding, if current events are any i
ndication.”
“Why haven't you gone and assaulted their stronghold?” Will asked. “I thought you said before that they were weakened when Talyn died.”
“They were,” Feothon answered. “But you must understand, Will—compared to the powers of Koutoum and Keth, the rest of us are little more than ants. Our abilities lie in creation; Keth's—and yours—lie in destruction. Creation is strong, but destruction will always, unfortunately, be stronger.”
Will looked away. Destruction. Was that all he was ever going to be good for?
“Will,” said Feothon, seeing his reaction, “'tis only a bad thing in the wrong hands. I can already feel the conflict between the light and the dark inside of you—all you need to do is learn to control yourself. We can teach you how. And...there is a little girl in this forest who you have a strong connection with.” He closed his eyes lightly, and his brow furrowed as though in deep concentration. “She loves you. To her, you are a good person.”
“Priscilla,” Will whispered.
“Yes. Her whole family, in fact.”
They were all three silent for a moment.
“So you think I can temper my violent side?” Will asked.
“You already have,” Serah said softly. Again they were enveloped in quiet, and after awhile Feothon motioned wordlessly for Serah to continue her story.
“When the Fallen bound their half of Keth's soul to their mortal bodies, they took new names: now they are Pestilence, Strife, Despair, Insanity, Fury, and Agony. Pestilence you have already met, and with your help we will destroy the rest. They are immortal like us, though by artificial means. I have not seen them for five hundred years, since they hid both their fortress and themselves from my windsight. It could be that they are horrifically decayed, little more than walking corpses, but still alive. Regardless, their power has only grown over the centuries, and each battle will only be more difficult than the last.”
“Wait,” said Will, “you said Pestilence, Strife, Despair, Insanity, Fury, and Agony. That's only six.”