Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  The Aeris under Cainan’s command reacted instantly, drawing weapons and wading into the fray. One reached down to pull an attacker off his semi-conscious victim and Arek watched him gasp, dropping the elf as if he were made of fire. The Aeris looked at his unarmored hand, which slowly grew black, the blackness moving up his arm like a living thing. It spread quickly, and the Aeris Lord staggered to his knees, becoming a dark Aeris with eyes that burned with a cold blue fire.

  Then Arek noticed that the elves, at least some of them, had turned midnight blue, and black as well. These dark versions turned on their brothers. Everything they came in contact with, whether Aeris or elf, were also infected. It was like a disease made of darkness being spread by contact. Each healthy person touched fell, turning black. Moments later they staggered up, their eyes burning cold blue fire.

  The energy wall collapsed as the elves turned to reinforce their companions, stabbing with blade and interlocking shields to hold back the dark creatures. The idea of sides had degenerated into a general melee, as the dark elves and dark Aeris attacked indiscriminately, slowly turning everyone into one of them.

  Gabreyl shouted, “Fall back! Form on me!”

  The untouched elves instantly obeyed, falling back with shields held before them. They moved with a precision that spoke of countless hours of drilling, forming a turtle shape with shields on all ends and overhead. Gabreyl shouted more orders from the middle. He’d moved to get a better view, and now realized with a sickening feeling that Niall was in the middle of that shell. There was no way to get to him.

  Just then, a hand grasped him by the throat. Cold penetrated his skin, a cold so deep it numbed him to his very core. He twisted his arm up and around the other, locking the elbow, and spun, only to be greeted by the face of an elf he did not know. It had skin so dark it almost looked black. Eyes burned with blue fire, and its mouth opened in a silent scream of hunger.

  There was no fear. Instead, anger welled up, an insatiable fury at this thing. He could feel his eyes change, the darkness consuming him as well, but it was not the diseased touch of whatever this thing was. It was the blackfire that burned within him, a hunger so deep he could feel the sustenance of the thing that dared touch him. He breathed in and let the hunger have its way. In the blink of an eye the dark elf dissolved into nothing, obliterated by Arek’s thoughts as if it never existed and a wash of energy flooded into him. He’d never felt so alive.

  A clarion call sounded and into their clearing burst forth two winged beings, similar to Cainan and his Aeris, but somehow more deadly. They wore full battle armor and had wings with blades for feathers. One was outfit in flashing silver armor, the other in fiery gold.

  “Behind us!” shouted the one in silver armor edged in aquamarine. “Our armor is proof against the nephilim!”

  The Aeris who heard fled for the safety these new angels offered. The two made their way into battle. They marched forward, one wing bent in front as a shield, the other raised behind as if caught in an unfelt breeze. Arek had no idea what they intended but they looked magnificent and deadly.

  Just then a brace of mounted wingblade riders ran past the shield wall made by the wings of these armored archangels, as Arek had come to think of them. The birds cut into the line of dark elves, slashing with feet meant to disembowel. Had the people they attacked been anyone else, it might have worked. Instead the warbirds were brought down in a heap of dust, their feathers flashing in the sun.

  A few moments passed, the heap a feeding frenzy of bodies squirming in and under each other to get to the fallen wingblades and their riders. Then the gathered creatures dispersed and black wingblades slowly emerged, their beautiful iridescence eaten away by the darkness. They turned, their ranks added to the line of dark creatures who faced the two armored angels and those few Aeris who still stood behind them. They stood, silently regarding their opponents through slavering jaws. At some unheard signal, the nephilim horde rushed forward en masse, clearly expecting to overrun the small and fragile looking bastion of survivors.

  The archangels, despite what seemed to be overwhelming odds, did not falter. They braced, then raised and flicked their wings forward with lightning speed. A storm of feather blades flew, slicing through the line of nephilim like sheets of rain. Where each blade struck, the dark elf or dark Aeris disappeared in a flash of black smoke.

  A sudden whump sounded and Arek’s ears popped with the displacement of air. He spun just in time to see the turtle made of shields disappear in a flash from the center of the henge. Chaos ensued and another rush of nephilim slammed against the archangel shield wall, drawing his attention back to the main fray.

  Arek got a hold of himself, bringing his flameskin under control. It seemed no one had noticed him, then Cainan was there. He grabbed Arek’s sleeve and pointed. The archangels had once again thrown themselves into the fray, cutting and slashing with wing and blade. Their attacks were economical and brutal, offering no chance for any infected to survive. At first he’d thought them overwhelmed by these dark creatures. Now it was clear they were fighting in their element.

  “They’ll kill us all if we stay.” Cainan said this softly, but his voice was determined. “If you want to meet your true father, you’ll come with me now.”

  Arek looked at the Aeris crouched here beside him. He could see no deceit in his eyes, nor hear it in his voice. “You stand with Lilyth?”

  Cainan nodded, a quick assent that did more than words could to convince Arek he spoke the truth. Then the Aeris motioned, moving away from the fight. Arek followed, and they quickly made their way around a knoll and out of sight.

  “Hang on.” The giant warrior grabbed Arek around the waist and leapt, his wings spreading like a direhawk’s to catch the air. They quickly gained altitude, arrowing for the edge of land before the Aeris made a sickening dive and roll, arcing out and under the island they had just been standing on.

  The last thing Arek saw was the body of Sorath, stabbed through chest and dead, spread-eagled in the center of the henge in a pool of his own blood. Of Niall and the elves under Gabreyl’s command, there was no sign.

  Skyfall

  In facing superior forces, harry them at all points.

  Be the swallow against the falcon.

  Wheel, dive, spin. Movement is life.

  - Galadine House of Arms, Battle’s Focus

  Move! Tempest screamed in Ash’s mind.

  He dived, fighting razor claws, punching a mistfright then stabbing with the ensorcelled blade into another. The creature fell but more took its place. Each would grab onto him and then start turning into mist, flowing up his body like a snake. Having faced these before with Alyx, he knew they would possess him if he let them stay in contact too long.

  The good news was that merely touching these “mist snakes” with Tempest dissipated them, but the actual mistfrights required more work. Ash spun the blade, scattering two and cleaving through the neck of a mistfright. It fell, headless, then disappeared into the ground as whatever magic holding it together died. For some reason, Tempest did not exhibit the raw power she had at Bara’cor, and worse, Ash felt the blade’s fear.

  He managed to get to a knee and caught a glimpse of Yetteje. The girl had drawn Valor and was firing arrow after arrow, each a glowing shaft of fire that streaked into the throng of these feral shapes. Where her arrows touched, mistfrights died. As combat became more intense his sense of time slowed. Thoughts raced through his mind as he blocked and cut. How could a girl of such slight build draw Valor, a bow the king had spent years training with to do the same? And arrows made of fire?

  Then his attention was taken by the sheer mass of opponents, all trying to possess him. He ducked under a clawed swipe, then spun and slashed, feeling his blade meet resistance twice. He did not stop to look, but rolled and then stood for the first time. A small clearing had formed around him but the horde swarmed in, overwhelming his blade work and pushing him to the ground again under their combined weight. An unnatur
al cackle burst from his throat at the sudden, absurd thought that mist could weigh something—until Tempest screamed, Focus or you’ll be taken!

  He grabbed the blade with both hands and rolled on the ground. The move destroyed four mist snakes and left him free to rise again. This time he did so slashing, cutting, Tempest a blur in his hands. He’d lost sight of Yetteje, but kept catching glimpses of the rest of the party.

  The white, angelic form of Silbane locked in combat with the giant Anhur, his bladed wings shielding him as if they were alive. Kisan, a counterpoint to Silbane, an angel of death, sliced through another giant then used his body to smash mistfrights around her. She leapt into the air and spread her black wings, then dived, using their blades to slice through her enemies. She looked as if she’d always been meant to fly.

  Something grabbed his face and he could feel it turn to mist, flooding his nostrils and mouth. There was a bright green flash and the area around him was cleared of mistfrights—Tempest exploded with green fire. He could feel her getting weaker. It must be something about this place, this world. It seemed to suck the vitality from her, the way the ground had impeded his footsteps, as if everything here hated them.

  Another group of mistfrights began to charge, but the armored form of Silbane tumbled through them as the master fell on his back. Whatever hit him was hard. He lay there stunned. Kisan had fallen back to protect him, but the tide was unyielding. Where one fell, four took its place, and she was driven to a knee as black shapes clawed at her armor and wings. The mistfrights seemed infinite and worse, aided by these giants, they were slowly overwhelming the small band.

  A fire arrow streaked past Ash’s face, imbedding itself in a mistfright right behind him. Ash twisted and then cut two others down and fell back toward Silbane. The master in angel form was still on his back, smashing Aeris using gauntleted fists. Even here his skill shone to Ash, whose trained eye could see the puissance of these adepts, armored or not. They moved as if born to fight, but even they could not stem this tide of demons.

  Beloved, you must stab me into the ground.

  What? The action made no sense and his doubt was plain in his thoughts.

  You must! It is our only chance.

  Ash saw Kisan fall, her back now braced against Silbane, who had risen and knelt in the opposite direction. She fought with double blades and her wings shielded her from flanking attacks, as did the other master. But the sheer press of creatures around them nullified their ability to move, and moving was the key to survival in these situations.

  He cut through more, smashing a mist snake flowing up his leg, then stabbing another through the mouth and watching it drop and dissipate like the rest. How many had he killed? A dozen? Two dozen? And still they came.

  You must! Her voice was edged with hysteria, a far cry from her normal devotion or disdain. Then something smashed into his head, hard…

  …his vision cleared and he was kneeling near the masters, somehow still clutching Tempest, point down. Kisan’s mouth moved but couldn’t hear what she said. She screamed and pointed at something. He turned his head woodenly, only to see one of the giant warriors bearing down on him with a spear, like some kind of god of war. The man threw and the spear turned into a bolt of lightning.

  Time slowed for him again, feeling like life’s idea of a joke, letting him see in minute detail how he would die. He knew he’d never get his blade up in time. In what he was sure would be his last act he leaned his weight on Tempest, pushing her into the ground as she’d demanded.

  He did not see Kisan’s wing come overhead and take the brunt of the lightning bolt, destroying her feather blades in a blast of vaporized metal before smashing into the master herself and knocking her back into Silbane. His vision was consumed by the green-white explosion as Tempest channeled the last of her power downward into the ground, into the very firmament they lay dying upon. The horde covered him as what seemed like hundreds upon hundreds of Aeris overran their position, piling up in their thirst to possess the living.

  Then there was a seismic detonation and he was falling. Blackness above, blackness below, he could feel himself tumbling into the inky dark that seemed to have no end. He fell, bouncing off rock and debris, pummeled by stone until—

  He burst into sunlight!

  Ash looked frantically about only to see above him an island of land, floating in a sea of clouds, and he had fallen through the bottom! His tumbling slowed and hundreds of black shapes, mistfrights, fell out of the same hole. Tempest had used her power to destroy the ground below them, but somehow that “ground” led to this open sky? It was salvation of sorts, but it quickly became clear she’d traded his possession for a different kind of death. He plummeted faster, his heart racing as he gasped for air.

  At least you are not lost, beloved.

  Before he could respond, his head hit what felt like metal. He twisted and caught a glimpse of an oblong shape like a coffin tumble past him. It was grayish silver, falling into the misty white clouds and disappearing from view. What would a coffin being doing out here?

  Then from above him a voice screamed his name and a white, man-like shape arrowed in, spreading its wings. Ash collided with it, not hard, and clutched desperately. Tempest still did not allow him to release her so he found himself short a hand.

  An arm reached back and plucked him forward and he came face to face with Silbane! The master had what Ash hoped was an unconscious Kisan clutched in the other and looked at the firstmark with the dull fatigue that battle brings.

  “What?” he knew he sounded addled but this was too much.

  “Tempest left us little choice,” Silbane said. To Ash’s look at Kisan he answered, “She’ll live.”

  Ash looked around then, still on the edge of panic. Flying amongst the clouds was not something he felt comfortable doing and he gasped out, “Land! Anywhere!”

  Silbane nodded, looking around, then wheeled and tucked his wings, diving for an island floating below them. The aerial maneuver made Ash’s stomach lurch and he squeezed his eyes shut. They were falling again, and to what the firstmark thought for certain would be their deaths. He braced for impact but then felt Silbane’s wings snap open, catching air and slowing them to a soft landing, no harder than taking a stair step down.

  When Silbane let go Ash collapsed and said, “Oh, gods! What just happened?”

  “Careful to what you pray for here, Firstmark.”

  Ash opened his eyes and caught Silbane’s transformation back into his normal form. “You can fly?”

  Before he could answer the firstmark’s question, Silbane collapsed to his knees, as if he’d just run a long distance. His breath came out in heaves, gulping air.

  “Are you all right?”

  The master braced a hand on the ground, then turned to Ash. “It seems holding our other form exacts its own price.” It took a few moments before the master seemed to have recovered enough to move and check Kisan. Evidently satisfied with what he saw he raised his faded blue eyes, a look of sorrow on his face.

  “What?” Ash asked, but then he noticed… “Where’s the princess?”

  Silbane looked down then fell back onto his haunches. “I don’t know.”

  Ash looked up at the sky, seeing now hundreds, perhaps thousands of floating islands. Where were they? Where was she?

  “What do you mean?” Ash asked softly.

  Silbane shook his head. “The horde was upon us. I tried to find her but there were too many. Then Tempest broke the ground below and we fell through, and I saw only the two of you.”

  The look in his eyes told Ash that the master blamed himself. Still, he demanded, “How could you lose her? She deserved our protection, more than her,” he said, pointing at Kisan.

  “I didn’t choose, Firstmark,” Silbane replied. “The ground opened and we fell through.”

  Ash got up, cursing. He looked at Tempest and then threw the blade down in disgust. The fact that he could do that, and that the blade had not said a word s
ince their fall, took him by surprise. He looked at Silbane in shock, who in turn stared at the blade. Ash assumed he was using that Sight he’d mentioned. “What do you see?

  “Sheathe her. It’s not wise to throw away a weapon we can use against the Aeris.”

  Ash shook his head. “I can be rid of her.”

  Silbane’s pale eyes moved from the blade to meet Ash’s own, boring into him. “And she may be the only one who can tell us which of these islands is Lilyth’s. If Yetteje survives, it’s reasonable to believe she’s Lilyth’s captive.”

  Ash stopped, just staring at Silbane. Then he took two steps forward and stabbed his finger at the blade and said, “She killed Sevel. She probably killed Chandra. Friends who trusted me, and she took their lives to keep me alive.” Tears blurred his vision. When he’d regained his composure he said, “I’ll not let her use me again.”

  Silbane was quiet, as if he could feel the distraught firstmark’s guilt threatening to spill over. Then he asked in a soft voice, “And what if I’m wrong? Which of us knows this realm at all? Would you sacrifice Yetteje and Niall to ease your own burden?”

  Ash held his hand to his head, closing his eyes. He could see himself just kicking Tempest off the edge to fall to oblivion, but the plight of Tej sapped his will and he knew he couldn’t refuse any chance to save either heir, even if it meant he’d risk Tempest’s obsession again.

  He dropped his eyes, then with reluctance picked up the quiescent blade and rammed her into her sheath. He didn’t want to chance giving her to either of the others for fear of their safety. Frustrated, he unfastened his sword belt and readjusted it so the blade lay on his back with the hilt over his shoulder. From there, he reasoned, no chance of Tempest “accidentally” being grasped by anyone, most of all himself. As soon as Yetteje was found he vowed he’d see this blade destroyed.