Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  “I know.” He tried to lever her to sit up more, but stopped when she gasped in pain.

  “My leg.”

  He looked down, cursing at the dark, then called softly to the men to gather on his position. At his signal another man struck flint to steel and relit a small torch discarded in the fight. The area they were in came into sharp focus as the orange light took hold of the oil-soaked rag and illuminated the place of their last stand.

  Yevaine’s handiwork elicited a soft whistle of appreciation from the captain. “Well, you saved your own life, judging by all the blood. I don’t know if the torch fire is going to get any steel hot enough to seal it.” He looked at her, his face mirroring his concern.

  She pressed her lips together against the pain. “Jesse had a gutbag with her…can you find it?” The medicine satchels their corpsman affectionately referred to as gutbags were made from the stomachs of goats. She hoped they’d find Jesse too, but in case the medic hadn’t survived they all had a soldier’s knowledge of basic field aid.

  The men used the torch to light a few more, then one hurried off to search. Yevaine watched them disappear into the gloom, then took stock of her surroundings. The disarray hinted at by the shadows and silhouettes was now given harsh truth by torchlight. Body parts lay strewn about, ripped from sockets and cast aside. The queen had a hard time understanding the scene, the wanton destruction spattering the area with the blood and gore of her men. In a way it was so lurid it didn’t look real.

  She’d wondered at their survival. It seemed likely they’d been left for dead. Looking at her men was mute testament. Each was covered head to toe in black blood and bits of bone and flesh. If she looked half as bad it was doubtful anyone would have believed her lungs could still draw air. Still, the question about their survival nagged her and the fact that they had not been possessed was stranger still. As far as she could tell, every man who had fallen was accounted for amongst their dead.

  “What drove them off?” she asked softly, her hushed tones paying homage to the sanctity of the ground as her men’s lives lay pooled about them.

  There was silence, awkward enough that it drew her eyes up from the scene of carnage. The men stared at her, clearly unwilling to answer. She turned to Kalindor and raised an eyebrow.

  “Y-you did… Your Grace,” one of the men stammered.

  “Me?” she didn’t remember that.

  “Blue fire from your blade. It lit the dark and those mist things burned.”

  Dalaran, she recalled his name now and said, “Sergeant, did you see this for yourself?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Aye, Your Grace. You screamed as the crowned demon pierced your leg. No one could get to you in time. You fell—”

  Kalindor held up a hand. “Do you not remember?”

  Yevaine thought about it. The mention of the crowned demon should have brought back a name, or at the very least an image. Nothing came to mind, and certainly no memory of blue fire used against these demons. She met Kalindor’s gaze and shook her head.

  Something else was going on, and it was the captain’s turn to look uncomfortable. His eye dropped from hers seemingly to inspect the ground between them.

  She grabbed his hand and said, “Out with it.”

  Kalindor sighed, and if expressions could say he wished he were anywhere but here, the queen thought the look on his face was more eloquent than any words. Softly, almost to himself, he said, “The demon called himself the Morningstar.” He paused to see if this jogged her memory at all.

  She squeezed his hand again, demanding he continue. Whatever Kalindor was about to say called to something held deep within her, a truth she did not want to hear. A pit had formed in her stomach, a dread she could not put name or face to.

  “He said… he said our king…” Kalindor could not continue, hanging his head down as his fingers tightened on the queen’s hand. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

  By the Lady, the demon had said her husband had fallen! The fight, her stand and fall, the grief washing out of her in blue flames… it all came back with a sudden gut-wrenching blow that seemed to take what little air she had left.

  “Bernal,” she gasped, her indrawn breath catching in her throat.

  Captain Kalindor closed his arms around her, encircling her in an embrace meant to succor and console. The shock of realization left her body numb as her mind detached itself again, watching from a place where nothing hurt. Even the pain as his hug dragged her injured leg across the shattered ground didn’t rise to the point where she took any notice. The demon said Bernal had fallen to his blade. She remembered it now. She remembered her husband was dead.

  She heard the other man come back and saw he had the corpsman’s bag in hand. Of Jesse there was no sign. Her vision went gray as Kalindor laid her back down, turning his attention to her leg and the tourniquet. He would fix the wound, she knew. They all were exceedingly good at living. They would fix her and ask that she persevere, offering platitudes like “life goes on,” or “it was Fate’s dice.” It’s what soldiers did. It was all they knew.

  The gray turned to black, but she could still hear. The pressure was released, and a sudden warmth flooded down her leg. She wondered if it was her blood, or at least what little was left of it. If there was to be a purpose to her living, let it be to slay the demon who took her husband from her. Yevaine breathed out, a vow without words. Bara’cor would not be both their graves.

  Then blackness mercifully took her and she felt no more.

  Orion’s Remorse

  When summiting a mountain,

  Experience, faith, skill, and stamina

  go hand in hand with fear.

  All will have their moment to lead,

  But give only a little rope when fear takes its turn.

  - Keren Dahl, Shornhelm Survivor's Guide

  The lance of light stabbed downward, slicing through clouds and spearing the ground with blinding brilliance. Its impact sent a shudder through the earth, a clarion call, a signal declaring Ascension was at hand.

  From inside the spear of light in the center of the clearing created by the blast a figure appeared. He looked around, taking a deep breath and then letting it go with the weariness of a man who knew the scope of the task ahead.

  “Orion.” The name echoed out across the landscape, reverberating the air with his summons. He did not have long to wait.

  Footsteps, sounding like a giant drum, thunderous and slow, shook the earth. Something massive approached. Then from nothing the form of an armored, angelic god appeared, winged and resplendent in silver armor edged in aquamarine. He stood three men’s height and looked down on the tiny being before him. Tilting his head, he sank to a knee so that his eyes were level with the robed man. A white smile flashed from beneath his helm and in a voice that echoed across the landscape he said, “Thoth, I welcome you to this joyous event.”

  Thoth nodded, returning the smile, though nothing in his face reflected an emotion like joy. Hard work, warrior’s work, perhaps butcher’s work, lay ahead. To the Aeris Lord, it seemed Thoth was in no mood to bandy words back and forth. Instead the Keeper addressed Orion curtly and said, “The boy may not be ready. I push Giridian to advance him because of the urgency—”

  “And is there not urgency, Keeper? Even now Lilyth’s forces array themselves for the final thrust into the living world. She will gain life for her people at Edyn’s expense.” Orion lowered his gaze, ashamed for having interrupted the ancient lore master, but he could not hide his eagerness to join Artorius and the rest in Ascension. Then, by way of apology he offered, “You may be correct, but you know we have little choice. Helios and I faced nephilim near the henge. Though none escaped our blades, I know not from whence they came.” His voice came out low, like a rumble from the earth.

  “There’s something else,” Orion began. The Aeris Lord paused, then looked over to his left. From behind him stepped his companion Helios, cradling a girl in his arm.

  Thoth’s eyes widene
d when he saw who the girl was. “Princess Tir of EvenSea,” he said, addressing her formally.

  The girl sprang down from Helios’s arms and stepped forward. “And you are?”

  Orion watched as the Keeper bowed. “May I present myself to Your Grace. I am Thoth, the Keeper. You bear witness to a momentous thing, Princess.”

  Tej bowed. “Thank you. And just who are you?”

  “That question comes with a long tale, one which we sadly do not have time to tell. May I condense it by saying my task oversees the needs of more than one world?”

  The girl seemed to consider this before responding. She smiled graciously, then looked at her guardian and said, “Orion tells me this is a trial of some kind?”

  The Keeper nodded. “Much of what stems the tide of darkness in Edyn begins here. I promise you the full telling but must ask your pardon, for the Trial begins. If you would be so kind as to allow us to continue?”

  “Of course, Keeper.” The girl bowed and it seemed to Orion she had sense enough to understand she was in no danger. “But I will hold you to that promise.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Answers will come, little cat. Stand here.” He indicated a space to one side, far from the area he knew would be the killing ground.

  Thoth did not move, his eyes seemingly searching for something in Orion’s face. Then he asked, “You understand what must be done if the boy fails? You cannot fall to the dark.”

  Orion looked up, his eyes meeting Thoth’s own steady gaze, and nodded. “I know my work.” He then rose to his full height and stepped back from Thoth and intoned, “You may begin the Test, Keeper. I submit to the Trial of Ascension.”

  Thoth also stepped back and brought his staff before him. He looked at the princess, then at the Aeris Lord and said, “Watcher, you will hold the line.”

  Orion bowed, assuring, “I will earn my right to stand with you. I am the light, and darkness shall not pass me.” He couldn’t help but see Tej’s eyes widen a bit at that.

  Thoth took a breath and released it, his body sagging as if only air held him up, then brought the staff up and slammed it into the ground. At impact a detonation of sound and a white plume of power sprang from the ground, racing around the Aeris Lord in a circle of power. The circle of power grew out and up, reaching far above Orion’s head and enclosing him in a giant dome of pearlescent energy. When the dome had grown to its full size, it formed an arena in which stood alone, a deadly sentinel against whatever came next. Thoth surveyed his work and then said, “It is done. You understand I will stand as proof against your failure.” Thoth seemed to hesitate for a moment, then added, “I too, know my work.”

  Orion nodded, knowing what that meant. Should he fall to these dark shades, these nephilim, Thoth would collapse the dome and obliterate everything inside. He drew his blade, the metal ringing a pure note as it cleared its scabbard. His wings flexed, shining and armored, each feather ending in a razor keen edge. His visor snapped down, leaving only aV for his eyes, sealing him from the deadly touch of what he was about to face. He turned and watched the center of the circle, his weapons ready. He had waited an eternity for this and knew Tomas would prove worthy of Ascension.

  At first, nothing could be seen. The clearing was silent, lit by the unearthly glow of the dome above. He risked a glance at the princess and saw her eyes riveted to the scene. Hopefully she would maintain her composure, for this calm was a facade. Orion knew better and waited. His patience was rewarded as ghostly figures of people soon appeared, at first faintly, then growing in solidity until they could be easily identified.

  Initiate Tomas battled his four elemental doppelgängers in his Test of Ascension, just as Jesyn had before. The boy moved quickly, jumping around the fire elemental and engaging the one made of earth. He brought his considerable strength to bear, forcing the earth elemental back toward the perimeter made of earth in a flurry of strikes and counter strikes.

  Orion’s eyes narrowed. “He does not see the crux of the Test.”

  Thoth answered from outside the dome, “Neither have many at this point. Stand ready.”

  The other elemental copies of Tomas attacked the boy from behind, striking him with a ferocity that could be felt even through the faint but clear image. At every hit the boy cried out in pain, and Orion brought his weapon up, his eyes searching. Pain and fear were real here, and deadly. Archmage Giridian called “hold” and knew the first round had just been completed. Now would come the dark fears Tomas held, given life and hunger by his desperation.

  Tomas’s emotions manifested themselves immediately, nephilim rising in the dome. They were vaguely humanoid, with feral yellow eyes, yet looked nothing like the feline creatures who paid obeisance to Lilyth, nor the dark elves they had battled at the henge.

  These were different, hulking things born from the fears of the one who had created them. They were brutes, heavy, large like Tomas, but with a faint caste of something almost wolf-like. Half a dozen appeared and howled as a pack. Then they caught the scent of the armored angel and turned, sprinting for the Aeris Lord as if they hungered for his very substance.

  Orion whipped one wing and blades flew out with deadly accuracy. They speared through two of the shades, dissipating them into nothingness in an explosion of black mist. The Aeris Lord didn’t waste a moment but turned and tucked under his other wing, shielding him from their deadly touch, then spun and slashed out with his long blade. The fine edge cut through two more, exploding them into the same dead, black mist.

  Orion knew one touch from these creatures on his unarmored skin would mean he too would become a nephilim, hungering for others of his kind. Thoth would never allow that and collapse this circle killing everything inside. Orion would face ever-increasingly powerful shades the boy created as his fear and despair grew. The Aeris Lord hoped Tomas could master his fears before he fell or Thoth killed them both. In this way they both were being Tested, and to survive, they both would have to Ascend.

  Orion punched a gauntleted fist into a nephilim and walked through its exploding mist, then stabbed his long blade through the open jaws of the last. The cloud of black flowed around him, swirling into small eddies in his wake. His wings flapped once, a casual dismissal as the last wisps of those who had not proved worthy to face him died. These creatures had been easy, but they would grow far more deadly as the Test continued.

  The girl had not moved and that did not surprise him. Her actions in the last battle had been confident and precise. He doubted she would run from this, but when he passed his Trial, he’d instructed Helios to look after her. He would be joined with Tomas and begin a new life in Edyn. That fact had always filled him with joy, but since meeting Tej it was tinged with a bit of sorrow, a melancholy note when he thought of leaving her behind.

  His attention was brought back by the lore father saying, “Begin.” The next round commenced and Tomas dodged the elementals, using the space in his testing area to try to buy time. Orion watched, knowing he could in no way help. The boy would have to figure it out on his own. Tomas tried punching the fire elemental and burned his hand. He tried grabbing the water elemental and was pummeled by air and earth until with an almost audible snap in his arm he fell, gasping.

  His right arm looked broken, and his eye was swollen shut, a trickle of blood from one corner meandering down his cheek like a tiny river of pain. A small sob escaped and Lore Father Giridian could once again be heard to announce, “hold.”

  “He still does not see, and now his despair grows,” Orion announced worriedly, though his eyes never left his own arena.

  “It is the Way,” Thoth replied. “Even now he’s being tempered. Hold your place.”

  “What if he doesn’t pass?” asked Yetteje in a soft voice. She had moved a little closer to Thoth, the companionship of someone else clearly providing some solace in the presence of so much suffering.

  Orion could feel the boy’s despair growing and answered just as softly, “Some blades break at the quench.”<
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  Now Tomas faced his final round and his face showed he knew it meant success or death. They couldn’t read his expression but he would be deciding if he continued, for this was his last chance to stop. They watched him take a breath, his eyes closed as he sought to master himself. Orion knew what would result if he failed and made himself ready, once again focusing on whatever came next. Then the boy nodded once.

  The circle erupted as more nephilim appeared, but these were larger, more solid, a sign the boy had still not understood the key to the Test. His panic fed these things, making them stronger, more dangerous. The Aeris Lord moved in quickly, his wings snapping out and raining blades of death into the pack.

  Unlike the previous encounter, his wing blades stuck into these shades but did not destroy them outright. Instead, it angered them. They roared like animals and ripped at their bodies. At their touch the blades dissipated into fine white mist, leaving behind wounds that quickly started to heal. Then they attacked.

  Orion ducked under the first and kicked out, catching another in the face. His sword stabbed through the creature’s neck and the body exploded in a black mist. His wing came up and stopped a rake from a dark clawed hand, and he spun and cut, separating that hand from the arm. The creature pulled back but Orion followed with a wing, the forward edge keen enough to slice through the creature’s torso and another explosion of black smoke covered his form.

  A fist struck his helm like a maul, knocking him over onto his back and they were upon him like animals, trying to find a way through his armor and to his skin. Somewhere in the background he thought he heard Tej scream. The impact had knocked his long blade away, so he grabbed the one with claws on his helm and punched it in the throat, then fumbled at his own belt until he drew his short dagger and stabbed. The sudden release of weight told him he had killed another.

  Something slammed into his chest and a rib cracked. He flexed and his wings bent forward, then slammed backward into the ground. The force of the strike and his prodigious strength ripped him from the nephilim’s grasp, catapulting him up out of the cloud of black smoke and into the shining light of the dome.