The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  “Langashin!” These others were irrelevant. There was only one man in this settlement Sorial wanted to confront. He clambered down from the portal’s ledge and limped toward the exit. Although his foot injuries were healed, he hadn’t yet become accustomed to balancing on three toes. Warburm trailed him, dripping blood from a multitude of wounds. Outside, Sorial could hear men running. He didn’t think his tormentor would flee, however. Langashin had too much pride for that. He would seek the confrontation even though he didn’t understand what he would be confronting. Or, if he did, it wouldn’t matter.

  At the entrance to the cavern, Sorial paused. There, surrounded by five dead foes, was Brindig’s body. At some point, someone had found an opening and driven a sword deep into the watchman's chest, piercing his heart. Sorial felt tears sting his eyes, but now wasn't the time for mourning. There would be time enough later to light a candle for Brindig, for Darrin, and for Lamanar.

  “Langashin, you craven dog!” Sorial’s magnified voice reverberated throughout the settlement, so loud that it carried above the commotion and echoed off the nearby mountains. There’s no way he didn’t hear that.

  The crowd ahead parted for the leader as he moved against the prevailing tide. Chaos reigned. People fled en masse with no one except Langashin headed in Sorial’s direction. The inquisitor strode purposefully, brandishing an impossibly large cudgel; it might have been carved not from the branch of a tree but from the very trunk. To the extent that his expression was readable under all the facial hair, it was grim. His mistake in keeping Sorial alive had become evident. He had played a dangerous game and lost. He knew that now. All he could hope was that the new wizard was too weak and uncertain to be able to bring him down.

  Once outside the cavern, Sorial’s skin no longer glowed. With his injuries healed, he was in better physical condition than when he had been half-dragged, half-helped through the entrance minutes before, but he didn’t present an imposing figure. He was unarmed, unarmored, and unclothed. He faced Langashin naked without even a knife.

  Sorial had no intention of allowing the settlement’s “Guv’nor” to come within striking range. This wasn’t going to be a conventional duel. It occurred to Sorial that if he failed, Langashin would bludgeon him to death.

  Langashin bellowed a challenge in a language Sorial didn’t recognize. He broke into a run, then stumbled and nearly fell as the ground beneath his feet shifted like quicksand. Sorial stood near the edge of the large unstable area, watching as his adversary flailed ineffectually, trying to gain purchase. Langashin’s struggles only caused him to sink deeper; in the process, he lost the cudgel. Within seconds, the moist, insatiable ground had swallowed him to mid-thigh. Only then, recognizing how dire his situation was, did he cease thrashing.

  But this was no way for Langashin the torturer to die. It was too humane. Sorial didn’t consider himself bloodthirsty by nature, but in this case he was willing to make an exception.

  He concentrated on the mire, causing it to harden. Langashin was now partially buried not in shifting, moist sand but in a dry, crumbly substance. He began to struggle again, seeking to pull his legs free, but he wasn’t fast enough. The ground continued to solidify, changing into rock. Langashin let out a bellow of pain as his trapped legs were pulverized by the calcifying earth, ground into a bloody pulp and shards of bone.

  Sorial approached his adversary, although carefully remaining beyond the man’s grasp. Even immobilized and in anguish, Langashin would be dangerous until he was dead. Sorial wouldn’t toy with Langashin as a cat with its meal. He wouldn’t make the mistake of waiting. This would end here, now. But first...

  “Let’s have one last talk.” Sorial’s voice was chillingly conversational. “We had so many on your terms.”

  “Fuck off.” Langashin spat the words through gritted teeth, spraying red spittle.

  “Two legs for two toes.” Sorial extended his maimed foot as if Langashin needed a reminder. “Maybe you don’t consider that a fair trade.”

  Sorial could see the color draining from Langashin’s face, its natural ruddiness becoming pale and clammy. Loss of blood from the ruins of his legs. If Sorial didn’t end this soon, the man would die on his own.

  “You wondered whether it would be possible to control me, to find a way to keep me as your pet wizard. Do you think anything can contain power like this?” He gestured at the slab encasing the lower portion of Langashin’s body. “I was only the last in a long line of victims to suffer at your hands. What I do now, I do for everyone you put through a living hell.

  “You never believed it could come to this. Now you won’t touch the thin pouch of gold, let alone the fat one. Your power’s broken but your death’ll be more merciful than you deserve. I ain’t got the time or the patience to prolong your life in misery and torment.”

  “Do your worst, wizard boy! You won’t hear me beg for mercy. If you were man enough to face me one-on-one without this trickery, I’d thrash you till the streets ran red and feed what was left to the crows.” It took a supreme effort for Langashin to speak those words. They would be his last, save for the screaming that was to follow.

  Sorial bent to retrieve a rock from near his feet. It was unremarkable - a small, smooth stone, easily held in his palm. Once, while bathing on Duke Carannan’s land, he and Rexall had used such flat stones to skim across the water. He turned this one over to familiarize his fingers with it. The connection was instantaneous - it became an extension of his body. Of course, a rock wasn’t as versatile as a hand, but it could be used in other ways.

  He tossed it almost negligently at Langashin. The aim was unerring. Thrown with normal force, it should have done little damage, perhaps leaving a welt or bruise on the inquisitor's right cheek. Instead, the moment the stone left Sorial’s hand, it accelerated with a sudden, explosive burst of speed to strike Langashin’s face with the power of a projectile fired from one of Warburm’s pistols. Half the jaw was ripped away, leaving behind a bloody mess of torn veins and shattered bone.

  Langashin howled with inhuman anguish. His eyes, locked with Sorial’s, registered shock and pain. Over the course of a long, violent life, he had experienced many battles and suffered countless injuries but never anything to rival this. The implacable certainty of death settled over him, talons sinking into his heaving shoulders.

  Sorial retrieved another stone. He felt its weight, understood its nature and its history. He stroked it with his thumb, as one might pet a tiny animal. He didn’t know if he would ever again wield a blade. Steel was as much of fire as of earth. This rock, on the other hand, knew no master but him. He cocked his arm, aimed, and hurled it at the center of Langashin’s forehead.

  Death was instantaneous. The interrogator toppled backward, both legs snapping where their crushed remains were anchored to the ground. Sorial looked away, not compelled to examine the gruesome ruins. It was enough that Langashin was dead.

  The settlement was eerily quiet. Those few who had stayed to watch the conflict melted away into the darkness. Everyone else had already hidden or left. Sorial and Warburm could have remained here unmolested, but neither felt comfortable about dallying.

  A strange lassitude settled over Sorial, much like the weariness following a full day's work. Rest would be welcome, although it wasn’t necessary. He turned to face Warburm, who had stood ten feet behind him during the entirety of his confrontation with Langashin.

  The innkeeper’s expression betrayed a mixture of conflicting emotions. He had succeeded, but what had he helped create? “In all my years, I ain’t never seen nothing like that. It be true…all true.” Hearing those words, Sorial wondered whether Warburm had ever truly believed in this journey or if he had undertaken it because it was the natural end to his life’s work.

  The transformation had reversed their positions. Wizards did not take orders from innkeepers; Sorial was now in command. “Are you well enough to travel? I’d like to make the mountains by dawn. I don’t think anyone’s going to fol
low us, but this ain’t a good place to linger.” Sorial wasn't worried about Langashin’s people. The death of their burly leader had cowed them. But he was keenly aware that Ariel might appear. Sister or not, he didn’t doubt that his encounter with the portal had branded him her enemy. Did she know yet?

  “One thing first.” Warburm nodded in the direction of Brindig’s body. “He at least deserves a proper burning. We did what we could for Lamanar and Darrin, but their heads were taken. At least his be intact. We can’t take him home to his kin but we can honor him here.”

  Working in congress, Sorial and Warburm dragged their companion into the open, taking care not to cause additional damage to the brutalized corpse. After removing Brindig’s boots and compromised armor, which wouldn’t burn, and wrapping his body in his cloak, they touched one of the available torches to the garment. The flame, which flickered at first, eventually caught and, as it burned more greedily, consumed the man whose selfless actions had made Sorial’s transformation possible. The new wizard and the innkeeper stood nearby, paying silent respect.

  Once the body had been reduced to smoldering cinders, Sorial provided a moment’s concentration on the ground beneath the remains. Ashes, armor, boots, and sword were swallowed up.

  “I’ll take you to where Brindig and me been camping the last few days. It be a nice place - fresh running water and edible berries. All the comforts of home.”

  Home...Do I have one and, if I do, how long until I can be there again?

  Holding aloft the torch used to burn Brindig, Warburm led the way through the seemingly abandoned settlement and onto the grasslands that sloped into the foothills. He set a slow, deliberate pace; Sorial’s gait was at times unsteady as he grew accustomed to navigating with a malformed foot. By the time they stopped at Warburm's campsite, they had been walking for two hours; the appearance of the sun, low and bloated in the sky, allowed them to extinguish the torch. The long night was at an end.

  They sat beside a bubbling brook while the innkeeper washed his wounds then used clean strips of cloth to bind the most serious of them. “These’ll slow me down a little on the trip home, but they should be all right as long as I keep ’em clean. That be the biggest danger in the wild. Things can go septic fast.” He flexed his chest muscles and winced.

  Warburm dropped to his hands and knees by the water to wash the blood from his face and hair as best he could. Sorial, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the ground. He remained naked and showed no inclination to seek out clothing.

  “Brindig had an extra pair of trousers and a tunic in his pack. You can have them if’n you want. And anything else he were carrying.”

  Sorial shook his head. “For now, I’m better without clothing. The more direct my contact with the earth, the stronger my connection. Clothing would be a hindrance.”

  “It can get cold out here at night without anything on.”

  “A nice layer of dirt will keep me warm.” The Lord of Earth had an affinity for all things dirty, dusty, and rocky. Comfort and security came from caves and tunnels. Being out in the open wouldn’t disturb him as long as he had ground beneath his feet. He knew intuitively he wouldn’t feel comfortable high in a castle or on the deck of a ship. Some wizards of old were said to fly; Sorial wouldn’t be among their number. Air was his sister’s purview.

  “We lost three good men on this journey. They done their duty but none saw the thing to its end. I may die in the coming days but at least my eyes witnessed this. What now?”

  The path forward wasn’t a straight one. They couldn’t simply return the way they had come. Of the many things Sorial considered as immediate threats, none was more pressing than Ariel. If she could commune with the wind, she would have little difficulty locating him. He had to go where she couldn’t find him, at least until he was ready for a confrontation.

  “This is where we part ways,” said Sorial. “You, to return to Vantok and tell everyone of our success. Me, to go... elsewhere for a time.”

  Surprise was inscribed on Warburm’s scarred and scabbed features. “Me, go to Vantok alone? What about your obligation...”

  “Don’t talk to me about obligations!” Hot anger flared within Sorial. It took a conscious effort to keep it from seeping into the ground and manifesting itself in a physical way. That was a new sensation. More calmly, he added, “When I entered that portal, everything changed.”

  “What of the Lady Alicia?”

  “You hear but don’t listen. I didn’t say I ain’t going back to Vantok. I said I ain’t going immediately. You go before me to let everyone know I’m on my way.

  “I’m assuming you’ll survive the journey north. Alone and injured, it won’t be easy. You won’t have Lamanar to scout the way and keep you from stumbling into a hornet’s nest of trouble. But you’ve earned that penance, and more. Annie’s blood’s on your hands. You may deny it, but I ain’t the gullible boy you once knew and I can see through your lies. And, since you wouldn’t act without your master’s consent, he can share the blame. There’ll be a reckoning. He’s responsible for what I’ve become; now he can accept the consequences of that responsibility.”

  “Ferguson thinks only of the future of Vantok and the survival of humankind.” Warburm spoke the words stiffly, as if reciting a catechism.

  “He thinks in terms of humankind but not individual people. That’s his failing.”

  “What will you do to him? To me?”

  Sorial shrugged. “I don’t know. For now, I’ve got to go into seclusion. My enemies will come after me. I’ve got power but I ain’t sure how to control it. I’m a baby, crawling, stumbling, and vulnerable. I need to be able to walk and run without falling.”

  “So that be it?”

  Sorial nodded. “That’s it. If we both survive the next few seasons, we’ll meet again in Vantok. Make sure everyone is ready. Make sure Alicia is ready.”

  So saying, Sorial rose and, turning his back to Warburm, wandered off into the brightening dawn, headed for the mountains. He looked back only once to see the innkeeper gazing speculatively into the brook, then he was gone.

  * * *

  It was late morning before Sorial found a place where he was comfortable with the terrain. He would have preferred a cavern but he didn’t have the luxury of unlimited time to find one. He didn’t know how far away Ariel was or how fast she could travel, but his need to go into hiding was urgent. For all he knew, The Lord of Fire was also seeking him and, if his base was within The Forbidden Lands, he could be a more immediate danger.

  A part of Sorial wanted to throw caution to the wind and make haste to Vantok to reunite with Alicia. That motivation, which had been his primary driver when he departed the city, was no less an incentive now, even after all that had happened. For them to finally be together with no impediments was almost too great a temptation to bypass. But Sorial’s rational mind knew any such reunion would be short-lived. Ariel would come after him and, if he was unprepared when she arrived, his time as a wizard would be brief and unremarkable. She possessed the advantage of experience; a few seasons of solitary training and contemplation wouldn’t be the equalizer, but it would at least narrow the gap. Sorial also hoped, perhaps foolishly, that when they met again, he might be able to convince her to back down. He didn’t view either Ariel or The Lord of Fire as natural enemies. If anything, they should be allies. More than anything, he wanted to understand them. He also wondered about The Lord of Water. Perhaps he was out there, waiting, not yet having embraced a portal.

  Closing his eye as an aid to concentration, Sorial focused through his legs and toes and into the ground beneath his feet. As in the portal cavern and during his battle with Langashin, this was an act of instinct. There was no elegance to it. He fumbled until he got it right. The hesitancy was forgivable in a situation like this or when confronting a frothing brute like the self-proclaimed Guv’nor of Havenham, but it would be death when contending with another wizard.

  The call went deep into the rock, forceful and
insistent. With this kind of magic, there was no room for tentativeness. The creature he summoned, like all manner of earth-born entities, would serve him if he was strong enough to master it. An earthworm would require no effort. Rock wyrms were different. They were eldritch creatures with egos as unyielding as the substance through which they moved. Calling one to serve wasn’t an easy task.

  It didn’t take long for the call to be answered. The respondent erupted through the ground directly in front of Sorial, spraying clods of earth, boulder-sized rocks, and all manner of smaller debris in every direction. Things that struck Sorial bounced off harmlessly. The Lord of Earth couldn’t be harmed by the pebbles and dirt with which he was so intimately connected.

  It was the same wyrm that had attacked and ultimately killed Lamanar. Sorial understood this as soon as he looked into its eyes, one of which had been damaged by a shot from Warburm’s pistol. In the moment of shared recognition, Sorial slipped into the wyrm’s consciousness and subdued it. Had anyone asked him to explain what he did, he wouldn’t have been able to. Its mind was no puny thing and it wasn’t through cruelty or dominance that Sorial won it over. He didn’t hammer at it or pummel it. There was no silent contest. Instead, their connection emerged through a shared affinity for the earth and all it represented - the deep, cool depths and comforting pressure; the darkness and pungency; the strong, silent power and infinite patience. For a moment, there was a pause as the wyrm grappled with yielding its independence, something antithetical to its nature. Then, with a violent shake of its head that severed the eye contact, it submitted.