The Hollow: At The Edge

by Andrew Day

  Victor charged him as Serrel started weaving. Vharaes was faster, his shield blocking Serrel’s spell dead in its tracks as his sword came up to face Victor.

  The battle wasn’t long, but it seemed to Serrel to last hours. All he could do was hang back at a safe distance, throwing spell after spell at Vharaes whenever he saw an opening, shielding himself from any attacks. But the elf was impossible, dancing across the rooftop, weaving the ether around him even as he fended off Victor’s attacks. The two combatants slashed and stabbed at one another fiercely, their swords flashing in the sunlight, metal shrieking against metal, as fire, lightning and burst of energy as bright as the sun were thrown back and forth through the air.

  Even two against one, Vharaes held his own. His blade cut Victor more times than Serrel could count, while Victor had not made even a scratch on the elf. And Serrel was reaching his limit. He had spent days weaving, running to and from danger, on bad food and little sleep. He could feel the Hollow rising up to meet him as he weaved faster and more frantically than ever before. But to no avail. Vharaes was not slowing. He barely even out of breath.

  At least he had stopped smiling, though.

  Then Victor faltered, his fatigue caught up with him, and Vharaes seized his chance. He blocked Victor’s strike, and forced his blade high. Then he lashed out with his free hand, the palm of his left hand barely touching the boy’s chest.

  Serrel couldn’t act. They were too close together to put up a shield, and he didn’t want a spell to hit Victor. But it didn’t matter. Vharaes’ spell hit Victor in the chest so hard, Serrel heard his ribs crack from the other side of the tower. It lifted him off his feet and threw him backwards through the air, his sword flung from his hand. He hit the ground hard and slid across the smooth stone surface, right over the edge of the roof, and out of sight.

  For a second, Serrel couldn’t move. He just stared in shock at the place where his friend had vanished from sight, and fallen.

  Vharaes closed his eyes and took a breath. Then he straightened, and faced Serrel.

  “Last chance, boy. Turn around and walk away.”

  Serrel swallowed, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t scared out of his mind. “I can’t,” he replied.

  “This isn’t your fight,” Vharaes said sadly.

  “I took the bronze.” Even to Serrel, that sounded lame. But it was true. He’d taken the Legion bronze. He’d taken an oath. Maybe for the dumbest reasons possible, but he had done it. He had to accept it, this was his responsibility. There was no one else here.

  And he didn’t run. Not anymore.

  “So?” Vharaes said. “It’s just a coin.”

  “How many people have died?” Serrel asked him. “I can’t let you get away.”

  “You can’t stop me. Whether you live or die, it changes nothing.”

  Serrel sighed. “I have to try.”

  Vharaes shook his head. “Very well, then.”

  His hand rose, and then there was fire, burning everywhere. Serrel barely cast his shield in time, and then the inferno was upon him. He couldn’t see anything in any direction, only flames, slowly changing colour as Vharaes made them hotter and hotter. Red flame became yellow, which turned blue, which brightened into a blinding white. The stones of the tower roof blackened and cracked. A few simply exploded, chunks of flying rock crashing into the shield. Serrel pushed everything he had into the barrier, pumped more and more energy into it, until his vision began to blur, and finally fade.

  Then without warning, the flames vanished. All around him, the rooftop was black and smoking. And standing right in front of him was Vharaes, his sword pointed at his throat.

  Serrel didn’t drop his shield, even though he was all but spent. It was all he could do not to fall over.

  Vharaes regarded him with interest. “You’re more powerful than I gave you credit for, boy. What did you say your name was again?”

  Serrel stared him straight in the eye. “Serrel Hawthorne.”

  “Really?” Vharaes raised an eyebrow. “Serrel. That’s a weird name. Well, Serrel Hawthorne, I am impressed. You wouldn’t happen to have any elven blood in you?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Guess you’re just good. One day, you may even be as good as me. It would be a shame to kill you. So why don’t you just fall over now, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Why? I think I’m getting my second wind.” Serrel’s voice was slurred.

  “Cute. But you’re done, Serrel. I can see it in your eyes. You are about to fall into the Hollow, and the black abyss will swallow you up. That is a terrible way to die.”

  “The Hollow only kills you if you let it,” Serrel replied.

  “The Hollow takes everyone in the end. So be it.”

  Vharaes’ sword slashed through the air. When it hit Serrel’s shield, it bounced off, but the shock sent Serrel staggering back. Vharaes came at him with fast, lethal swings. Serrel didn’t lower his shield, but made it smaller, projecting it from the end of his staff so that he could parry the blows and stay moving.

  He didn’t stand a chance. He had never been that good at close combat. He’d always put his weaving practice first. Something he’d have to add to the list of regrets he was compiling.

  With a rapid flurry of blows, Vharaes hammered his shield, then slipped past his defences and with a single backhanded stroke, cut Serrel’s staff clean in two.

  Serrel felt his staff shudder, and die. He stood for a moment with a piece of useless wood in either hand, then shot Vharaes a dark look. “You are such a bastard.”

  Vharaes shrugged, then kicked him in the gut, hard enough that he stumbled backwards and fell, his upper body landed halfway over the edge of the tower. As he gasped for breath, trying hard not to slip backwards and fall to his death, he looked up to see Vharaes looming over him.

  “You know,” Vharaes said conversationally. “It is only when you stand at the edge of the Hollow and stare into the blackness that you can know yourself. You stand at the edge, and you can leap into the blackness, or you can fall. Do you understand the difference, Serrel? The choice between letting yourself die, and taking control of your own fate?”

  Serrel nodded. “I think I do.”

  “You leapt. I think you can be proud, knowing you died bravely.”

  Serrel thought about that. “Not really.”

  He had one arm hanging down over the edge of the tower. Unexpectedly, something hard and rounded was pressed against his palm. He closed his hand around it.

  Vharaes shrugged. “No, I suppose not. Goodbye, Serrel.” He raised his sword.

  With every ounce of strength he had left, Serrel heaved himself up and stabbed the dagger he had found in his hand straight into Vharaes’ leg. Vharaes cried out in pain and surprise, and stumbled off balance. In the brief moment of time he had, Serrel lunged forward and grabbed a hold of Vharaes, and pulled him to the ground. A hand grasped around his throat and started to squeeze, as Serrel clamped a hand over the elf’s mouth.

  You didn’t need a staff to weave the ether, or some fancy tattoo. That just made it easier. Serrel didn’t think. He just focused all his remaining willpower, every last iota of energy left in his being, and weaved the ether into a ball of pure energy in his hand.

  There was a loud crack, then Vharaes’ eyes went wide, just moments before the back of his head exploded outwards with a gross popping sound. Then the elf went limp.

  Serrel collapsed under the weight of Vharaes’ body, and dropped down into the Hollow.

  He was empty, completely and utterly voided of everything. The elves called it the waking abyss, and that was a good name. There was nothing but never ending blackness inside. Like there was a hole where your soul should have been.

  Nothing but the black within. No hope, no will to live. Just the long stretch of time to remember how empty your life truly was. There hardly seemed any point to even continue breathing. The energy he had held had kept him going, but without it, what was he
? Nothing. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t save anyone.

  They were all dead by now, all his friends. He hadn’t seen Mouse since they had gotten separated. The rest of Pond Scum had no chance. The Hounds would have been decimated. And poor Victor. Who would have thought Victor would have been afraid of heights? And to have fallen to his death...

  Except Victor wasn’t dead.

  No, that’s not right, he fell off the tower...

  No, Victor was on the stairs, stretching up as far as he could, pushing a knife into Serrel’s hand as he lay there at the mercy of Vharaes.

  Victor was alive. Serrel could hear him calling his name. He felt a heavy weight being pushed off him, the sensation so distant.

  If Victor was alive...

  He thought of the faces of his friends, of the people who had depended on him, and he thought about how the Hollow could only kill you if you let it. If you chose to lay there in the empty dark and give up.

  With what little strength he had left, Serrel rolled over...

  And opened his eyes. He stared upward at Victor.

  “Aren’t you dead?” he asked stupidly.

  “Almost,” replied Victor. “Let’s just say I’m eternally grateful that whoever designed this stupid tower put the stairs on the outside. I think I may have broken my arm, though.”

  He was standing awkwardly, his right arm cradled against his chest.

  “Thanks for the knife,” Serrel said.

  “Don’t mention it. I’d have thrown it myself, but the angle was wrong. Come on, get up.”

  “No, I’m fine here,” Serrel lay back down. “Just give me a minute.”

  Victor slapped him across the face. “Stop being an idiot and get up!”

  “All right, all right! I’m getting up!”

  Serrel let Victor yank him roughly to his feet, even though it obviously caused him pain. He stared groggily down at Vharaes.

  “Guess you took care of him then,” noted Victor.

  “I guess so,” agreed Serrel. He realised he probably should have felt something about the fact that he had just violently killed a man, but... No. He felt nothing, and in all honesty didn’t think it was worth giving the elf a moment of pity. He’d brought it on himself.

  “Can we go?” asked Victor. “Preferably someplace lower down.”

  “Sure.”

  “Hold on one moment.” Victor winced painfully as he stooped over and picked up Vharaes’ sword.

  “What are you doing?” asked Serrel. “You’re looting now?”

  “Did you see what he did to me? The bastard owes me a sword. Besides, looting is allowed if it’s from the other side. Come on.”

  Serrel paused by the stairs, then went back to the body.

  “Serrel?”

  “Well, if you’re taking the sword...”

  He ducked down next to the body, and took out his knife. Rather than try to pull the satchel off of Vharaes, he cut the straps and took the bag.

  “It might be useful,” he explained.

  Victor opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent, his face contorting into an expression of shock. He called out a warning, just as Serrel heard the beating of wings, and felt the heavy thud as something landed on the roof of the tower behind him. Judging from the look on Victor’s face, he didn’t think anything good was about to happen. Very slowly, he turned around.

  And there it was. He knew without a doubt that this was the creature that had been spying on them, flying overhead as monsters had attacked them. The creature that had caused all this trouble, and made the monsters that had hunted them through the forests.

  The thing folded two pairs of massive wings across its back. Similar to bird’s wings, except instead of feathers, they were covered in strange elongated black scales that shimmered with iridescence in the rising sun. Standing up straight, it towered several heads over him, long arms ending in three clawed hands unfolding like some giant praying mantis. A smaller pair of arms unfolded from its mid section, stretching its stiff joints. It wore a long black robe that covered everything but the its head and its hands. It’s exposed skin was pale, and appeared hard and calcified, like exposed bone.

  Its head was either smooth and featureless, or it wore some sort of mask made from polished white bone. Only its eyes, large and glowing green, devoid of any iris or pupils, were visible.

  But it could still see, in its own way. It looked straight at Serrel, then down at Vharaes, and back to him again.

  Well done.

  The voice was cold and featureless, springing straight into his head without making any real sound.

  “Are you... talking to me?” Serrel asked tentatively.

  Yes. He was a not inconsiderable foe. Your survival speaks much of your ability.

  “I had help... Uh... How are you talking to me?”

  Everything is energy. Even thought. It is a simple thing to weave such things into the mind of another, especially if the other is receptive to the ether as you are.

  “You can read my mind?”

  No. I merely project the thoughts. Minds are too complex to allow me to discern their processes...

  “Who are you?”

  “Serrel, what are doing?” Victor hissed at him.

  It occurred to Serrel that if the creature was telling the truth, then perhaps Victor wasn’t hearing the entire conversation. He ignored him.

  “What are you?” he asked the creature.

  That is... unimportant. You may call me Narak.

  “All right... Narak. What do you want?”

  Many things. But at this moment, I require that bag. It held up one long appendage, and gestured at the satchel in Serrel’s grip.

  Serrel glanced down at the bag, and decided not to be a hero. He held the bag out for Narak, and let the creature gently take it from him with wickedly long claws.

  Thank you. Might I also have your name?

  He hesitated. But there hardly seemed much point in being secretive. “Serrel.”

  Serrel. It is good to finally meet you, face to face.

  “So you have been watching me. Watching all of us. You sent all those things to kill us.”

  I sent them to find you. Whether they killed you or not was up to them.

  “You controlled them.”

  No. I did not. I do not believe in taking over the mind of another creature, thought it is well within my ability to do so. I believe in freedom of choice, in being master of one’s own fate. I merely presented my fellow creatures with an idea. The promise of food, my gratitude for the services of their hunting skills. I did not drive them, as a man would drive a horse tied to a cart.

  “You tried to kill us. You sent kraken to destroy the fleet and drown us.”

  If I had wanted to destroy you all, I would have turned you all into ash with single thought. I lured the kraken to the desired location with but a single thought: the prospect of food. I warned their prey of the coming slaughter, so that they ran. They ran to you. But I did not drive them to attack you, nor to kill. I could have. But I had thought to warn you, to demonstrate the foolishness of your actions. But you humans. You are so stubborn.

  “Are you telling me you did all that just to try and prove a point?”

  It was preferable to violence. That would have been an easy choice. I could have killed you all a dozen times over, Serrel. In fact, I could have let you fall, and break upon those rocks.

  Serrel started at that. “You did it. You saved me. Why?”

  I was intrigued. I see the ether, flowing in and around all things. I see the ripples cast by those who walk through it, like your companion over there with the very sharp knife. They are so small as to be almost inconsequential. But you. Where you walk, the ether twists itself into a maelstrom. It seethes at at your passing. Such potential should not be wasted.

  “I’ve nearly died... the gods only know how many times. Are you saying you interfered then as well?”

  Not always. Afterall, what is potential without the capaci
ty to be used? What is power without the ability to wield it? I saved you from a single pointless end, when you lacked the ability to save yourself. But otherwise, had you not shown the skill and capacity to save yourself, I would have gladly seen you perish.

  “I don’t like being someone’s puppet,” Serrel told the creature angrily.

  Nor I. Which is why I have kept my distance. I live by the tenants I myself fight for.

  “You worked with him,” Serrel pointed at Vharaes. “What could possibly be worth that?”

  Many important reasons. Perhaps one day you will understand, if you look hard enough.

  “So are you going to kill me now?”

  Narak cocked its head in thought. No, It told him finally. I do not think I will. It would serve no purpose, and I am curious to see what will become of you. One day, you and I may be of use to each other.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Not at the moment. But you will change your mind. You must know, this war you fight is not what you think it is.

  “What do you mean?”

  Just that. Be sure your battles are the right ones. Be sure you are fighting for what you believe, or you will surely destroy yourself. In the meantime, allow me to present you with a parting gift.

  The creature gestured one claw towards him, and Serrel felt a huge spike of energy shoot straight through him and empty itself into the Hollow inside him.

  Victor saw him shudder, and not realising what was happening, threw the knife in his hand at Narak.

  The blade flew through air, and came to a complete stop half a metre from the creature’s head, floating perfectly still in mid-air. Narak regarded the knife with interest. It touched the tip of the blade with its claw, sending it slowly turning end over end without heed of gravity.

  Impressive. You are all such talented creatures.

  Serrel felt the energy transferred inside him. He hated himself for thinking it, but it did feel nice to have energy within himself again.

  “Thank you, I suppose,” he said. “So... what now?”

  Narak spread its four arms wide, claws extended. In the air above its claws, a ball of fire ignited into existence above each hand, one by one.