“In a way, yes. Though I was never aware of that fact during my life. Only when I came here was it made known to me.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But that no longer matters. In just a few moments you will be facing him…and you will be defeated.”
“I think it is you who are underestimating me.”
“I have no doubt you are formidable. But Martok spent most of his time here trying to find a way to escape. Through his efforts he has gained intimate knowledge of the laws which govern this place. In time perhaps you could challenge him. But to do so now would be suicide.”
Ethan threw up his hands. “What do you want me to do? Just surrender and let him possess my body? That’s not going to happen. If he kills me, he kills me. I’m not afraid to die.”
“You have no idea of what you are saying. Death here will be true death. Should Martok destroy your spirit, there will be nothing…a void. You will cease to exist.”
“You don’t know that,” he countered. “Not even Heather knows for certain what happens outside of this place.”
“You’re wrong. Heather does not know what will happen to our spirits should they leave here. But Martok will destroy every single trace of who you are. There will be nothing left.”
“I don’t care. I have to try.”
Sylas sighed. “Then you will need help.”
“So you betray me in both life and death, Sylas?” a third voice said.
Martok was standing only a few yards away. His eyes were aflame with rage and his fists were clenched tight.
“I cannot undo what I have done,” Sylas retorted. “But you have a choice. Return to us. Please. Do not damn your soul.”
Martok huffed. “Damn my soul? I have liberated it, you old fool. At last I understand my destiny. And not you, or anyone else, will keep me from it.”
“I am an old fool. Perhaps my love for you makes me precisely that. I have tried to reason with you, Martok. We all have. But you refused to listen. And now you intend to murder the innocent. You come to kill your own kin. A direct descendant. Is that not the same as killing your own child?”
“I've already killed my own father, as you well know.”
“What you did to me, I deserved. Ethan has done nothing wrong.”
“Ethan will bring about the end of Lumnia. The end of us all. And I for one will not allow that to happen.”
“You underestimate him. He possesses more power than you care to admit. And with his connection to the elves – the very connection you used to gain control of his body – he has a far better chance of ensuring Lumnia's future than even you. But you must give him the chance.”
This silenced Martok for a moment. Scowling, he glared at Sylas and then turned his back. “I cannot do what you are suggesting.”
“You claim to be willing to sacrifice all to save us. And yet you stop short of true sacrifice.”
Martok spun around. “And why should it be me? Why not you?”
“Because I am not the greatest among us.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Ethan. “If there is a way for me to gain the knowledge I need to destroy Shinzan, then give it to me.”
“Martok believes that it should be he who saves the world. Isn’t that right?”
“You think this novice…this child could do it?” he snapped hotly.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Well it doesn’t matter what you think. You haven’t the power to stop me. And if you try, you can join Ethan in oblivion.”
“Would you send the entire Dragonvein line there as well?” he asked.
From behind Sylas appeared hundreds upon hundreds of figures.
Ethan was stunned. The voices in his head had never held true form. They felt more like a school of fish swimming in a vast ethereal ocean. To see their faces was astounding. They did not approach, but their eyes were fixed on Martok.
“Not even this can stop me,” he replied. “And you know it. While you have spent your time living in a fantasy, I have dedicated myself to growing strong - strong enough to leave this place.”
As he spoke, Martok waved his arm in a wide circle. A shroud of mist appeared, cutting off the newcomers from sight.
“Now it's just the three of us,” Martok said, his tone hard and unyielding. “Make your choice, Sylas. Stand aside or be destroyed.”
Ethan turned to Sylas. “Please. This is my fight. There is no reason for you to die.”
“Very noble,” mocked Martok. “What is it your friend Markus calls you? Ah, yes. A Boy Scout. If that means what I take it to be – some kind of virtuous soul - I can understand why. Do you really imagine you can defeat Shinzan with a soft heart and a weak will?”
Ethan ignored the insult. “This is between you and me. No one else needs to die. Or is it just a bunch of bullshit when you say how much you care about our family?”
This merely drew a derisive laugh from Martok. “As you wish,” he said, jerking his head sharply to one side. Sylas was instantly lifted from his feet and thrown through the mist as if he was no more than a small child.
Remember, Ethan. Here, anything is possible, so he is no more powerful than you. You must believe this in your heart.
It was the voice of Heather calling out to him. He looked over to Martok, but it was clear that he had heard nothing of the message.
“Are you ready?” Martok asked. His expression was one of absolute conviction. “Know that I take no pleasure in doing this. It is simply the way things must be.”
As his hands extended, two thin beams of white light shot forth, burning through Ethan's shirt. He felt the impact deep inside his chest; as if he had been attacked by a thousand red hot needles at once. The pain was beyond anything he could have imagined possible. It felt as though his very essence was clinically being torn to shreds. He now knew beyond doubt that he was indeed facing a death that offered no hope of an after-existence.
With teeth bared, Martok intensified the light until Ethan could see and think of nothing else. Then, just as he was on the point of abandoning himself to the abyss, Heather's words echoed in his mind. Was she actually repeating them, or was he experiencing one final pre-death hallucination? It didn't matter. For a brief few moments her words seemed to somehow blot out the all-consuming agony and create a fleeting window for rational thought. Was it really true that anything was possible here? If so, now was the time to find out. Belief of this was the only thing he had to fight back with.
An instant before the window slammed shut and the suffocating pain returned, he seized this precious opportunity to imagine his skin turning into a layer of impenetrable stone. Desperately, he clung to this thought. It was all he had standing between himself and oblivion.
At first nothing happened. Just a continuation of the same blazing hot needles tearing at his spirit. Then – almost unbelievably - the pain began to dull. Looking down, he saw the lights that had been piercing his spiritual flesh were now being reflected away from him. He also noticed tiny flecks of light drifting up from the scorched patches on his skin. They were pieces of his soul. Bits of spirit ripped away. The blood of the dead.
Martok lowered his arms causing the lights to vanish. “Impressive,” he said. “I didn’t count on you having learned so much so quickly.”
Even though his chest was still burning ferociously, Ethan knew better than to respond with mere words. Making a sharp circular motion with both hands, he surrounded Martok with an orb of blue light. This drew a short yelp of pain as the encircling light closed in. But this was short-lived as Martok threw his arms wide, shattering the orb into a million tiny balls, each one giving a final sizzle when striking the ground and then popping out of existence.
It was clear from Martok’s rage filled expression that he had not been expecting his opponent to be capable offering any sort of resistance. In a flash, a long blade appeared in his right hand. The steel shimmered with ghostly light as he charged forward.
Ethan countered with a barrage of flaming
arrows, but these simply vanished the moment they got close to their target. Roaring with battle lust, Martok brought his blade savagely down. Ethan dove hard to the right, though not quite fast enough to prevent the tip of Martok’s weapon slicing painfully across his left shoulder. More flecks of light emitted from this new wound as he urgently summoned a sword of his own.
Rolling quickly to his feet, he brought his blade up defensively just in time to block Martok's next attack. Now more than ever he was glad that Markus had given him instruction in swordplay. But as the attacks kept coming, it was evident that he was over-matched. Martok was obviously highly experienced with a sword. Very soon he had opened up three fresh wounds on Ethan’s arms and chest. Though none of these were deep enough to be fatal, he could feel himself becoming weaker. Spiritual blood floated around him like a swarm of fireflies. How much could he lose before he was completely drained?
He tried to close the distance between them with a series of tight thrusts, hoping to bring the fight to a hand-to-hand level. At least in this type of combat he'd had more training. But Martok easily stepped away, giving him a sword point to the thigh for his trouble.
“You fight well for someone with limited training with a blade,” Martok told him. “But you must know this is futile.”
Flakes of Ethan’s spirit continued to break free. He knew this fight was coming to an end. Soon he would be drained utterly. Already his legs felt abnormally heavy and on the point of collapse. And it was taking every bit of willpower and determination simply to raise his sword arm from his side.
But he refused to accept defeat. Spitting on the ground, he widened his stance. Unable to charge, he waved Martok in. “You think I’m done? Come on.”
Martok sighed. “Very well.”
Ethan knew this was it. Defiance alone would not be enough; he was now far too weak to offer anything much in the way of resistance. Martok came at him with blazing speed, effortlessly penetrating his feeble defense and thrusting the blade deep into his abdomen. As a loud gasp issued from his lips, he was aware that his own sword had blinked out of existence. A moment later, a heavy boot to the chest sent him flat on his back. Gazing up, he saw Martok looming over him with the freed weapon now raised high vertically for a final, double-handed plunge to his heart.
Ethan did not flinch or look away, even when he saw the blade begin its descent. Any fear within him was now gone. There was nothing more he could do to protect himself. His spirit may be leaving him, but he would still face his death as a man; as a soldier; and as a Dragonvein.
What happened next was a blur. A flash of light and motion passed between himself and the falling sword an instant before it would have finished his existence forever. Martok’s weapon somehow disappeared into this intruding disturbance, leaving him open-mouthed in astonishment. From the corner of his right eye, Ethan saw a figure of a man kneeling and clutching at his chest. Tiny lights were spewing forth like a fountain from a huge open wound.
Martok saw him too. At first, all he did was stare blankly. Then a horrified expression washed over him as the man looked up.
“No!” The agonized cry came from the very depths of Martok's being. Forgetting about Ethan, he ran to the man’s side. “Why would you do this? Why?”
The man opened his mouth to speak, but no words were able to come forth. As if the effort had drained him completely, he collapsed back in a forlorn heap.
“Father...please,” Martok cried. He pulled Ralmar’s hands away from the gaping wound and covered it with his own. But any attempt at healing was useless. Within seconds, all of Ralmar’s spirit had gushed out. As the last fleck of light departed, his body became totally transparent as it began breaking up into ever-diminishing pieces of pale light. In less than a minute, he was gone completely.
“No..No!” Martok cried out repeatedly. He pounded his fists on the ground as tears streamed down his face.
Ethan struggled to his knees, but was still too weak to stand. Realizing that Martok had called the dead man his father, the full gravity of what had just taken place washed over him.
Martok’s eyes blazed across the distance separating them, his face contorted with anguish and fury. “You are to blame for this!” he shouted.
“No, Martok,” came a voice from within the misty veil. “You are.”
Heather appeared from out of the barrier wearing a look of deep compassion. Martok hesitated for a moment. The sword then re-materialized in his hand.
“It must have been you who forced him to do this,” he hissed.
“If you truly believe that, then you should kill me as well,” she replied calmly.
Martok advanced toward her with long deliberate strides, snarling viciously. But when only a few feet away he halted and the weapon faded. He stood stone still for more than a minute, his hands trembling. Finally, his shoulders sagged and his body jerked with renewed sobs. “I don't understand. Why would he willingly do such a thing?”
Heather moved closer and cupped his face in her hands. “Because he was the only one who could. Only Ralmar had the love within him that was needed to overcome your barrier.”
“But you crossed it as well,” he shot back accusingly, stepping away. “You could have stopped him.”
“And I could have stopped you as well,” she stated flatly. “But I would have had to kill you to do so. And I could not harm any one of my children. And neither could your father.”
“But why this?” he begged. “Why sacrifice his life?”
“Because he knew there was no other way to make you understand what must be done.”
“But it’s not right. You told me I had a great destiny; that I would save the world. And I believed you. It can’t end like this.”
Heather stiffened her posture. “You do have a great destiny. And you can save the world. But there is only one way for you to do it. If you can't accept that, you may as well kill Ethan…and finish us all in the process.”
A dagger appeared in Heather’s hand, which she offered to Martok. He stared at the blade for a long moment before turning his back and dropping to his knees. Ethan could hear his sobs returning in full.
It was then he noticed that the misty barrier had been lifted, though the vast gathering of his kin had now gone. Sylas was still there, along with an unfamiliar man and a woman. Their eyes were fixed upon Martok, each bearing a sorrowful expression. Heather looked to them and nodded. As the trio approached, the figures walking with Sylas diminished until they had transformed into young children.
With his wounds beginning to close and his strength returning, Ethan hobbled over to Heather. She was watching Martok huddle together with the three others in a tight embrace.
“What's happening?” he asked.
“Martok is saying goodbye to his uncle…and his children,” she replied solemnly. “He goes to join his father.”
“But isn’t his father dead?”
“That is likely true. But then again, maybe something does exist for us beyond this place. I honestly don't know. In a world of the infinite, who can say with certainty what happens? Perhaps he lives in another realm. Martok may have been right all along when he said this place is merely a prison of our own making.”
“So he has decided to die?”
“Yes. And it was not an easy choice for him. He is a man of great desire and pride. Even now, he doubts this course to be the right one.”
“What course?”
“To send you instead of himself to save us. To trust you to challenge Shinzan and arise victorious.”
Ethan could see a tear falling down her ivory cheek as she watched Martok and his family. “Do you think I can?” he asked.
“I don’t know that anyone can. But I do believe you are our best hope. Though Martok is powerful, you have something in your favor that he does not.”
“Like what?”
“Fate. It saved you as a young child. It brought you back to us when all seemed hopeless. And it kept you alive just now in your battle
with Martok.” She paused to smile reflectively. “The elves believe that Lumnia guides us to our destiny. I don’t doubt this. But I’ve always believed that there is something else beyond Lumnia’s will. Something that guides even the spirits of this world.”
“You mean God?”
“If you like. One name is as good as another; though I’m not sure I would call it that myself. Lumnia exists as a balance, and Shinzan's coming here has upset that balance. I like to imagine what has happened to you, to me, even to Martok, is the universe setting things to rights.” She shrugged. “That's just how I see it. Who really knows for sure?”
They remained there watching until Martok stood and gave each of his family a final embrace. The three of them then walked off together into the distance, Sylas with his arms wrapped comfortingly around the children. Once they were gone from sight, Martok turned to Heather and nodded slowly.
“Come,” she said, taking Ethan by the hand. “It’s time.”
There was no trace of anger in Martok’s expression now, only deep sorrow and regret. “I hope you can both forgive me,” he said. “I see it clearly now. My entire life has been leading up to this moment.” He looked into Ethan’s eyes and smiled. “It was you all along. You are the one with the true strength. My destiny was never what I thought it to be. It is to give you the knowledge you need so that you can accomplish what I could not.” He stretched out his hands, offering them to Ethan.
He hesitated. “What are you going to do?”
“I am passing on to you the final tool you will need to save our family…and our world.”
Still unsure, Ethan looked over to Heather, who nodded her approval. “What will happen?” he asked.
“Just take hold of my hands and find out.” Martok's smile began to fade. “Please. Before I lose my courage.”
Ethan reached out and did as instructed. The moment their palms made contact he felt a rush of energy passing between them. At first it was almost pleasant. Then the force gradually increased. Memories began intruding into his mind. Faster and faster they came. Memories of love, betrayal, war – and most important of all - knowledge. Volumes of knowledge so vast it was impossible to quantify. Ethan realized he was seeing the entirety of Martok’s life. It was becoming a part of him, as if Martok’s experiences and his own were becoming one and the same.
Dragonvein Book Four Page 20