by Ben Hale
Red gestured to the delighted Marrow, who’d conjured a gigantic hat of light to complete her appearance of captain.
“I had an imagination as a child,” Red said, “but she gets to make her imagination come to life.”
“We’re riding a ship—inside a tree—away from marauders,” Winter remarked. “She’s making my dreams come true.”
Their former allies desperately sought to stop the ship with fire, but the effort seemed futile. Then a collection of dwarves gathered ahead and cast a wall of fire, the flames burning white hot.
“Hard to port!” Red shouted, and Marrow banked to starboard, causing Raiden to stumble to the deck.
“I said port!” Red said, also on her knees.
“Is that right or left?” Marrow called back.
“Left!” they chorused.
But it was too late, the wall of fire had boxed them into the corner between the army, the fire, and the barn. Raiden deflected another thrown torch and then leapt to Marrow. He pointed to the roof.
“It’s just a big wave,” he said.
She giggled and leaned back, the ship responding in kind, the roots pushing the prow upward. Limbs reached for the barn and pierced the wall, wrapping around the timbers and supports, lifting the ship off the ground. Like a huge spider, the tree scuttled up the barn to the roof.
Raiden clung to the rail as it went vertical, unable to stop his laughter as they scaled the barn like a ship breaching a mammoth wave. More laughter wafted across the ship, contrasting with the cries of dismay from the mob.
The structure groaned as the tree sailed up and across. Then the ship’s hull slammed into the roof and careened down the opposite side. Free of the trap, the ship sailed across the farm and up the slope, outstripping any pursuit on its way into the night.
“Stop them!” their pursuers screamed.
Marrow’s high-pitched laughter was their answer. They crested a rise and Raiden watched the destroyed farm fade into the distance. The tree’s passage had rent the earth, leaving craters and a trail of devastation over the barn. Holes pockmarked the roof and walls where the limbs had found purchase, and fire burned inside, spreading to the entire structure.
Over the rising flames Raiden spotted Holly and John freeing the Defiant. On the opposite side of the farm Holly looked back. Although he couldn’t see the woman’s expression, her posture was one of anger and loss. Then she turned and left her home behind.
Sadness gradually replaced his amusement, and one by one the others sobered. Eventually, Marrow too sensed the seriousness of the moment and looked at Raiden, her eyebrow going up.
“She wants to know where to sail.”
Raiden turned to Winter. “Where would we find Master Skerl?”
She raised her hands in a helpless gesture, but the body mage stepped forward. “He was split tri-mage,” he said. “Water and air as well as his rumored unique talent.”
“Prior to the Empire, Elsin used to travel to a village north of Herosian,” Winter said, nodding. “I assumed she had a refuge she used as a retreat from the pressures of her office, but what if she was preparing a contingency plan?”
“What’s the village?” Red asked.
“Willowbrook,” Winter said. “It’s a fishing village on the southern bank of Blue Lake.”
Raiden turned to Marrow. “Can you get us there?”
“She says yes.”
All at once the tree collapsed, causing the boat to drop to the ground and skid to a halt. Knocked to the deck, Raiden groaned as he pulled his way to his feet and turned to Marrow, who stood with the broken helm in her hands.
“She says no.”
Raiden nodded. “We’ve got a long way to go and not much time,” he said. “We all know what will happen if this plague spreads to Alydian’s army. Let’s get moving.”
They nodded and disembarked the treeship. In the midst of an empty field, the lone ship rested partially on its side, its railing broken and burnt, its hull cracked. As they walked away, Raiden couldn’t shake the feeling he’d abandoned their broken dreams.
Chapter 24: Cornered
Toron stepped free of the swamp and breathed deep of the clean air. Galathon too seemed relieved, and they camped a mile from the Evermist. Toron pored over the map. He’d shown the map and the notes to Galathon but the troll had merely shrugged.
“I’m not the tracker,” he said. “I only care about killing Elsin.”
With a destination in mind they worked their way to Keese. Rumors were rampant about Alydian invading the Empire, and of Elenyr turning into a spirit. Herosian had become the Empire’s capitol and Teriah was prepared to destroy the Griffin army.
The news hastened their steps, with even Galathon feeling the press of time. Reaching Keese, Galathon gathered his crew and they embarked on his ship, their destination an island in the open sea.
After everything they’d endured together, Toron felt that he’d gained the rock troll’s respect, but that respect did not extend to the crew. They eyed him with thinly veiled contempt throughout the journey, and he spent much of his time in his quarters.
As they approached the location on the map, a crewman spotted an island in the distance. Graced with towering crystalline spires and wondrous structures, the island was obviously one created by the ancients, yet none of the sailors had ever seen it.
“How does an island just appear?” one grumbled.
“It’s cursed,” another muttered. “Word is that ships disappear in this region. Now we know the cause.”
Galathon ignored them, and ordered the helmsman to turn towards the island. Barking orders for them to stand ready, Galathon shoved his way to the rail. Toron watched the coastline until a handful of broken hulls became visible on the shore, some newer than others.
“The Isle of the Dead!” a man cried.
Galathon glared at him and the man fell silent. Then Galathon ordered them to circle the island. Toron examined the strange buildings and pristine streets, but his eyes were drawn to the massive towers that rose from the center of the island.
Nothing moved, but the aura of dread crept over each of them, instilling a fearful silence only broken by the creak of the boat and the sea lapping at the hull. They passed around the far side of the island and Toron squinted, noticing a small opening against the sea cliff. He withdrew the map and notes and scanned to the second page, where he found a sketch of the cliff and entrance.
“There,” Toron said, pointing to the door.
Galathon pushed the helmsman aside and spun the wheel, banking them towards the island. With a deft twist he brought them to a soft halt against the cliff, and all eyes lifted to the door. Instead of at the level of the ocean, the door was twenty feet up, a short dock extending into thin air as if waiting for a flying ship to dock. The opening itself was a single recessed door.
“Why build a dock above the water?” someone asked.
“Hort,” Galathon said, “you have the ship. If we do not return by nightfall, sail half a mile to the north and return each day at noon.”
Toron stepped to the rigging and scaled to the crow’s nest. Timing the rise and fall of the ship, he leapt to the dock and cautiously approached the door. The dock trembled as Galathon and a dozen members of his crew followed, and a moment later Toron reached the door.
He paused to listen, and then dipped into his magic to see if there was any heat behind the door. In the shadows of the alcove, footprints of heat were just visible, as if someone had stood there just moments ago.
“Someone was here,” Toron murmured. “They’ve seen our approach.”
“Elsin?”
Toron shook his head. “I can’t be sure. But I think it’s best I open this door. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The rock troll grinned and Severon snorted. Galathon gestured an invitation and Toron approached the door. The circular portal was barely large enough for Galathon to enter. There was no latch, but when Toron stepped forward to examine it, the barrier rolled in
to the stone to the side, revealing an ancient passage stretching away into darkness.
“Who enters the ominous passage first?” Grogin asked.
“Not I,” Linx muttered.
Toron stepped over the threshold and began to advance, working his way up the sloped corridor. Severon fell into step behind him, the mind reaver padding behind Galathon and the other members of his crew. On silent feet they crept up the corridor until they reached an enormous cavern.
Filling nearly the whole of the small mountain, the cavern stretched for a thousand feet in one direction, and a few hundred in the other. Toron sucked in his breath as he saw the strange machinery that dominated the walls of the cave. A pair of tunnels extended away, presumably going to the city.
Strange lights and symbols marked the machinery, and paths navigated through pipes and glowing columns. Other tunnels extended away but all were blocked by barriers. The sole exception was a tunnel bound by thick glass. It turned beneath the machinery before curving east. The corridor was clearly intended to keep its occupants trapped, but who was it intended for? Toron stepped to the tunnel and touched its wall. It was not aquaglass, or even regular glass. Whatever it was, it felt incredibly strong.
“What is this place?” a sailor breathed.
“Doesn’t matter,” Galathon growled. “We’re here for Elsin. Severon?”
The mind reaver padded about, pausing as if sampling the air. Then it stalked forward and halted at the end of the transparent tunnel. It swayed side to side and then released a low snarl.
“I’m not going in there,” a human exclaimed.
Galathon picked him up by the throat and launched him through the opening. He bounced off a wall and tumbled to a stop, but nothing happened. Toron frowned at the display but shook his head.
“This could be a trap,” Toron murmured. “If this door shuts behind us . . .”
Galathon grunted, and then swung his axe. The huge blade smashed into a hinge, shattering it into bits of metal. The door groaned and fell onto its side, the second hinge snapping under the strain.
“She can’t shut us in now,” Galathon said. “Get moving.”
Toron would have preferred to keep their entry silent, but Galathon was anything but subtle. Scowling, he entered the tunnel with the rock troll and tried to suppress his unease. The path led deep into the machinery. Visible through the transparent walls and ceiling, the giant chamber contained an odd assortment of pipes and spheres, many of which were marked by color and strange symbols. Galathon struck the wall with his axe and frowned when it made no damage. Before he could strike harder, Toron shook his head.
“She may know we’re here,” he said, “but let’s try to surprise her.”
The troll grunted in irritation but held his curiosity in check. A moment later the corridor turned and left the machines behind. Led by the mind reaver, the group crept down the dim tunnel until it reached its end at a set of stairs. Toron peered upward and realized the stairs led to a second chamber. He hesitated but Galathon strode upward. Cursing the troll under his breath, Toron followed.
The room at the top of the stairs was cavernous and dark enough Toron couldn’t see the walls. Then he spotted an opening across from the stairs that led to a hall. They advanced towards it—but Linx darted ahead of him and stepped through. Then he leapt to a pedestal and slapped his hand onto a rune.
Light blossomed in the chamber, causing them to shield their eyes. Rooms ringed the circular space, each facing the central room, while stairs allowed access to the higher levels. One by one the bandits and marauders cursed, and then Toron realized it was because they recognized the chamber.
It was a prison.
“Out!” Galathon barked.
“Too late,” Linx said.
He smirked and touched another rune, causing the opening in the clear wall to slam shut, separating Linx from the rest of them. Realizing they’d been betrayed, Toron sprinted for the way they’d entered.
“Back the way we came!” he shouted.
They whirled, but the steps were already rising, each one lifting straight up until they merged together, blending into the floor without seam or joint. Toron’s gut tightened as he realized Elsin had used the ancient’s prison to trap them. Then Elsin stepped from the shadows to join Linx.
Her features smug, she came to a halt on the other side of a transparent wall and folded her arms. Galathon roared and charged, bringing his axe down upon the barrier with all his might. The weapon bounced off, leaving no mark on the smooth surface. Elsin watched as Galathon continued to strike at the barrier. Although he doubted it would be effective, Toron stepped to the troll’s side and added fire to the effort, and the other sailors did the same, striking at the transparent wall with blade and magic.
Their desperate attempt to breach the wall waned when it became clear it was futile. Still standing with her arms folded, Elsin watched them until they finally stopped trying. Then her smile widened and she swept her hand at the prison.
“Welcome to the City of Dawn,” she said.
Her voice sounded like it came from within the room. Galathon barked an order and the group spread out, searching for a way to reach her, but the woman simply regarded Toron with a frown.
“No cage will stop me from killing you,” Galathon snarled, and then pointed his axe at Linx. “Or the traitor.”
“She paid me well,” Linx said. “How could I refuse?”
Elsin laughed, her voice filled with scorn. Then she turned to Toron. “Hello, husband.”
“Our joining is over,” he said with a scowl. “I’m not your husband anymore.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. But minds change.”
“Not this one,” Toron said. “Where’s Mal?”
He stepped into view at her side. Tall for a youth, he conveyed an aura of power that filled his dark eyes. Toron called out to him but he did not speak or even acknowledge that he’d heard Toron.
“I swear I’ll kill you for what you’ve done,” Toron growled, turning his gaze upon Elsin.
“It’s not too late, you know,” she said, stepping close to the prison wall. “You can still join me.”
“I’d rather see you in a grave.”
“Please, Father?” Mal asked. “Mother made me better now, yet you are filled with hate. Did you not want me to be healed?”
His tone was different from their encounter at the ancient tower, more subdued. Almost timid, he wanted Toron to join them, but Toron recognized the glimmer of madness in the youth’s gaze, the legacy of the guardian spell.
“Mal,” Toron said. In an instant his anger was replaced by an ache, and he reached out to touch the wall. “You don’t understand.”
Mal shook his head, sending his dark hair dancing in front of his eyes. “If you could only see what mother has done, you would never have betrayed her.”
“Me betray her?” he asked. “She broke you.”
Mal’s eyebrows knit together. “She made me whole.”
“You WERE whole!”
Mal shook his head and retreated. “You don’t understand, but you will soon. Then mother will decide to keep you . . . or destroy you.”
He turned and departed, leaving Toron to slam his fist helplessly against the wall. Elsin took her son’s place and met Toron’s gaze, her expression inscrutable. Toron looked to her with hatred and loathing.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Your stay won’t be pleasant, but it won’t be long. And at least you’ll get to witness my final victory.”
Galathon snarled at her. “You think your intrigue will gain praise from the oracles?”
She burst into a mocking laugh. “You thought I was here for the Empire? You truly know nothing.”
Her words managed to breach the haze of anger. “But you serve the oracles.”
“I don’t want to serve the oracles,” she said, and smiled. “I want to be an oracle.”
Chapter 25: Elenyr’s Gambit
As midnight approached, Alydian
paced in her tent, barely able to contain her mounting tension. After her mother’s rising, Alydian had filled the pit and sought to comfort the people that her mother had died. She hid her consternation, confusion, and anger behind a mask of sorrow.
Alydian had ordered privacy and Devkin remained outside the tent, ensuring they would not be interrupted. To protect against anyone overhearing, she’d placed muffling charms about the tent, forming a bubble that allowed her to pace in solitude.
Long after dark, a burst of greenish smoke erupted from the ground and her mother rose into view. Her flesh still showed the ethereal green from before but the solidity remained. Dressed in a translucent cloak and cowl, she wore a sword at her side and looked every inch the warrior.
“Daughter,” she said with a smile.
“Mother.”
Elenyr’s smile faded and she sighed. “Perhaps I owe you an explanation.”
“Do you have any idea what the last two days have been like?” Alydian demanded. “I watched you rise from the dead and then disappear. I don’t even know what you are—and I’ve been trying to comfort the people that think you dead. Did you die? Are you even an elf anymore? I can’t believe you left with barely a—”
“I’m sorry,” Elenyr said. “I should have told you what I intended.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t know if it would work,” Elenyr replied.
“You mean it could have killed you?”
Elenyr let out a long breath. “I was dealing with unknown magics, and there was a good chance I would die in agony.”
“What exactly did you do?”
“I gave up my life for a new one,” she said.
“But why?” Alydian asked. “Why risk it?”
“Because I wanted more,” Elenyr said, her voice filling with emotion. “I’ve been an oracle for over eight hundred years and witnessed hundreds of thousands of lives—yet never had one of my own.”
“I don’t understand,” Alydian said, her anger dissipating against the yearning in her mother’s voice.