The Legend of the Seven Sages: The Blade of Origin

by B. A. Scott

“You stay below. She needs me, whether she wants my help or not.”

  “Right,” Kaven said. “Well, if you’re going out there, so am I.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Kade. “Stay here, stay dry.”

  “I’m not asking,” Kaven told her.

  They stammered to the deck. Lightning filled the sky, rain poured in torrents and waves roared as they crashed against the ship. Captain Cyver manned the wheel, wearing her Keen Mask, and Faelia stood beside her, eyes aglow.

  “What are you doing up here!?” Faelia shouted as Kaven and Kade arrived, already soaked to the bone.

  “Helping,” Kade said, filling herself with magic. She tried to calm the winds, but they blew with such force, she could not fully tame them. “Any luck with Wave?” she asked, yelling to hear her own voice.

  “I’m not strong enough,” Faelia told her. “I’m trying to calm the swells, but I can’t tell if I’m making it better or worse.”

  “We’ve lost our bearing,” said Captain Cyver. “But the storm will pass. We just need to hold on ‘til it does.”

  “Lost our bearing?!” Kaven asked.

  “Aye, we’re slaves to this tempest, like a feather to the wind. Welcome to the Marinean Sea.”

  “And you’re not worried?” asked Kaven. “We’ll be tossed off course!”

  “It’s just a little rain, ambassador,” said the Captain. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve sailed through worse.”

  A wave hit the ship, and soaked everyone with salty force.

  “Best you get below—all of you,” Cyver said. “The crew and I will see her through!”

  Chapter 29: Teréyu

  Skaelwood’s defenders could barely hold the decimated wall. A continuous stream of reinforcements poured in from behind, but Hadaan’s forces surged up the massive ramps like herds of charging bulls.

  Upon the wrecked battlements, Hadaan cut down Skael’adar like dry stalks of wheat as he progressed toward the Sage. Kill the wielders, and the rest will fall, he told himself.

  Dareic used Verdure to swipe a Blessed’s legs out from under it with the whip of a branch, grown from stone, then blasted it with a fireball of Flame. His face was smattered with blood, and his body felt like a carving block from the injuries he’d sustained.

  A Primen leapt to skewer Treäbu from behind, but Dareic ensnared both its arms with thorny vines that ripped the limbs from its body.

  Vexen, where’s Vexen? he thought, engaging another demon. He realized how foolish he’d been, presuming he could watch her so closely. From the corner of his eye, he spotted her on a heightened portion of the wall, firing arrows into the swarm. Ralian and General Dúmeru stood with her, fending off foes.

  “Huh,” he exlaimed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Dareic fought his way to them—Treäbu and Vega in tow.

  Ralian summoned Verdure, and no less than thirty long, sharp branches thrust from the central ramp, like spears hidden beneath the earth, impaling a mass of demons.

  Their own reinforcements, impeded in their advance, hacked them aside. Ralian readied to repeat his tactic, but was overcome by assailants.

  Dexius slashed away as he ascended the left ramp, almost to the wall. His hatred swelled with every engagement, and he welcomed it. It fueled his anger. And with every faithless warrior he cut down, he grew all the more invigorated. Though, potent as his repugnance was for the Skael’adar, it had yet to provoke the Amulet of Oblivion, for the furentus only unleashed its power under the most spiteful of loathings.

  “Vexen!” Dareic called out, blocking a Primen’s attack with a shield of magic. “Blast the bloody ramps!”

  “What!?” Vexen responded, between firings.

  “Impel your shield, like you blasted the Incinian ship!” Dareic yelled. “Push them back!”

  Vexen conjured a formidable shield, and sent it speeding down the blood-soaked incline. Primen and Blessed spilled backward, unable to penetrate the magical wall.

  “Keep doing that!” Dareic said.

  Dexius—and all those around him—caught sight of Vexen’s shields, pummeling their forces, wave after wave. He traced the shields to their origin, and spotted Vexen upon the wall, aiding Daro’s enemies like she was one of them.

  In that moment, Dexius’s hatred abounded. He roared and the Amulet of Oblivion ignited, spreading the Oblivion Flame in a flash of hellish red. It claimed everyone within a twenty foot radius—on the ramp, on the wall, both his enemies and brethren alike.

  All across the battlefield, many ceased their attacks and turned to the crimson explosion. Quickly realizing their distraction, they reengaged in combat, dismissing the horror for the foes before them. But Hadaan glared at his brother, who stood alone as the flames extinguished, surrounded by piles of armor and ash.

  “Damn you, Dexius,” he growled. “You thieving liar!”

  Dexius looked behind him and saw his forces backing away.

  “What are you doing? The wall is ours! Forward, you ingrates!” he commanded, but none advanced. “Follow me, you cowards, or I’ll cut you down myself!” he shouted louder. They retreated further, fearful of his rage.

  “Obey me!” he ordered, filled with revulsion at their defiance, and another surge of the Oblivion Flame erupted, consuming them instantly.

  * * * * *

  The blinding light faded before Gabrel’s eyes. He found himself alongside Saléus and Minkara, inside a shrine-like cavern. Its bluish-gray walls glittered with crystals, diamonds, minerals and gemstones, like he’d walked into a lustrous, earthen treasure hoard. Gabrel noticed white pillars, spaced along the walls, and a wondrous pool of water—similar in size and shape to the one he’d seen in the Temple of the Sacred Sky—that illuminated the cavern in a soft, undulating glow.

  Behind him, the door from which he emerged was identical to the one he’d passed through on Parsali. And at the far end from where he stood, Teréyu sat upon a throne that looked as if it was wrought from the cavern’s walls.

  “Greetings,” said the Goddess. “It is good to see you, Saléus.”

  Gabrel, Saléus and Minkara approached her and knelt, bowing their heads.

  “And you, Minkara,” Teréyu continued, “welcome to my sanctuary.” She looked to Gabrel. “Gabrel Caladen. I am glad you are here.”

  “You know why I’ve come,” Gabrel said, raising his gaze. Teréyu looked down on him with eyes like diamonds, bearing irises of reddish earth. Her auburn skin appeared smooth with a soft sheen, like she was molded from wet clay, and her eyebrows and hair were not hair at all, but milky-white crystals, accentuating her beauty.

  “Yes,” Teréyu answered.

  “Firstly,” Gabrel spoke, looking to the Sage, “Saléus seeks your advice.”

  The Goddess said nothing, but looked to the elderly Aerolus.

  “My Goddess,” Saléus spoke, “The prospect of leaving Valea has been presented—and considered. These mountains are our home, our gift from you. I have led my people into such peril. There are so few of us left. And so, I ask, has Avenalora truly been discovered? Should my people migrate there? And will it prove a more secure place to ensure our survival?”

  “Avenalora,” Teréyu said, “after all these long years, has indeed been found. The proof lies before your very eyes.” She gestured to Gabrel. “An enchantment rests upon the city, but as you and your people would venture there out of great need, it would grant you entrance. As to whether or not I believe you should leave this realm for it, all I can say is this,” she paused, and spoke as if in warning, “your people are not safe in Valea.”

  Saléus bowed, grasping his heart as though it stopped beating.

  “Thank you, Teréyu,” he spoke with tearful grief. “I will prepare for migration.”

  “I’m sorry, Saléus,” Gabrel said, placing a hand on the Sage’s shoulder. “Let me know how I can help. Unless it’s just a matter of all the Aeroli flying from one place to another.”

  “It’s not so simple as that,”
said the Sage. “Besides, you have another task to manage. Do what you’ve come to do, ambassador.”

  Gabrel looked to the Goddess.

  “My Goddess, you already know what I would ask of you,” he said.

  “The Blade of Origin,” said Teréyu.

  “Will you let us take it?” Gabrel asked. “Arey’n told my brother we need it to defeat Lord Daro.”

  The Goddess nodded cautiously, as though she was entrusting Gabrel with her life.

  “Yes,” she spoke. “Understand, the power of the Blade is none that you could imagine. It crafted this world. Mountains, rivers, blights and bogs. Every race, every creature, every insect was born from its power.”

  “Are you worried I would misuse it?” Gabrel asked. “Reshape the land—all your hard work? Create races of my own with it?”

  “You have tasted the waters of the Avenflame,” Teréyu said. “You have acquired the Celestial Blaze, and thus, you can bear the Blade’s divine might. But you are not endowed with divinity. You were not built to wield the power of Creation as we were. So no, that is not our concern. The Blade of Origin will magnify your might, Gabrel, making you the most powerful wielder in all of Adoran. And so I ask, if you are victorious—if you see this world purged of Daro’s poison and live to tell the tale, would you return the Blade so willingly to us?”

  “In a heartbeat,” said Gabrel, thinking it the only honorable course.

  “You see wherein lies our fear,” Teréyu told him. “I will tell you now, as you will undoubtedly discover for yourself, you will have the power to rule without opposition. To force every man, woman and child to bended knee. You are brave, Gabrel. But we would not trade one tyrant for another, far worse.”

  “Rest assured, I have absolutely no desire to rule over Adoran,” Gabrel professed. “When all this is finished, a farm, a healthy crop and a field of horses is all I want. Believe me when I say, I’ll be glad to hand it back over to you as fast as possible.”

  Teréyu seemed appeased, yet still uneasy.

  “My Goddess,” Saléus spoke inquisitively. “These are great risks you take. Are you certain the Blade of Origin is the only means to defeat Daro? If it’s some form of magic upon his flesh that protects him, could we not imbue a sword with an Alluvian jewel and run him through?”

  “It is not magic upon his flesh,” said Teréyu, “but the effects of magic performed long ago—a Draught of Resilience that altered his natural composition.”

  “I don’t understand, my Goddess,” Saléus spoke.

  “An Alluvian Jewel will make no difference, because there is no living spell upon Daro’s flesh. What protects him is like a scorch mark from an ancient fire, long since extinguished. And it’s not just his skin that possesses this quality, for the magic he imbibed affected his body entire—his muscles, bones and heart. The Blade is, dear Saléus, the one and only means.”

  “But all this makes me wonder,” Gabrel said, “if the Blade of Origin is all that’s necessary to defeat Daro, what good is uniting the nations? Have I been—have my brothers and I—been wasting our time?”

  “What if legions stand between you and Daro?” Teréyu asked. “What if you must fight to reach him? You will need armies, Gabrel.”

  “There is something I simply don’t understand,” Gabrel said. “You have the power to kill Daro yourself. Yet you and your sisters remain in hiding. In hiding,” he stressed. “Can you do nothing? Are you that afraid of him? I’m sure he’s locked away in the Adorcenn Tower, but you won’t even chance leaving this sanctuary.”

  “You mistake our role in this world, Gabrel,” said Teréyu. “We are your Makers, not your minders. We not here to plan your strategies. We are not here to reap your fields. How many have come to us, begging us to save their sick, to grant them wealth, to change their faces and smite their enemies? But by the Laws of Interference, declared by the Creator Himself, we may only watch and guide by our teachings. As to why we remain in our sanctuaries, Daro nearly bound us at the Adorcenn Tower. We are hidden for our safety. And what use would we be elsewhere? We cannot protect you. By the Laws of Interference.”

  “Why are there Laws of Interference?” Gabrel asked. “They render you so powerless in this world you’ve made.”

  “We are merely the builders,” said Teréyu. “We are the architects across the stars. We are not saviors and executioners alike. It is both our privilege and our great sacrifice—that we should be given such grace, yet not control the outcome of our efforts. It is a matter of life. We are children of the Creator. He would have us forge life and allow it to progress naturally, not by our design. A world controlled is a world enslaved. And a world enslaved eventually rebels against its masters. Just as roots break through stone. And rivers cut gorges through the mightiest mountain.”

  “You’re handing us the Blade of Origin,” Gabrel reasoned. “Isn’t that considered Interference?”

  “We are not handing it over to you,” Teréyu corrected him. “You sought it out. And we have granted you permission to use it. You will go to where it rests, and claim it yourself.”

  Gabrel conceded to Teréyu’s reasoning. “And what would happen if you broke the Laws of Interference?” he asked. “If you decided to kill Daro yourselves?”

  Teréyu paused in sadness. “If I struck him down,” she said, “my sisters and I would be cast back to the heavens, never to return. The Laws are unbending, even for a single effort. A single act of divine intervention—the death of but a single man—could entirely alter the course of this world’s history. And we would pay the highest price for it.”

  “If all you can do is watch and advise, is your power of Creation spent?” Gabrel asked. “I mean, could you at least keep crafting the land, or forge new races?”

  “So long as the Blade lies in our possession, yes. But we are content with our landscapes—with one exception. Should Daro ever see his end, we would transform the Wastelands into a lush terrain. Rivers, valleys, sprawling with life. And why would we bring another nation into this breeding ground of war? When the nations we’ve made already hold such disdain for one another?”

  Gabrel nodded in agreement. “It’s been a journey,” he said. “Trying to get everyone together. I feel like we still have a long way to go.” He lowered his head, thinking of all that had transpired, then spoke. “I have another question, if you don’t mind. It is kind of along the same lines, but of a—a more personal nature.”

  The Goddess waited for him to speak further.

  “I am Human,” said Gabrel. “And Erygian. Am I an abomination in your eyes?”

  Teréyu smiled maternally down on him.

  “You are what we’ve always hoped for,” she spoke tenderly. “It was you—our children—who have shunned such action, turning something beautiful into a crime. It is ever the natural course of progression for this world. And you are the very embodiment of our intent. Find peace in knowing you are not alone.”

  “Not alone?” Gabrel asked. “What do you mean? Are there others?”

  “Gabrel,” the Goddess ceased his inquiry with a raised hand. “Find peace in the knowledge I have given.”

  “Yes,” Gabrel said, with a bow. “Thank you. Is there anything else you would tell me about the Blade? Anything I need to know?”

  “No,” said Teréyu, “but I do possess the liberty to bestow an extraordinary gift to one of you.”

  “A gift?” Gabrel asked, looking to Saléus and Minkara, who took a step back.

  “Whatever you would give, he needs it more than I,” Saléus spoke.

  “What kind of gift?” Gabrel asked. “Something that would help me recover the Blade?”

  “Nothing I could give would help you,” Teréyu told him.

  “Then how about something that would help Saléus with the migration,” Gabrel suggested.

  Teréyu smiled. She stood from her throne, and invited the Sage to approach with a gesture of her hand. Saléus walked around the pool of water, and knelt before the Goddess.
Teréyu reached a hand toward his feathered head, then pressed a fingertip to his forehead.

  The cavern shuddered. Saléus felt a warming sensation as soft light emanated from her touch. His mind felt clear, unblocked, and expanded, like his breadth of knowledge grew from a trickling stream to a wide river.

  The Goddess retracted her hand, and spoke, “To you, Saléus, I bestow the gift of Terrain—mastery over rock and earth. May it aid you in your endeavors.”

  “You’re a walking Earth Sword,” Gabrel said.

  “Indeed,” said Teréyu. “The last known Earth Sword was broken at Caleton. But the nature of its talents are now yours to command. That you may delve your caverns deep beneath the Erygian city and protect your treasures.”

  “My Goddess,” Saléus bowed. “It will aid us immensely! It is perfect! Thank you!”

  Teréyu bowed in return.

  Earth Sword, Gabrel thought to himself. Earth Pearls. “Teréyu,” he spoke to the Goddess. “Have you given this gift to anyone before?”

  “To the deserving,” Teréyu confirmed. “And the trusted. Now, Gabrel, the Blade.”

  “I’m ready when you are,” said Gabrel.

  The Goddess nodded, then looked to her right. Between two white pillars, the glistening cavern wall stirred. Gabrel watched as the dark gray rock churned, like a funnel of slowly spiraling sand. Teréyu motioned for him to approach it, then turned to her left, where another portion of the wall stirred between two more columns.

  “Another portal,” Gabrel laughed to himself.

  “Sorry, what was that?” Saléus asked.

  “Nothing,” Gabrel said. “Just—I’ve walked through fire, through mirror, rock and stone. And now, whatever this might be.” He reached out his hand, and felt the churning wall’s gritty composition. “Where will it take me?” he asked the Goddess.

  “To the Hall of Imminent Futures,” she answered.

  “And what is that?”

  “A realm of choice,” she answered.

  “Will I find the Blade there?” asked Gabrel, confused.