Searing cold and then blinding white pain. Blood and chunks of flesh sprayed into the air before her. El-i-miir's foot hit the earth, but the muscles within went limp. She was deaf to anything but the blood rushing in her ears and the thundering of her heart. The ground flew up at her and El-i-miir slid to a stop in the leaves.
With the last of her strength, she rolled onto her back and stared up through the trees. The sun shone too bright and she soon found herself squinting to avoid it. Then it seemed easier just to close her eyes altogether. She rested, breathing steadily in the darkness of her head.
'No,' she murmured. 'No, don't sleep. Get up. Get up!' Grunting at the pain and effort required, El-i-miir rolled onto her knees and pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. 'Okay. All right, I'm up. I'm up.'
After stumbling several steps, El-i-miir's eyes burst open and she received the rude awakening that she was actually still on her back. Unfamiliar faces bounced around her field of vision, but all of a sudden it'd become extremely dark.
*
Trees flashed by on either side of Ilgrin as he sprinted through the forest, although calling it sprinting was being rather generous. Ilgrin's three-toed feet--so ineptly designed for running--slapped through the dry foliage underfoot. He leapt again for freedom, only to be slapped in the face by sharp branches and a densely packed canopy. It felt like the thousandth time he'd failed in becoming airborne, and the twenty or so men tracking him were far superior than he at the fine art of running.
A dog leapt out of nowhere and snapped at Ilgrin's heels. Instinctively he beat his wings, but they soon became tangled in vines and shrubbery, causing him to come crashing back down. As he leapt to his feet, the hunting dog leapt for his throat with jaws gaping. Ilgrin thrust out his arm and snapped the animal's neck with a violent jolt.
'There it is!' a man announced at the top of his lungs. 'Get it!' cried another. A gunshot rung out in the distance and Ilgrin found himself praying for El-i-miir's safety.
An arrow plunged into the earth several handswidths from Ilgrin's feet. A bullet ripped through the air, shattering a tree trunk and sending the towering plant toppling to the earth. Those at the head of the crowd were quickly gaining ground and a glance over Ilgrin's shoulder revealed their sweaty faces to be no more than ten strides behind.
Another deafening gunshot blasted past Ilgrin's ear. A second tree buckled and toppled toward him. With a terrified yelp, Ilgrin leapt into the air and over the tree. He smashed through delicate foliage expecting to land painfully on the other side, but much to his surprise the impact never came.
After his face had been slapped repeatedly by twigs and small branches, Ilgrin exploded out of the trees, taking with him a mass of greenery. Beside him a waterfall roared, its stream continuing down no less than two hundred strides below--a free-fall that would've torn a human to shreds. Eyes bulging and heart pounding, Ilgrin threw out his wings, only to gasp as three gunshots were fired in quick succession. The only sign Ilgrin received that he'd been injured was a warm burning sensation in his wing, where the flesh was thinnest. The sensation of pain was minimal, but the sight of three bullet holes having blasted through his wing was enough to send Ilgrin into shock.
With one wing unable to properly capture the wind, he found himself spiralling out of control. The river tumbled toward him, the clouds above rescinding their invitation. Ilgrin inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and squeezed his wings tight against his body, bracing for the inevitability of what was yet to come.
The impact was brutal. Ilgrin's head snapped back and his wings were torn open almost to the point of breaking. The breath he'd taken seconds earlier was forced from of his lungs as his chest was crushed. Every muscle in his body felt as though it was being sliced from his bones. The cold was almost a blessing to free Ilgrin from the fire within. Water forced its way into his mouth and he started to choke. He begged himself not to breathe but the urge was too great. His mouth opened. He screamed and what was left of the precious air fled his lungs.
The water became very still and Ilgrin's body went limp. He could see the sun churning in pieces above. Among bouncing shards of light, he saw Seteal's sorrow, having revealed the knowing about his death. He heard El-i-miir's voice telling him that she loved him and that it was okay for him to let go. Ilgrin's mother reached out and took his hand, her eyes filled with all the love in the world.
With the surface so far above, and as Ilgrin's head came to rest in sludge the final remnants of his will shrivelled into obscurity. 'Just breathe,' El-i-miir's voice called softly. 'It's okay.' Ilgrin's lips parted and his mouth was filled with water. It didn't matter. He inhaled, his eyes bulging and lungs burning. The blue light danced peacefully about him as his eyes closed and he abandoned his final thoughts to the dark.
CHAPTER Three
hunger
Far-a-mael strode effortlessly through the frozen corridors of the Third Cleff's central building. From outside the structure was a pyramid with a triangular base, but the inside consisted of an intricate network of tunnels and cavities housing great arching bridges that stretched out across vast expanses. It was by far the largest of the cleffs, making it the most suitable as a base for war.
Occasionally a moth fluttered away from the lower parts of Far-a-mael's robe as it bounced about his heels. But they always returned as hurriedly as they'd been dislodged. Far-a-mael raised his hand and examined the almost undetectable pattern of insect wings writhing across his skin. He turned his hand over and examined the lines on his fingers. The flesh was utterly convincing, but if he shook his hand violently or slapped it against a wall he'd lose it to a cloud of moths before they'd again shuffle back into place. Even if Far-a-mael removed his robe, by the time he'd done so, they'd have dissolved into a mass of the flying insects that moments later would establish themselves to reform his clothing.
'War Elder Far-a-mael,' a young man gasped from his position guarding the closed doors of a meeting room.
'Get out of my way,' Far-a-mael snapped. He'd been more irritable than usual lately and had no time for young fools. Throwing out his hands, Far-a-mael shoved open the double doors and entered the room beyond. There he was met by the shocked expressions of the high elders.
'Far-a-mael,' his old friend Gez-reil choked out the name and his face became as white as a sheet. 'We thought you were dead.'
'Try not to sound so disappointed,' Far-a-mael drawled, before his gaze fell to the ice-work table at the centre of the room. 'What is this?' he barked, furiously scooping up some papers the elders had been viewing. Reading the first few lines confirmed his suspicions and Far-a-mael soon found it difficult to contain his fury. 'A treaty? Really? You'd undo all the good I've done!'
'What good?' The high elder of the Second Cleff stood. 'You've almost singlehandedly destroyed the entirety of New World.'
'Oh, for Maker's sake, must you be so dramatic, Dam-al.' Far-a-mael rolled his eyes before tearing up the contract into little pieces.
'Far-a-mael,' Gez-reil said in a tone of reprimand.
'Come now, Gez-reil.' Far-a-mael chuckled. 'We're well past the point of negotiation with these monsters. You must know that by now.'
'Whether or not that's the case is no longer your concern, old friend,' Gez-reil put a hand on Far-a-mael's shoulder, only to retract it sharply. 'Where's your aura?'
'I wondered when you were going to bring that up,' Far-a-mael smirked. 'You must be getting a little near-sighted in your old age. But my aura is irrelevant. Of course the negotiation of a treaty is my concern. I'm your war elder.'
'Not anymore,' Gez-reil stated firmly. 'We've decided to remove you from that position.'
'You don't have the power to make that decision,' Far-a-mael said indignantly. 'It's against the law.'
'To torrid with the law,' said Gez-reil. 'At the rate you're going, there will be nobody left to follow it.'
'Nonsense,' Far-a-mael sneered at Gez-reil's lack of conviction. 'We're this close to defeating the enemy,' Far-a
-mael growled, holding his thumb and finger slightly ajar.
'There's no one left to fight.' Gez-reil threw out his arms incredulously. 'We have one very small hadoan spread out across eight cleffs. You've killed everybody else.'
'That's why this time I'll be taking the boys and the older men into battle.' Far-a-mael shrugged. 'We'll also be enlisting female an'hadoans.'
'Gordin has fallen!' Gez-reil shouted, his face flushing red with frustration. 'What's left between us and them? Egsean? Abnatol? How long do you expect these pacifist nations to stand up against a silt invasion? No . . . no, Far-a-mael. It's time to look for other methods by which to resolve this matter.'
'No,' Far-a-mael said firmly.
'Unfortunately for you,' Gez-reil replied as the high elders gathered behind him, 'you no longer have a say in the matter.'
'Unfortunately for you,' Far-a-mael uttered almost inaudibly, 'I'll do as I please.' With that he raised his arms and watched Gez-reil's face fill with disbelief as they vanished to be replaced by thousands of moths. A moment later Far-a-mael's legs disappeared and his torso drifted toward the ceiling on a cloud of insects. The room darkened and the walls creaked.
'What is this?' Gez-reil inhaled sharply and took a step back. 'Some new trick of the Ways? I'm not scared of you, Far-a-mael.'
'You should be,' Far-a-mael murmured before his face, too, disappeared and his consciousness became scattered among countless smaller minds. Individually, they were capable of very little thought, but as one they created an entire mind. At Far-a-mael's command, the moths located Dam-al's shocked expression and surged toward his gaping mouth. They churned down his throat and filled up his lungs. The man coughed and choked and even enlisted the Ways, but however he tried, he could not dislodge the insects.
'Far-a-mael,' Gez-reil cried as the high elders surrounding him started falling and choking. 'Stop this.' By the time Far-a-mael was done, Gez-reil's eyes glittered with tears and he remained the only living man in the room. 'What have you done?' He shuddered in horror as Far-a-mael's body resumed its previous form.
'I've taught you a powerful lesson.' He narrowed his eyes as they came into existence above his nose. 'Beautiful, isn't it?' He lifted his arm as the remaining moths struggled and squirmed into position, forming the familiar shape of a human hand.
'What are you?' Gez-reil stumbled backward. 'Because this,' he waved his hand before him, 'is not the man I once knew. This isn't Far-a-mael.'
'Of course I'm Far-a-mael.' He gazed disdainfully upon the fallen elders. 'After my parents were murdered, you became a brother to me. And Sar-ni, your sister, later became my wife. We had a daughter, but sadly, she, too, has passed away. You see?' Far-a-mael smiled reassuringly. 'I'm exactly who I say I am.'
'Far-a-mael.' Gez-reil came close and gazed into his eyes. 'You've just killed seven people. What's wrong with you?'
'Nothing.' Far-a-mael laughed. 'That's just it. I feel better than I have in my entire life.'
Gez-reil took a cautious step forward and reached out to put a hand on Far-a-mael's shoulder. His eyes widened slowly as knowledge slithered through his touch. 'Oh, no,' the older man whispered. 'A whisp. Far-a-mael, my dear old friend,' he sobbed, 'you may feel alive, but I assure you that you already died on the battlefield.'
'I cannot die,' Far-a-mael stated with finality. 'I am Maker's Holy Spirit.'
'What are you talking about?' Gez-reil turned away. 'You don't even believe in the Tome.'
'I do now,' Far-a-mael murmured. 'The Holy Tome speaks of the Spirit of Maker arriving with the clouds and I just arrived to you as a cloud of moths.'
'Leave this place, whisp.' Gez-reil flicked out his hand dismissively. He pushed passed Far-a-mael and made his way toward the exit. In a single fluid motion, Far-a-mael transformed into thousands of winged bodies, only to reassemble a second later in front of Gez-reil to block the doorway.
'Think about it carefully,' Far-a-mael insisted. 'I've been killed twice and each time I've come back from the dead.'
'I assure you,' Gez-reil said bitterly, 'the Far-a-mael that I knew is still dead.'
'With time, dear friend,' Far-a-mael put his hand on Gez-reil's shoulder, 'I am certain you will come to think differently. For now, I have business to attend to.' He smiled warmly and made his way out of the room. Gez-reil did not follow.
After striding through a network of seemingly endless corridors, Far-a-mael found the door to his sleeping quarters wide open, voices coming from within. 'What are you doing?' He snapped at the portly woman inside.
'We were directed to clean out your room.' The woman's chin quivered. 'I'm so sorry, War Elder. We were told you'd fallen in battle.'
'It's an honest mistake,' Far-a-mael's voice softened. 'Now, please, be on your way. I have urgent matters to tend to.'
'Certainly,' the woman replied as she and another younger lady hurried out of the room.
Far-a-mael stepped inside and closed the door, relieved finally to be alone. He strode passed the comfortable-looking furniture and threw open the doors upon reaching the other side of the room. Before Far-a-mael was able to access the balcony, a biting wind tore through the doorway and dislodged several of his moths, which then had to fight against it to dig their way back in.
Fighting against the wind, Far-a-mael stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the better part of the cleff below. His room was one of the highest in the pyramid and seeing the wall slope away beneath him was unnerving to say the least.
'Find her,' Far-a-mael whispered. A small cloud of moths swept away from his body. He felt diminished without them, but he had decided that this matter was important enough to suffer some temporary discomfort. 'Find her,' he murmured. 'Find Seteal.'
*
'I'm hungry,' Noah rumbled irritably at one of his many servants.
'May I fetch you some food, my Devil?' The skinny little silt bowed fearfully, his legs shaking as he did.
'Yes.' Noah smiled. 'Get me that young blond girl we found earlier . . . and I think I'll have her mother for dinner,' he finished, strumming his thick grey fingers on the armrest of the previous king's throne in Beldin. 'And, slave,' Noah addressed the man as he hurried toward the exit, 'do it quickly, or else I'll be having you for desert.'
Jakob entered as the young silt left. 'My Lordship,' he said with false humility. 'You sent for me.'
'Humans must kneel in my presence,' Noah uttered expectantly and waited as Jakob lowered himself to the floor. 'Now,' Noah began, 'you remember our dear friend Ilgrin?'
'You mean Sa'Enoch?' Jakob replied, his tone dangerously challenging.
'Don't push me, Jakob.' Noah stood, revealing the enormity of his imposing presence. 'I want you to find him and report his location back to me.'
'May I bother you to find out why?' Jakob replied cautiously. 'The legion is now yours. Nobody would speak out against a man so clearly the true Devil.' The young man gestured regally toward Noah.
'You're a slippery one, aren't you?' Noah growled. 'I don't fall for your displays. I know exactly what you are Jakob: a scoundrel, a worm, a creature with no integrity. But I will tell you my reasons for finding Ilgrin. I'll do so because I want you to understand exactly what I'll do to you if you fail me. I want you to find Ilgrin because he disrespected me by his pretence at playing the Devil. A man like that could potentially trick fools like you into believing in him a second time. He is a threat and therefore I intend to eliminate him.'
'Then why not just send an assassin?' Jakob enquired further.
'Because I'm going to eat him,' Noah stated unapologetically. Jakob squirmed uncomfortably at the sound of a girl screaming somewhere in the building. 'Now get out,' Noah snapped and watched in satisfaction as the man all but ran from the room.
Noah found himself having to swallow repeatedly against the flow of saliva entering his mouth as the intensity of screaming increased and his meal grew close. At last his servant thrust a teenage girl into the room and slammed the door behind her. The human child c
ollapsed at the mere sight of Noah, causing him to laugh hysterically.
'Please,' she begged. 'Please don't hurt me.'
'Come here,' Noah ordered. 'Come to me and I won't hurt you.'
The girl approached nervously, but as soon as she came within reach Noah snatched a handful of her curly blonde hair and dragged her the remaining distance. Ignoring her screams, Noah rose to his feet bearing yellow fangs and drooling on her face. He sniffed her several times in order to truly appreciate such a tantalising snack.
'Oh, you will be delicious.' Noah lunged forward and tore a chunk out of the girl's face.
Blood poured across the floor as she howled and shook in fits. Noah moaned in delight as he chewed on her flesh. He traced his finger through her blood and sucked it dry before turning back to his food and biting off one of her fingers. Her bones crunched between Noah's teeth as he delighted in her taste. He wiped a red-blooded hand beneath his nose to fully enjoy the aroma before taking another bite out of the child's face and revealing a greater portion of the human skull.
Noah enjoyed the suffering of his victim almost as much as he enjoyed the meal itself. It was always a disappointment when they died, as they always seemed to do long before he'd finished. Nevertheless, Noah continued feasting until not a single piece of flesh remained.
Jer-em-iah 25
30. Therefore prophesy thou against them all these words, and say unto them: 'The Lord Maker shall roar from on high, and utter His voice from His holy habitation; He shall mightily roar upon His habitation; He shall give a vengeful shout against all the inhabitants of the earth.
31. A noise shall come even to the ends of the Earth, for the Lord hath a fury with the nations. He will plead with all flesh; He will give them that displease Him to the sword.'
32. Thus saith the Lord and Maker: 'Behold, evil shall go forth from nation to nation, and the great cloud filled with sins collected since the beginning will be raised up from the south.'
33. And the slain of the Lord shall be at that day from one end of the Earth even unto the other end of the Earth. They shall not be lamented, neither gathered, nor buried; they shall be dung upon the ground.
The Inner Circle: The Gates of Hae'Evun Page 4