by Greg James
And when there were but a few remaining foes of either side, the Dragons and the Unicorns found that they were only two: Sula and Adraxis. They pursued E’blis into the Nightlands with the surviving Daughter of the Flame on Adraxis’ back. They ascended the Shadowhorn and confronted the fallen Creator of Men among its highest crags. It was then that E’blis spoke to Sula.
“Most ancient and greatest of the Dragons, how is it that you are now alone in the world? How does it come to pass that a being so powerful and magnificent sacrifices his kith and kin for the lives of fleshy spawn such as this?”
Adraxis called out to Sula, telling his brother not to heed the words of E’blis. But it was already far too late.
“How has it come to pass that you have lost all those whom you love this day? Do they not lie rotting on the battlefield among creatures that once venerated and feared them? Why have they fallen in the name of those who should have fallen for them?”
These were the words of E’blis. And so it was that Sula paused at the moment when he might have struck down E’blis and burned him away to ashes and bones. E’blis chose his moment and struck. He smote Sula from the mountainside with the summoned strength of the Fallen One, sending him to fall into a pit at the foot of the mountains, where his bones would moulder through the centuries to come. His next blow fell upon Adraxis, who reared up to take the worst of it and protect the already wounded Daughter upon his back. She fell too but remained alive, and as E’blis crowed over the corpse of the last Unicorn, with her last breath, she rose out of his shadow and drove the Sword of Sighs home into the heart of the E’blis. Thus, they all came to their ends on that day, and the world turned and soon enough forgot them and their sacrifice.
“Sula is Malus.”
“YES, SAD BUT TRUE—RAISED FROM HIS BONES WHERE THEY FELL INTO THE SHADOWHORN’S PIT. A PUPPET-THING OF THE FALLEN ONE, DRIVEN BY HATRED AND LOSS.”
“So this is the Unicorn’s horn?”
“IT IS, AND THROUGH IT YOU CAN REACH THROUGH TO THE LANDS BEYOND AND CALL HIM BACK TO US.”
“But will he fight Malus? If Malus used to be his friend ...”
“His brother. And Adraxis is a noble creature who will do what he has to. He did not fall as Malus fell.”
“What do you mean?”
“YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO, SARAH BEAN. THE WAY IS AHEAD OF YOU. THE LONG ROAD YOU HAVE WALKED IS NOW BEHIND.”
Chapter Forty-One
Sarah was back in Raulerson Hospital and in the bed before her was Momma. The slow dream-like air was that of the in-between place, and it made Sarah feel drowsy as she reached out a hand and stroked her mother’s cheek.
Her mother’s eyes opened. “Sarah ... sweetie. It’s you. Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story, Momma.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re back now. Nobody hurt you?”
Sarah shook her head, not saying a word. Momma smiled and squeezed her daughter’s fingers tight. “Baby girl, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’m sorry I went away, Momma. I don’t know how it happened.”
“I said, it doesn’t matter. What’ve you got there?”
Sarah took out the Sceptre of Storms and showed it to her. It looked strange and out of place in the mundane surroundings of the hospital room.
“It’s something to make you better, Momma.”
“Make me better? What is it?”
“It’s a magic ... wand, I guess ...”
Momma squeezed her hand tight again. “That’s ... sweet of you, honey, but you know magic can’t make something like this better. I wish it could, but it can’t.”
Sarah felt her stomach go hollow at her mother’s words, and she looked at the Sceptre of Storms with new eyes. She saw it clearly, and she saw what she had been about to do. At that moment, she also felt something change. Something that had been binding her, inside and out, was no longer as tight and cold as it had been.
Now, she knew what she had to do.
The door opened right at that moment, and Oswald entered. His one blue eye shimmered and shone as he caught sight of the sceptre in Sarah’s hands.
“Ah, good. You brought it, jus’ like you said you would. If you could giv’ it t’me and I’ll giv’ it to the Doctors so they kin make yer momma better.”
He extended a hand for the sceptre. Sarah smiled and took his hand in her own. Oswald smiled eagerly in turn, “Thank you, Sarah. We graciously accept that which you give unto us.”
But then his smile turned to a scowl as he looked at what she had given him.
The cursed ring had been slipped onto his finger.
The Sceptre of Storms was still in Sarah’s hand.
Sarah smiled at him. Whatever curse had been on the ring, it seemed to have no power over her in this place. The Flame was not a power here, so the ring was nothing more than a trinket.
“This is not the sceptre, girl.”
“No, but it is all I am willing to give you.”
“This was not our arrangement. Give me the sceptre.”
Sarah did not give it to him.
“No, you can’t have this.”
“But, Sarah,” he said, his voice growing softer again, “without it, yer momma will—”
“She will ... die anyway. This is magic, and magic doesn’t cure cancer. It doesn’t belong here. I’m taking it back … back to Seythe. And you can send my Momma back home.”
Oswald’s blue eye flashed bright, and then it darkened and hardened in colour. His heavily wrinkled face twisted in on itself, becoming bestial and cruel. But nothing more happened.
It had worked! Sarah thought.
A lucky guess but it had worked.
“You accepted it, Oswald. An exchange has been made. You must send my Momma back home.”
“We will honour the exchange. But be careful what you do, O Flame. You have enemies enough in the Thirteen Worlds. You should not wish to make more in the darker, deeper places outside of those Worlds.”
Sarah said nothing in response.
“Fare well, for now, Sarah Bean ...”
“Fare well, yourself.”
With those words, he disappeared, slowly dissolving until all that was left was his one eye. It became a blackened, burnt marble that clattered to the ground and rolled out of sight. Sarah tucked the sceptre into her belt and then looked at her momma. So pale and so sick. She didn’t have long left to her. Sarah hugged her hard, until she could feel her momma’s ribs and until her own arms started to hurt. As she let go, she realised that there were tears in her eyes.
“Sarah, what did he mean about other worlds?”
“That’s where I’ve been, Momma. Another world. I’m a part of it. That’s what they’ve told me anyway. But I feel it too. I want to be there and I want to be here. I’m so confused, and I don’t want to leave you.”
“But you’re going to ...”
“I have to. I can’t leave those people behind, not after everything that’s happened. There are ... things ... I have to do before I can come home.”
“It sounds like you have things to do in this other world, and you’re my baby girl, so I know you’ll do the right things. Don’t leave anything undone, Sarah—not now, not ever, even if you want to. You go back there and you make the things you need to come right.”
“Momma ...”
“I’m going to miss you so much, sweetie. Wherever I’m going to, I’ll be thinking of you always when I’m there.”
“What about Kiley?”
“I’ll tell her to find you, and she will do—one day. Now, go on. Before I ... change my mind ...”
Sarah’s momma tried to force a weak smile.
“No ... not yet ...”
Sarah threw herself into her mother’s arms one last time, kissed her, hugged her and whispered, “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, baby girl.”
Then Momma and the hospital were gone.
~ ~ ~
She was back in the to
wer of Ka’aron.
“YOU HAVE DONE WELL, CHILD OF FIRE.”
“I don’t feel like I have. I came all this way just to save her, and then I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t do a thing. It all feels so ... pointless.”
“IT IS FAR FROM POINTLESS. YOUR MOTHER WOULD HAVE LIVED ON, BUT ONLY AS A NEARLY DEAD THING IN THE DREAM-SPACE. YOU GAVE HER PEACE. YOU SET HER FREE.”
“I know, but I still feel ...”
“TEARS ARE THE ONLY BALM, I FEAR. BUT THE FLAME IS NOW YOURS AGAIN. YOU HAVE ALSO SET YOURSELF FREE.”
Sarah could feel it, flowing through her arteries and veins. Barely a thought had brought the arcane fire into her blood. She could feel it seething under her skin.
“YOU ARE OF THE FLAME. THE FLAME IS CREATION. YOU ARE OUR MOTHER. YOU WILL SET SEYTHE FREE.”
You go back and make things right.
Sarah felt her tears flowing as she drew the Sword of Sighs from her belt and watched its mystical blade ignite out of the ether. As she had once before atop the Fellhorn, she slashed it through the air, and the air opened for her.
And Sarah Bean strode through the gap into the court of Highmount.
Chapter Forty-Two
Gasps went up from the assembled courtiers at the sight of her. Dishevelled and dirty from her travels, she was quite a contrast to their robes and finery. They looked like they were gathered for a grand occasion. Though fear more than joy etched the lines into their faces.
Sarah turned around and saw the man sitting on the throne, wondering what the mask on his face was for. A figure was frozen beside him, a young lady of the court in fine gold robes. She held a crown aloft in trembling fingers. Sarah could see that she was in the act of placing it on the man’s head. She recognised him. She had seen him in the sky on the way to Yrsyllor. This was Mikka Wyrlsorn, the Fallen One’s avatar.
“It is her! The Flame! Seize her!” he shrieked.
Fellfolk guards closed in around her. Sarah let them take her by the arms.
“Still wearing the ring, eh? Not found a way to take it off yet, O Flame?”
Sarah nodded mutely, keeping her fingers closed in fists so he could not see.
“It is good that are you are here to bear witness, O Flame, to the moment of my coronation. I will become as I should be. The isolation and scorn I have endured are to end. I will allow you one thing before you die. You must kneel before me and swear fealty to His Shadow before I take your life.”
“I’ll never kneel to you.”
“I thought you would say as much. You will kneel to me, and to Him.”
The mask was removed and Sarah saw the scars and bared bone beneath.
“Where is your strength, your power, eh? Where has it gone, O Flame? Where are your friends, your companions? Why are they not here with you, sharing in the pain? Why are you so alone and abandoned before me?”
Sarah barely heard the words as he came down the steps of the throne towards her. The Flame was thrashing about inside her, aching for release. She thought of Momma dying. The pain she was in. Never seeing her again. The loss of Woran. The anger was becoming a blinding cascade she could barely keep in check as Mikka Wyrlsorn ranted on.
“Your final moments have come, spawn of A’aron. The power to destroy and create at a whim, to raise worlds from the oceans and reduce them to ashes will be His alone. My worthiness before His Shadow will be assured, and you will cease to exist.”
Shivers shook her body as she tried to contain what was building inside. From the reedy, nasal tone of his voice, Sarah could tell that he had lost his mind. Something terrible had happened to him.
“What good are you now to your precious mother, eh, child? Oh yes, I know of her. Nothing is hidden from Him. An old crone, weak, withering and dying in her bed, waiting for the daughter who will never come, the little girl torn between two worlds. Are you ready to kneel and swear fealty now, daughter of Earth?”
He snatched at her hand, unfolding her fingers. The gloating expression suddenly evaporated from his face.
“What is this?”
Sarah’s amethyst eyes flashed at Mikka Wyrlsorn.
“A sign that you no longer have any power over me.”
“No! Where is the ring?”
“The ring is gone. I am Sarah Bean and I am the Living Flame. You are no longer the Lord of Highmount. And you will never be its king.”
With those words, Sarah clamped her hands to her sides and threw her head back as she began to glow from head to toe. The glow began to pulsate and intensify. Courtiers gasped as every trace of dirt and suffering disappeared from the girl before them. The crown of Highmount clattered to the ground as the golden-robed girl fled back to the relative safety of the crowd.
“Men and women of Highmount, to me!”
The shout came from Jedda as she strode out from among the ranks of Fellfolk and, sword drawn, began to strike down the servants of the Fallen One. The slack-faced drones raised their weapons, but their skills were no match for hers as she fended off each blow with practised ease and drove her sword home, felling one after the other. The confusion of the Earlmen and Earlwomen among the courtiers soon cleared when they saw the rightful heir to the throne cutting down the enemy that had occupied their city. With shouts and cries, they too turned on the Fellfolk and Phages in the court.
Sarah saw Mikka Wyrlsorn retreating towards the far door that led to the private chambers of the palace. The Flame suffused her, and it told her everything: all that he had done. The tortures. The brutality. The executions.
She followed him deeper into the palace.
~ ~ ~
Mikka Wyrlsorn ran, stumbled, fell and ran again before Sarah.
"Guards! Guards! To me, protect your king and the throne from this mad child!"
The sound of Sarah’s approach was like thunder as she released the Flame fully and let it envelop her in scorching ribbons of firelight. Mikka, eyes wide, could find no words. He simply shrieked and gestured at the gleaming figure who strode towards him, and then he fled. Shaking in his greaves, he watched the fearsome radiance swallow all shadows. There was no heat from the Flame, however: it was a cold thing this time. Mikka fell on his knees, weeping, and crawled towards his chambers. Her light was more ferocious than the dark and the chill that permeated His tomb under the Shadowhorn. But if he could only reach his chambers and the mirror there.
“Mistress, spare my life,” he cried, “I am but a poor servant bound to Him. The Shadow of his Darkness is a curse upon me. I feel such shame for what I have done. I would be free of it, I swear to you!”
“Really?” Sarah whispered. “Tell me, can you feel this?”
The Flame struck Mikka—a flickering bolt of soundless lightning immolating him. Sarah leaned in close to the dying man, her face illumined by the light surrounding her. Her eyes burned into Mikka’s, worse than His eyes could ever be.
“Your world is such a fragile thing. You forget you are puppets strung on bright strings by those who shaped you from nothing. You forget how small you are, how petty, how vicious and malingering. Your touch is a taint. Your words are a poison. Your seed is a withering thing, and nothing of worth shall ever come forth from you. You forget, O mortal man, that it was your kind who fell to His blight, not mine.”
Sarah then allowed Mikka to fall to the ground and carry on his crawling way. The light around them both was now failing fast. As Sarah spoke, the sconces and lanterns left burning went out, one by one.
Sarah’s eyes burned with a sudden cold. “Come here to me, O Lord Wyrlsorn, or my words shall be the last thing you ever hear.”
Whimpering, Mikka scrambled through the door into his chambers. Finding his feet, he threw himself at the covered mirror, pulling the cloth away from its glass. The blackness of it heaved and shifted and revealed the tomb of the Fallen One. Standing framed there was the shrouded form of E’blis. Mikka cowered before the Creator and gestured wildly at Sarah as she entered the room.
“She is here, O Lord. I h
ave brought her for you. Strike her down. Rid the world of the Flame. Do it now!”
The words of E’blis shook the chamber with their rage.
“You are a fool, Mikka Wyrlsorn. This was not how it was meant to be. You have led the enemy to the Black Lord, and there is but one thing I can do to you for that. Know who you are, Mikka Wyrlsorn. Finally, know the history of your blood and know despair.”
Mikka fell to the ground, shrieking as his mind was opened to the knowledge of who he truly was.
He remembered being born, not from a mother. He was dragged from a cocoon in the tunnels threading through the Shadowhorn. He remembered falling to his knees, his newborn fingers hurting as he scrabbled in the dirt and screamed his pain. Wiping amniotic fluid from his eyes, he looked around and saw other creatures emerging from their cocoons: Dionin pupae, Drujja drones, Mind-Reavers and Dracken. But he was different to all of them. He could see his face reflected in the outer shell of an uncracked cocoon. He was soft, fleshy, and weak with bones inside that could be easily broken. What good was he? Why had he been made so unalike? So unready for war?
He remembered being led by hand to the Chamber of Circles where he was robed and knelt before E’blis to receive the sacrament of the Fallen. He swore his life to His Shadow, which was also his father in its way, and his mother. He had been fashioned to bring an end to the kingdoms of women and men. He would spend years with the Nightland tribes, learning their harsh and brutal ways as further anointment until the day he crossed the borders out of His Shadow’s lands.
He was Mikka Wyrlsorn, and he was not a man.
He was His Shadow’s plaything, and he would be the downfall of those in whose image he had been made. Mikka screamed as the knowledge sank into his brain. He felt it burning there as surely as a firebrand applied to his flesh would have burned.
“I’m not real. I’m not a man. I have no mother, no father, no family. I have nothing!”