by B. A. Scott
The Zelvanyan heaved, raising its body to crash down upon the ship.
Kaven saw the beast and felt revulsion like he never had before. Daro’s demons took Kiara from him. They took Adelyne from Gabrel. Now, this watery horror would claim all that was left for him to hold dear.
Hatred consumed every corner of his soul as he reached toward the roaring Zelvanyan. Harcos descended from above, and Kaven unleashed a surge of deathly magic—Fury, fueled by all his vile, murderous sentiments. Tangles of violet and black lightning ripped into Harcos’s chest and spread throughout his monstrous form.
The Zelvanyan spasmed, then exploded in a violent flash of unworldly light, blasting chunks of seared flesh in all directions.
The force rocked the Agile, and all fell to their knees.
Kaven’s body shuddered, rejecting the malice it had just conjured. He emptied his stomach upon the icy deck, just as Faelia came to him.
“Kaven,” she said, bracing him. “What—what was that magic?”
“I don’t know,” Kaven said, spitting blood from his mouth. “Fury, but altered by every hateful, lethal thought that possessed me. By all the times I was unable to save the people I love—the anger, the rage, the resentment and desperation for it. I wouldn’t let it happen again.”
“You enchanted Fury,” Faelia gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I think I can stand,” Kaven said, rising. “I’ve got to get her out of this downpour.”
He mustered the strength to lift Kade, then carried her to bed, laid her gently down, and brushed her hair aside.
“I’ll stay with her,” he said, pulling up a fallen chair.
“Thank you for saving our hides,” Cyver said. “There’s bits of that thing scattered all across the cove. But I don’t think it’s wise to assume we’re still safe. That beast may not have been the only evil lurking about these Isles, and I don’t think we can sail until this storm passes. Ambassador, Kade will be safer if you help protect the ship. There’s nothing more you can do for her here.”
“Captain, please. Let him—” Faelia started, but Kaven interrupted her.
“The Captain’s right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Cyver, will one of your crew stay with her?”
“Absolutely,” said Cyver. Kaven nodded, and proceeded to the ship’s deck. He mounted his wind rider, and hovered inches from the floor. Filled with magic, armed with sword and shield, and peering through the storm with Cyver’s Keen Mask, Kaven guarded the Agile alongside Faelia, well into the night.
* * * * *
Gabrel emerged into a grand circular hall as the glittering portal solidified behind him.
“No turning back, I suppose,” he said, then looked to his surroundings. The Hall of Imminent Futures had no walls, for it seemed to stretch into infinity. Rings upon rings of archways extended to its unseen limits, like concentric circles.
The portal delivered Gabrel into the innermost ring, where a single, prominent arch stood in its very center. Within its confines, Gabrel saw something he could not believe, for the arch was like a window to another land.
He approached slowly, gazing into it, where a misty forest grove ran with tricking streams, and a glowing sword hovered above a plinth of stone.
“That has to be it,” Gabrel spoke aloud. “Then what are all these other—” his attention turned to the numerous rings of archways around him.
It was like lightning struck his heart, for everywhere he looked, the arches bore windows into futures he might prefer to the course set before him.
He fell to his knees, then crawled to a nearby archway, where his beloved Adelyne was quite alive, guiding a walking toddler—taking its first steps—into Gabrel’s open arms.
“Adelyne,” Gabrel spoke, tears pooling in his eyes.
He looked to the other archways. One showed he, Kaven and Dareic laughing over mugs of ale. Another showed him with his father and an Erygian woman, who he could only assume was his mother.
Gabrel toiled past his possible futures. From the surprise of seeing himself embracing Ayden in a warm bed, to amassing stockpiles of gold, he marveled with unbridled curiosity. Some were easier to dismiss, like the image of him upon a throne before legions of kneeling soldiers, or the extravagant chamber, where he was surrounded by unclothed women—though he did return once for a longer glance. More difficult were the ones of a promised family, like the field of grass, where his children played. Some even depicted a world of prosperity, as though Daro’s threat never existed and the War of Ages never occurred.
“Are these real?” he asked himself. “Futures that might have been, and could be? Where Daro never came to power. Where all I’ve lost was never lost.”
He walked away from the central arch, examining ring after ring—each displaying futures far more enticing than any he believed for himself. The prospects were endless, and Gabrel quickly realized why the Hall of Imminent Futures had no boundaries.
“I could be here for years,” he thought, “choosing a life I’d rather lead. One could become lost in such a place.”
And though each arch was merely a window, Gabrel truly believed that if he were to walk into any one of them, its future would be made entirely real. He walked back to the first arch in which he’d seen Adelyne, and gazed upon her beauty.
He closed his eyes, and Teréyu’s words came to him.
Be true of intent, Gabrel, she’d told him. Remember why you came. And all those you would save.
But why the temptation? he wondered. Why the test? If the Goddesses want me to get the Blade of Origin, why offer so many alternatives?
The best he could reason was that it was some elaborate means to weigh his resolve. To prove his commitment. To keep the Blade safe from those with wavering determination. A test of will, he concluded.
He walked to the central arch, where the Blade shone before him.
“Could there not be multiple futures with the Blade of Origin?” he asked the Hall. “Or does this lead to them all?”
If I don’t enter this future—if I choose another, he thought, I’m leaving everyone behind without a way to defeat Daro. They’ll burn in his war.
“This is what I came for,” he told himself, looking one last time to the future he’d desperately longed for. Reminded of his purpose, he resentfully cast the thought of Adelyne aside, and entered the grand archway.
Chapter 32: The Blade of Origin
Gabrel stepped onto dampened grass the moment he passed through the arch, for the journey had been instantaneous. Behind him, the archway vanished from sight.
He stepped forward, a still mist at his feet. The grove was perhaps the most serenely beautiful place he’d ever seen. He’d never felt such tranquility, such peace. The air was crisp, and the trickling of water and brushing of soft leaves were like a loving lullaby to his soul.
The Blade of Origin was yet before him, sheathed and glowing, like it held all the light in the heavens. It seemed to sing a beautiful, ephemeral note.
Gabrel paused in front of it, thinking of all he’d done to stand where he stood—and of the harrowing feat he was bound to perform.
Is this really happening? he wondered, glancing to his surroundings. Are there no more tests? No more tricks? It feels too easy for me to just take it.
He reached forward and warily claimed the Blade. At his touch, the ephemeral note faded away. When he unsheathed it, Gabrel instantly felt as though his insides were being pressed together, and at the same time, torn apart. The Blade trembled violently in his grasp, as though it refused to be held, and all the fabric of the world seemed drawn to it—absorbed into its perfect form.
Gabrel sheathed it quickly, and the sensation subsided. He felt nauseous, yet empowered, like he’d survived a fatal poison, and emerged strengthened for it.
He strapped the Blade’s scabbard across his back—beneath Genus Caladen’s shield.
“Now, to get back,” he said. Gabrel searched the grove for any portal or gateway tha
t might return him to Teréyu’s sanctuary. It did not take long, for he soon discovered a large slab of dark gray rock, jutting out from the ground. It was of the same glittering composition as the walls in Teréyu’s chamber, and its face swirled slowly inward, like quicksand.
Gabrel glanced one last time to the peaceful grove, wishing he could remain in its comforts, rather than return to the world of war that needed him.
“I could have been with you, Adelyne,” he said aloud. “I could have chosen you. Please, understand and forgive me.” Gabrel stepped into the gateway, leaving the grove behind.
In a flash of blinding light, he emerged into Teréyu’s sanctuary. The Goddess, Saléus and Minkara expressed their relief at the sight of him.
“Gabrel!” Saléus said, racing to meet him. “What happened? Did you get it?”
Gabrel drew his attention to the Blade at his back, then looked to Teréyu. His eyes expressed gratitude, mixed with regret, as though he’d just slain an innocent man for the gold in his pocket.
Teréyu seemed to understand completely.
“That place,” Gabrel spoke. “Why? Why show me all those—why?”
“You already know why,” Teréyu answered.
“Can I ever go back?” asked Gabrel. “When all this is over?”
Teréyu shook her head. “The Hall of Imminent Futures,” she said, “like the Guarding Grove, resides in a realm you cannot reach without our assistance. And you’ve already chosen your course.”
Gabrel assumed there was no chance of return, but the affirmation only caused greater remorse.
“You are the first of our creations to have ever laid eyes on it,” Teréyu continued. “And with any hope, you will be the last. But though we cannot accompany you in your travels ahead, should you need further guidance, you may return here for it, or seek the counsel of my sisters. Your brother knows where to find Arey’n. And Ceraya—you have already been nearer to her than you know.”
“When? Where?” Gabrel asked.
“In the Guarded Heart of Adoran.”
“Avenalora?”
“Yes,” said the Goddess. “Should you need her, ascend the Fountain, and speak her name.” Indeed, Gabrel remembered seeing a strange symbol at bottom of the Fountain’s basin.
It was right in front us, he realized.
“But now, you must make haste, Gabrel,” Teréyu spoke urgently. “Return to Valea.”
“Why?” Saléus asked. “Has something happened?”
The Goddess appeared as though she reluctantly withheld dire news—that she wished to tell more than she could.
“Please hurry,” she said.
“Thank you, Teréyu,” said Gabrel as he, Saléus and Minkara bowed. They made for the exit, and the Aeroli entered without hesitation. Gabrel turned to regard the Goddess one last time. Her face was dreadful, like she wondered if she’d just made a terrible mistake.
Gabrel exited her sanctuary and found himself on the sky island of Parsali. The sun was setting as he and the others started toward the far end—where they’d first set foot.
“Will you be carrying me back down?” Gabrel asked Minkara as they sped.
“Like a bird learning to fly from falling from on high,” Saléus said, “so it is customary for a wielder to use Gale upon its requisition—to see themselves safely aground.”
“You want me to use the wind to break my fall?” Gabrel asked. “I’m not so great with this kind of stuff on the first try. Has any wielder ever plummeted to their death? Because they couldn’t get it to work?”
Saléus didn’t answer, for he heard the distant clamor of battle far below. He raced to the island’s edge, and extinguished the White everfire that stilled the winds. Gabrel held tight to Minkara as Saléus smelled something foul on the air.
“My people,” he uttered with fearful eyes, then dove from the island.
“Forego bloody ritual,” Minkara said. Before Gabrel knew what was happening, Minkara grasped him by the shoulders and soared after Saléus in a head-first dive toward Valea.
The clouds impeded Gabrel’s sight, but once they cleared, all he saw was a swirling sea of Fated—like a dark, deathly tempest—laying siege to the mountain.
Saléus blasted a hole in their ranks with Gale, and he, Gabrel and Minkara soared straight into the thick of a mid-air battle. Fated outnumbered Aeroli in scores, skewering and ripping them apart.
Gabrel saw the summit, far below, where Human and Aeroli soldiers defended the Temple of the Sacred Sky. Minkara dove, and dropped Gabrel upon the mountain, landing aside him amidst the fighting.
Solid ground, Gabrel thought thankfully, but was driven from reflection as a Fated thrust its spear toward him. He dodged the attack, then blasted the demon with Fury. Another, already delivering its deadly metal from behind Gabrel, was suddenly cut down by General Fortenstar.
“About damn time you showed up!” yelled the General.
“I leave you for one sodding minute and all hell breaks loose?” Gabrel retorted. Asos and Domini came to his side.
“This doesn’t look good, ambassador,” said Asos.
“How many of us are left?” Gabrel asked between slashes.
“No idea,” Asos responded. “They’re everywhere. In the skies, in the trees, the Temple—they’ve taken the whole bloody summit!”
Gabrel looked to the skies, where Valea’s defenses shot hundreds of spears into the swarm. Giant nets and exploding payloads punched gaps throughout the winged horde, but every break in their ranks was quickly reinforced, like patchwork.
He saw Saléus, high above, and could not believe his eyes, for the Sage had conjured a shield of magic, formed to his body like a second skin. He looked like a golden, glowing Aerolus, deflecting spears like they were naught but harmless twigs.
Saléus wielded magic in frightening expertise. He froze Fated with Suspension, conjured blasts of Wave with a beating of his wings, impaled attackers with spears of Verdure, and seared countless with Flame. He froze in the air, so surrounded by Fated that Gabrel could barely see him, then engulfed his body in Fury and fire, and exploded their reach, blasting demon corpses in every direction.
“Did you get the Blade of Origin?” yelled Fortenstar, breaking Gabrel’s distraction.
“Aye!” Gabrel said.
“Then do something with it!”
Saléus landed beside Gabrel as Fated dove for them, gnashing through Human and Aeroli warriors.
A demon hurled its spear at Gabrel, but Asos leapt and caught it in his back.
He fell, facing Gabrel—the spearhead protruding from his chest.
“Asos!” Domini yelled.
Fortenstar shook Gabrel by the shoulders. “Do something!” he ordered.
Gabrel fumbled for the Blade of Origin, and unsheathed it. The ring of metal echoed across the mountain. The Blade shook in his grasp as he filled it with Fury and pointed it skyward.
The sea of Fated was met with a lightning storm.
It was as if the Creator Himself decided to end them, for each and every demon that soared above Valea was electrified by Gabrel’s Fury. Thousands upon thousands were slain, and their seared bodies rained down upon the mountain like a deluge of death.
* * * * *
Fahren’s army reached the ramps as funnels of fire consumed Hadaan’s forces. The Incinians, unscathed by Flame, surged over the wall and into the Fortress, aiding the Humans, Erygians and Skaelar below.
Dareic and the others disposed of their attackers, until only Hadaan remained. They cornered him at the ruined battlements’ edge—his back to the battlefield.
Hadaan looked to his enemies, then to Dexius’s corpse, where the Amulet of Oblivion still hung around his neck.
The siege is ended, Hadaan thought. I must retreat, but I can’t leave the Amulet behind. Yet too many stand in my way—I would never cut my way through them.
“It’s over, Hadaan,” Dareic said, inching closer.
“Lay down your arms,” Ralian spoke, “or die
where you stand.”
Hadaan glared at the Sage, readying for defense. With one last look to Dexius, Hadaan slowly knelt, his wings expanding as he placed his sword on the ground—though he did not release his grasp.
“That’s it,” Ralian coaxed him. But just when he thought Hadaan had accepted his capture, the dark man sprang into the air, spinning and soaring over the battlefield. Arrows and spears launched after him, though he flew beyond their reach.
“Blast it!” Ralian yelled as he struck Hadaan with Fury, already knowing it futile against the Alluvian Amulet’s protection.
Hadaan beat his wings to gain speed and air, as he observed the devastation below. His forces were utterly spent in swells of fire, amidst throngs of Incinian warriors.
He cursed them all, and departed Skaelwood in defeat.
* * * * *
Gabrel leapt to avoid the falling Fated corpses and a shower of spears.
“Gabrel!” Saléus yelled, hacking a Fated through the neck with a blade filled with Flame. “The Temple is still overrun! We must get to the lower levels! Fortenstar, I need ten men. Get you and the rest to the forest! Aid my people there!”
General Fortenstar, Domini and what Humans that remained darted for the trees as Gabrel, Minkara and ten soldiers followed the Sage, battling their way into the Temple of the Sacred Sky.
“What’s down there!?” Gabrel asked as they pressed through hordes of Fated, engaged with Human soldiers. But Saléus did not answer.
They delved deep into the mountain, where doors were blasted open and halls lay in ruin. Bodies piled everywhere, and Gabrel realized that he saw very few Aeroli among the living.
How many are left? he wondered. Are they all but dead?
They entered an earthen-red, torch-lit corridor—the very lowest of the Temple’s halls—where they arrived behind twenty Fated Ones encroaching on only but a few Aeroli warriors, who guarded doors of blue stone.
Saléus lifted his arms and the ground trembled beneath the demons. They looked curiously to their feet, then all were smashed against the corridor’s ceiling as pillars of rock erupted from the floor—bashing them brainless above. Using his newly acquired talent, Saléus lowered the earthen protrusions, each with a bloodied carcass upon it. Above each, crushed rib cages and innards clung to the rocky ceiling.