by B. A. Scott
“Dear god,” he uttered in disbelief, “The spirisortium?! Gabrel?!” He remembered Torren describing the phenomenon, though it was only among the Erygians that such a rare thing ever occurred. How could this be happening to Gabrel, Kaven wondered.
Gabrel, eyes aglow, and burning all the way down to the very core of his soul, fell to the ground, spasming and convulsing. He clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as he endured the burning flame. It felt like his whole body was filled with boiling acid, and would burst at any moment.
Gabrel writhed upon the forest floor. He forced his eyes open and saw the world differently than he ever had before. His senses were acute and heightened, exacerbating the uncontrollable pain that refused to wane.
“KAVEN!” yelled his tortured voice. Kaven sped to Gabrel, then turned to protect him against Daro’s foul demons. To his surprise, however, they proceeded cautiously toward him, wary of the burning man on the forest floor.
Then, from somewhere beyond the camp, a bolt of lightning raced through the trees, and struck a Blessed in the chest. The demon’s skin fried as it was blasted back into the woods, slamming into a thick tree trunk. Seconds later, a second bolt came. Then a third, and more, each finding and ending the life of a Primen or Blessed One.
Kaven didn’t care where they came from. He didn’t care how impossible their presence was either. He only took advantage of the distraction, and knelt beside Gabrel. Flames still danced upon his brother’s skin, but it did not matter. He heaved Gabrel’s burning body up upon his shoulder, and dashed into the trees, stomping an aimless trail through the woods.
After traveling for only a few moments, Kaven’s shoulder felt a peculiar warmth upon it. Then, the flames from his brother spread to his own body. He instantly fell to the ground, dropping Gabrel, and roared against the fire’s torture, feeling as though he had stepped into a mighty furnace. He patted the flames violently, then realized that he still desperately needed to get Gabrel to safety—that their survival depended on his being able to function, and escape their attackers.
Suddenly, the flames cooled, and left him, leaving not a single scar upon his skin. But Gabrel still burned. Kaven crawled toward his brother, yet stopped when the ground below him trembled. Then, huge blasts of light came from the encampment behind him, and jagged bolts of lightning appeared in flashing bursts through the trees.
He felt a slight breeze as a horse rushed past him. Its rider held a spear in his hand. The man was clearly a warrior, Kaven observed, judging by his garb, though he was unlike any soldier Kaven had ever seen. His helmet and armor were dark, and he wore great, heavy boots, as well as a skirt, belted with an intricate clasp. He bore broad-collared chest armor, with metal shoulder and stomach coverings, yet very little besides gauntlets graced his arms. Before Kaven could realize what was happening, a slew of similarly clad warriors darted past him on horseback, toward the flashes of light.
Soon after, Kaven no longer heard any sounds of combat. A man came and knelt beside he and Gabrel. His skin was deeply tanned and his irises were like ocean crystals—a thousand tints and shades of the bluest blues he’d ever seen.
“Who are you?” Kaven asked.
“Erygians of Allestron,” the warrior responded.
Gabrel heard the words, though they seemed to have come across mountains to reach his ears. His back arched upon the forest floor, and his fists clenched in defiance of the painful burning that he was beginning to think would never end. Every beat of his heart felt as if it would explode from his chest. But with each pulsing of his veins, the heat lessened as Gabrel grew strangely used to the sensation within. The flames died down, until they became nothing more than a simmering fire upon his skin, like the last moments before a hot coal burns out upon its ashes. Finally, the flames receded completely, and Gabrel gasped short, stilted breaths.
“Gabe!” Kaven said, shaking his brother.
Gabrel’s eyes lost their glow.
“What the hell just happened to me?” he asked.
“It’s impossible,” Kaven said, shaking his head in disbelief. Gabrel moaned as something stirred uncomfortably inside of him. His eyelids fluttered, and he wilted in his brother’s arms. “Hey!” Kaven yelled, gently slapping Gabrel’s cheek. “Dammit, Gabe! Don’t pass out on me again!”
An elderly Erygian appeared, his shoulder deeply wounded and covered in blood. He had long, pure white hair, yet was balding. He wore long robes of white, trimmed with dark gray. Upon seeing Gabrel, the elderly man looked as though he was surprised for the first time in his entire life. Before Gabrel lost all consciousness, he heard Kaven speak to the elderly Erygian.
“Who are you?” Kaven asked hoarsely.
“I’m Athiux Amirraden,” said the man. “I am the Erygian Sage.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 8: The Bane of Vexen Alakai
“Wait up!” Dareic yelled, out of breath and exhausted. “Slow down, damnit! How do you… expect me… to keep up with you?”
Treäbu came to a stop when they reached a wide stream. The earliest light of dawn peeked through the canopy above. “We’ll rest here,” said the Skaelar, bending down to sip from the water.
“About time,” Dareic said. “I’ve never run so hard for so long in my life. My feet are numb.”
“I could have covered twice as much ground at least, did I not have to slow my pace on account of your Human legs,” Treäbu told him. “You are like an anchor I can’t cut loose.”
“Well I can’t run as fast as you,” Dareic said. “You know that. It doesn’t do any good to complain about it, so let’s just eat, piss and press on.”
“In silence, preferably,” Treäbu said, then waded knee-deep into the stream. He stood for a moment, bent low, ready to squeeze his hands around any fish that might come near him. The Skaelar then made a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat. A few seconds later, Dareic noticed a healthy number of fish swarming around Treäbu’s legs. Effortlessly, the Skaelar tossed one onto the bank, then started to leave the stream.
“Could—could you snag one for me as well?” Dareic dared to impose.
Treäbu huffed as though the request was of great inconvenience. Still, he resounded the clicking noise, put his clawed hand in the water, and tossed another fish Dareic’s way.
Dareic stood wide-eyed, his dumbfounded gaze moving from the fish to Treäbu.
“That’s quite a talent you have,” he said. “Can you talk to animals, Treäbu?”
“Skaelar are blessed with many gifts,” Treäbu said, then proceeded to eat his fish raw.
Dareic started preparing a fire to cook his own. Once he managed a spark, Treäbu took notice.
“What in blazes do you think you’re doing?” asked the Skaelar.
“I prefer my fish cooked,” said Dareic.
“Put that damned thing out! After what happened at Trendell, you’d really risk drawing more attention to us? Are you that dense?”
“I’m making it small and close to this tree,” Dareic said. “The bark will absorb some of the smoke.”
“But the scent will carry on the wind.”
“Are you saying we can’t cook any of our meals on the way to Skaelwood?”
“Not here,” said Treäbu. “Not now. Don’t make me come over there and stomp it out myself.”
Reluctantly, Dareic put out the flame and held his fish by the tail in front of his face. His aching belly growled with hunger.
“I’ve never tried it raw,” he said. “Oh hell.” He bit a chunk out of the fish and swallowed, chewing as little as possible. “It’s not so bad, actually.” He hoped for a response from Treäbu, but none came. “You’re not a very talkative fellow, are you?” Dareic asked, taking another bite. Treäbu kept his eyes to their surroundings. “Well I still need to ask you something. I know it was my choice to go to Skaelwood, but I have to admit, I have the strangest feeling in my gut that I’m traveling farther and farther away from something really important. Do you feel
it as well?” Treäbu remained quiet. “No? Not even a bit?” Dareic continued. “I guess I’m just wondering if I made the right decision—leaving my brothers. What do you—”
“I don’t care,” Treäbu answered quickly.
“Right,” said Dareic. He then began repeating Treäbu’s name to himself with various inflections until a curious thought entered his mind. “What does your name mean?” Treäbu gave Dareic an annoyed scowl, then turned away. “Oh, come off it,” Dareic said. “You can hate me all you want, but you don’t have to be rude. It’s just a simple question, and answering it won’t do any harm.”
Treäbu paused a moment, then spoke with great effort, “It means ‘True Heart.’”
“Well that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Dareic asked. “What can you tell me about Skaelwood, Mister True Heart? What should I expect when we get there?”
Treäbu hesitated before answering, clearly unenthusiastic about engaging in conversation with Dareic. “I’ll tell you the only thing you need know,” he said. “You will not be welcomed. This mission of yours is futile, as it was for Ralindur. It will end in failure.”
“Wonderful,” Dareic said. “Well, if this Corren’dai place we’re passing through is as dangerous as Vega said it is, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll even make it to Skaelwood. Honestly,” his tone suddenly turned very serious, “what do you think our chances are of making it out of there alive?”
“I’d rather not say,” said the Skaelar. “But my chances are better than yours.”
Dareic thought on Treäbu’s answer, then decided to ask the question that’d been on his mind for some time. “What’s your stink with me?” he asked. “What have I ever done to you—besides save your life?”
For the first time, Treäbu looked Dareic square in the eye, and spoke, “This conversation is over.”
* * * * *
It had been four days since leaving the palace. Four days of grueling travel through heat and cold and howling winds. The strongest of the Blessed Ones bore upon their shoulders three litters, curtained and cushioned to transport Daro’s Queen and bloodchildren to the Adorcenn Tower.
Torches of Bellows’ Boundary—a rare white everfire, conjured prior to Daro’s departure from the Wastelands—were carried throughout the procession to still the winds. Though each step through the Wastelands proved a treacherous feat, contentment rings, cloaks and other resilient wearables kept the demons from harm.
Velusia, Dexius and Vexen were carried amongst the massive migration, snaking its way through the sand and ash. Like those who had already made the journey before them, and those who would make it in the weeks to come, the Primen, Blessed and Fated marched 6,000 strong.
When the caravan stopped for the night, tents were erected, and Daro’s Queen and bloodchildren each took comfort in solitude. After removing her sand-covered contentment cloak, Vexen laid down upon a bed of furs.
“Princess Vexen,” came a raspy voice from outside her tent. She sat up, and composed herself.
“Enter,” Vexen said, and a single Fated pushed aside the tent flap as quickly as possible, so as to let as little sand in as possible.
“Highness and sister,” the Fated addressed her, “your mother has requested your presence.”
“Thank you,” said Vexen. “I’ll be there in a moment.” The Fated bowed, then exited the tent. Vexen re-donned her sandy contentment cloak and stepped out into the night. She entered her mother’s tent to find Dexius present as well, reaching to the back of his neck, attempting to remove his Satian Collar.
There would only be one reason for that, Vexen thought. Then, she saw them. A man—a Human—and his daughter, who could not have been any older than four years, each restrained by two Fated.
“Ahh, come, daughter,” Velusia beckoned Vexen upon her entrance. “Come partake in your father’s graciousness before they keel over.”
Vexen looked to the Humans. Their clothes were tattered and torn. Dirt and blood stained their skin, and the most pitiful expressions of fear and helplessness plagued their faces. A Primen carrying a pitcher of water poured it into a basin near the Dark Princess.
“Water?” Vexen asked. “Fresh water?”
“From a spring in the Fadenward Mountains,” Dexius responded. “Not some conjuring, drawn from a pool of Father’s Wave. It’s been a long time since we tasted something so authentic.”
“Soon to be a most regular luxury,” Velusia added. “The time is near when we won’t need to wear these collars anymore. How long has it been since fresh water has touched your lips, daughter? Though not as sweet as blood, it quenches all the better. Remove your collar, and take a sip.” Velusia let out a growl of relief when she finally unclasped her own collar. “Ah, yes,” she said, “I feel the welcomed sting of hunger in my belly once more—a sting which will shortly be remedied.” She gave the Humans a smile.
Dexius removed his collar as well. “Are you not going to remove your collar, Vexen?” he asked. “Meat is all the more satisfying when there’s an appetite to feed.”
“I’m—actually quite weary from travel this evening,” Vexen said, longingly eyeing the basin of water. “I’m afraid I can hardly even stand.”
“You would refuse this feast before you?” Velusia asked.
“That’s fine, Vex. More for us then,” said Dexius as he and Velusia handed their collars to a Primen, who carried them outside the tent. The remaining Primen servants exited as well, leaving only the bloodchildren, the Humans, and their Fated binders.
Dexius stepped slowly toward the quivering father. “Do I frighten you, Human?” he asked with delight, bearing his blunted fangs.
“Do your worst to me,” the man’s voice trembled. Then, nodding to his daughter, he spoke, “but let her go, I beg you.”
Dexius spat at the man. “You think you can protect her?” he asked. “She is as dead as you are, faithless one.” He moved closer, only inches away from the captive, and took a deep inhale through his nose, relishing the man’s scent. “Your sweat seasons better than the richest spice,” he said, then leaned in even closer. “We are going to eat you. And we’ll do it while your heart still beats. And her,” he looked to the little girl, “she will watch as her father is torn limb from limb!”
The man forced one arm away from the Fated that held it, and struck Dexius across the face, knocking the Dark Prince off balance. The Human tried to free his other arm, but the Fated Ones regained their hold, and bound him once more. Dexius wiped black blood from his lip, then grabbed the man’s head by his long hair, and yanked it aside, fully exposing a bare neck, glistening with sweat.
“Dexius,” Vexen uttered beneath her breath, just moments before her brother opened his mouth and sank his jaws into the Human’s flesh. He ripped a chunk of meat from the man, who lost the ability to stand. The Fated Ones released the deadweight they held and the injured man fell to the floor with one hand to his neck. He breathed in heavy gasps as his body spasmed, and blood flowed from his wound.
“Dexius!” Velusia yelled angrily. “You dishonor me! Your mother shall always have the first taste of meat, not her impatient child.”
Dexius finished chewing the delicious morsel, then swallowed. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, Mother,” he said with a bow of his head, feigning sincerity.
“For your lack of restraint,” Velusia told him, “you will eat last tonight, so that you may learn to have control over your urges.”
“Yes, Mother,” Dexius said. He then knelt beside the fallen Human, and spoke quietly into his ear. “A fine main course you’ll make. I only hope you’ll not bleed to death before we sink our teeth into the rest of you.” He looked to the man’s daughter. “And for dessert,” Dexius stood, and took one step toward the child. But his advance on her was suddenly thwarted as Vexen came between them. She faced Dexius with a look of fierceness, mingled with sheer terror.
“Come now, Vexen,” said Dexius, “she’ll be yours as well.”
“No, s
he won’t,” said the Dark Princess. “And she’ll not be yours either, Dexius. She’s just a child.”
“What talk is this?” Dexius asked. Velusia watched her children closely. “You act as though you’ve never tasted the blood of men before.”
Vexen closed her eyes, then spoke, “I was force-fed by a mother and a man I feared to refuse.”
“What?!” Velusia bellowed. “All of you, leave us!” she ordered all the Fated in the tent. “Leave us now!”
When the last was gone, Dexius spoke. “Sister, has the taste of blood not once fallen deliciously upon your lips?” he asked.
“Taste was not enough to outweigh the guilt I felt as I choked down each bite,” Vexen responded. “Only my will to please our father has kept me from vomiting up his ‘gracious gifts.’ But I see clearly now, Dexius. My heart has been torn all these long years. But no longer.”
“You’re not in your right mind, Vexen,” said her mother. “Step away from the child.”
“No,” Vexen said, stepping backward, closer to the girl.
“Listen carefully, daughter—”
“No, you listen!” Vexen demanded. “All my life, I’ve been led to believe that our father is an honorable man. Yet what is the cost of his new world, but the destruction of another? The extermination of hundreds of thousands of lives? I have pondered day and night for nigh an entire century now to find the greatness in a man who would cause such strife, and earn such a sentence as exile.”
“Blasphemer child!” yelled Velusia. “Your father has never dealt with treachery from any of his children. What curse do you bring upon this house that he should feel the first of it from his own daughter?! His own bloodchild?! Your life is meant to worship your father—not to succumb to the slander of your own blood by uttering words wrought with treason!”
“I’ve always felt them to be true!” Vexen confessed, attempting to hold back tears that would not be contained. “I cannot even imagine his crimes! A century of hell it has been enduring the will of this house! For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve despised the very thought of my own existence—born into a destiny that was never mine to decide.”