by Jena Rey
“It is good advice. I am to join Darian and Tabor later to honor Ianel’s passing. Darian says it’s like a funeral, but not. I do not understand what he means.”
Fressin rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a rite they perform when a Knight dies. I’ve never seen it. Usually, the only ones allowed to join are Knights, and the rare priest. I suppose they are doing you an honor by letting you come. Good luck.” He pushed away from the wall and walked down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.
Ephema watched him go, then leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. She would rest here for just a minute and then return to her room. Her breathing deepened and sleep claimed her. This time she did not dream.
Darian tilted his head, listening as the tower bell rang the midnight hour. To him, the bells were comforting, reassuring that all was well. He knew some people who disliked the bell’s chiming, though the farther you were from the center of town the quieter they were. He’d become accustomed to the sound as a child and now the sound brought comfort and a sense of home.
He looked up as soft steps approached, watching Ephema make her way down the hallway. She stopped a few feet away from him, a questioning look in his gaze. “Am I late?”
“No. The other Knights only just went inside.”
She nodded, toying with a lock of her hair. “What is going to happen?”
Darian smiled and raised his hand to push the door open. “I don’t entirely know. I’ve heard of the Rite of Passage but it's restricted by rank, so I’ve never participated until now. I don’t think you’ll need to do anything. Just take the chance to remember Ianel and wish him well as his soul enters the Halls of Osephetin’s faithful.”
“All right.”
He opened the door just enough for them both to pass, his armor and weaponry requiring more space than Ephema’s slender form. Before them the Eternal Flame of the temple burned merrily, though the chapel pews were empty. Only a half a dozen armored Knights and the Knight Proctor were present in the room. They stood in a rough circle before the flame, obviously waiting.
Lauret looked up, waving toward the seats nearest the back of the chamber. “Ephema, choose a seat. This can be loud, but I assure you there's no danger. Darian to me. It’s time to begin.” Her tone brokered neither argument nor explanation, and they hurried to obey, Ephema slid onto one of the benches as Darian hurried down the aisle.
He stepped into the empty place in the circle, his gaze coming to rest on a small table where a few of Ianel’s things rested. He knew that the ritual was usually conducted over a Knight’s body, but in this case, there was no body, armor, or weapon to consecrate. The thought brought a new pain to Darian’s heart.
Lauret thumped the end of her staff on the floor, the sound stark, cutting through the whisper of the Eternal Flame. A second thump and each Knight drew their soul weapon, holding them across their bodies in a guarded stance. Darian followed suit, a tingle running along the bottoms of his feet and rising through his body. A third thump, and the Knights spoke, for an instant Darian was lost, but the words quickly resolved to the familiar.
“Osephetin. Guide me.”
The weapons came to life, shining with blue eldritch energy that swirled about hammer, flail, mace, staff, and mauls, the weapons designed to destroy the undead. Tonight, the Goddess-blessed runes on Darian’s mace remained quiet, filling with shadow where they usually blazed with golden light, blue flames dancing about the skull that topped the weapon.
Lauret stepped forward, touching the tip of her staff to the table. The Knight beside her followed suit, the movement continuing around the circle until all eight weapons rested on the wood. Blue flame poured onto the table consuming Ianel's items without leaving so much as a scorch mark where they passed. A silent wind swirled in the center of the circle, carrying the ashes into a slowly twisting cloud that settled into the Eternal Flame. Like small stars each piece of ash burst and glittered as it fell, utterly consumed.
“Ianel, Ianel, Ianel, Ianel…” The men and women of Osephetin chanted the name of their fallen comrade, pounding their weapons on the floor or against their shields. The noise grew until it filled Darian’s ears, the scent of ash and fire hot in his nostrils. He didn’t know when he’d gone from a chant to a scream, though his throat burned with the effort. A strike of blue lightning lashed from the center of the Eternal Flame, slamming into the wooden table and destroying it with one strike, knocking the Knights from their feet and scattering them.
Darian lay on the floor, his breath coming in gasps, his ears ringing. A voice he remembered from his Knight’s Challenge echoed through his mind.
“He has been found…worthy.”
Epilogue
Adaman blinked as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was wrapped in an overall feeling of calm, and knew immediately he was having a vision, and he was asleep. He cast his gaze about, nodding in appreciation of his surroundings. He stood in a forested glen, surrounded by trees decorated in early spring blooms. Thin grasses tickled his feet as he stood, and a warm breeze chased the chill from his bones.
He held out his hand to pick out a flower, but the flower disappeared, replaced by the globe amulet Ephema wore. He took a step back, letting his hand drop as the amulet began to spin.
A flash of light sparked from the amulet, and time froze around him. The trees and grasses stopped moving in the wind and all sound ceased. The amulet still hovered in the air, though it was now motionless. Then a new sound rose and caught his attention.
Laughter.
Deep, cruel, foreboding laughter. The laughter of misery.
He took a sharp breath when first one, then many, skeletons appeared at the edge of the forest. These skeletons were old, older than any he’d ever seen. Many were missing limbs and the bone that remained was twisted into shapes that were no longer human. For a heartbeat, the skeletons and he matched empty gazes; then they advanced, one step at a time. The ground shuddered with each footfall.
Adaman found he could not move as the skeletons came ever closer, until they were no more than a body’s length away. He tried to scream as the first reached him, but his voice failed him.
“That is quite enough of that.” A man’s voice came from behind him, calm and reserved, breaking the spell. A rather short, chubby, balding man walked in front of him and touched Adaman on the center of his forehead. “This vision will only do you harm. The Lich is on the move and the time of his rising is now. You must tell your people to guard their dreams, and your Knights must act now. This is the last time. Their last chance with the last Daughter. They have the keys to the information they need, and they must not fail. Now wake up, Priest of Osephetin and get to work.” He snapped his fingers in front of Adaman’s face, breaking the vision.
Gasping in fear, Adaman jolted awake from his bed, covered in sweat. He wasn’t sure who had saved him, but he recognized a directive from on high when he heard one. At least this time the interpretation was clear. The danger of the Lich was growing, but they had a real chance to stop him.
A chance was all they’d ever asked for.
And by the Dark One, they were going to take it.
The End
About the Authors
Matthew T. Summers
In the quiet Virginia mountains, Matt Summers whiles away the day with his wife and two kids and whatever menagerie of pets have made their way to his door. He has written in multiple genres for more years than he cares to admit, and will soundly deny rumors that he initially started writing to impress a girl.
Jena Rey
Writer of the weird and the wonderful, Jena Rey has long been a fan of science fiction and fantasy. She finds inspiration in the Utah landscape where she lives with the best kids, husband, and furry sidekicks.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to: Melissa McShane, Patrick Roddy, A. Nixon, Bryan Brown, Veronica Mulik, and Anna the one and only for your reading and encouragement.
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