by Clayton Wood
She turned to her side, staring at the orb on her nightstand. Her stomach growled.
She sighed, sending a pulse of magic to the communication orb, then swinging her legs over the side of the bed, sitting upright at the edge. She stretched again, yawning a second time, then hopped onto the floor, walking toward her bedroom door. Kalibar's suite had plenty of tables to eat at, but her bedroom did not; she didn't want to get her bed dirty and force Jenkins to have it cleaned in the morning. She reached for the doorknob, twisting it and opening the door.
A tall man stood in front of her.
Ariana screamed, backpedaling quickly, then feeling the back of her legs strike the bed behind her. She stared at the man in front of her, magic twisting automatically in her mind, a gravity shield bursting to life around her.
“Relax, child,” the man said. He stepped forward then, toward her. Ariana realized that the man was dressed in the blue shirt and black pants typical of the Tower's butlers. Even in the relative darkness of the room, she could tell that it was only Jenkins.
“Oh, sorry,” Ariana mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush. She stepped forward from the bed. Jenkins smiled weakly.
“I didn't mean to frighten you,” the butler replied. “I was about to open the door when you did.”
“Of course,” Ariana replied. She paused then, staring at Jenkins. The man's face was pale, and drawn. He looked strikingly unwell.
“What can I do for you?” he inquired. “A late night snack again for your nightmares?”
“Um, yes please,” Ariana requested.
“The usual?”
Ariana nodded, and Jenkins bowed slightly.
“I'll have Greg bring you a tray,” he stated. Then he turned about, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. Ariana watched the butler go, feeling her heart slowing at last. There was something...off about the man, although she couldn't put a finger on why.
She sat down on her bed, taking a deep breath in, then letting it out. Her stomach growled again, more insistently this time, and she realized she was starving. She'd hardly eaten since Kyle's abduction, picking at her meals, leaving most of the food on the plate. Luckily, she didn't have to wait long; before she knew it, there was a knock on the door. She opened it up.
“Good evening, Ariana,” the man beyond said. It was Greg, Jenkin's assistant butler. Ariana smiled, glancing at the tray of food in the butler's hands. The silver dome covering the food could hardly contain the delicious aromas within, and Ariana's mouth watered instantly upon smelling them. Greg gestured for Ariana to follow him into Kalibar's main suite; they walked up to one of the many glass-topped tables there, and the butler placed the tray on top of it. Then he turned about, facing Ariana.
“Do you require anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Ariana replied. She sat down on the white couch facing the table, and Greg raised the silver dome from the platter, revealing a wondrously bronzed portion of duck. Ariana rubbed her hands together, then she unrolled her silverware from the rolled-up napkin at her right, ready to dig in. She took out a fork, and a spoon, then frowned, glancing about her plate. Her knife was missing.
Suddenly the couch jerked backwards, sliding out from underneath her. She cried out, silverware flying as she fell onto her back on the hard granite below. Her head slammed into the unforgiving stone, stars exploding in the periphery of her vision. Her entire body felt as if it were underwater, everything moving in slow motion.
She looked up, dazed, and saw Greg standing over her, a long, serrated knife clutched in his hands high above his head, the cruel point aiming down at her heart. His face was twisted, his teeth bared like an Ulfar's.
He thrust the knife downward.
Ariana wove without thinking, creating a gravity sphere to her left. It pulled her to the side at the last minute, the blade missing her right shoulder by a fraction of an inch. The knife bounced off of the granite floor, slipping out of Greg's hands. Ariana created another gravity sphere to her left, sliding further across the ground, then creating one above her. She was pulled upward, onto her feet.
She ran toward the front door.
Greg cursed behind her. She felt a sudden vibration in her skull, felt the air crackling around her. She created another gravity sphere, this one to her right, and pulled herself violently to the side.
A bolt of electricity slammed into the door, missing her by mere inches.
Ariana felt her shoulder slam into a column, knocking the breath out of her. She pulled herself together, ducking behind the column, putting it between her and Greg.
“Well done,” the butler congratulated. She heard his footsteps echoing as he walked toward her. “But playtime's over.”
Ariana created a gravity shield around herself, then bolted out from behind the stone column, running toward the door – the entrance to Kalibar's suite. If she could just make it into the hallway...
Suddenly she tripped over something, falling onto her hands and knees on the unforgiving floor. She felt something pop in her left wrist, a terrible pain lancing up her forearm. She cried out, her left arm crumpling under her, and slammed the side of her head on the floor. She groaned, rolling onto her right side, clutching her throbbing wrist. It looked all wrong, bent at a crazy angle.
Then she realized what she'd tripped over.
Two Battle-Weavers, their faces staring lifelessly back at her, blood on the floor around them. She was lying in a pool of it, the dark red liquid seeping into her clothes. It was cold and wet, and slick against her skin.
Ariana felt her stomach churn, and she stifled the urge to throw up. She heard footsteps approaching, and looked up, seeing Greg some ten feet away, walking toward her slowly. The butler had a grim smile on his face.
Ariana rose from the ground, pushing herself up onto her knees with her good hand, then rising to her feet. She felt the room spin for a moment, feeling her grip on consciousness slipping. She backed away from Greg, resisting the urge to bolt toward the door again, knowing that he would expect such a move. He was clearly toying with her, the smile never leaving his face as he took another step toward her.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“Just following orders,” he replied. The steak knife on the ground – some twenty feet away – flew upward, zipping into Greg's right hand. He cocked it back. “Nothing personal,” he added apologetically.
Then he threw the knife right at her.
Ariana reacted instinctively, countless hours of practice kicking in. A powerful pulling sphere appeared in front of her and to the right. The knife entered the field, curving rightward mere feet from where Ariana stood. She poured as much magic into her magic stream as she could, the knife arcing around and reversing direction. Ariana cut off the magic stream, abolishing the gravity sphere. The knife flew away from her with incredible speed...and right at Greg.
It bounced harmlessly off of his gravity shield.
“Nice try,” he said, the knife clattering on the floor to one side. Ariana's gravity shield vanished suddenly, and then she felt an overwhelming force pulling her to the ground. Her legs crumpled underneath her, and she screamed as she landed on her left wrist, agony shooting through her arm. The force continued, pushing her down onto her back. She tried to create her own gravity field to reverse Greg's, but it was no use...the man was simply too powerful.
He walked up to her, his shiny shoes clicking on the cool granite floor. He stood over her for a long moment, then dropped slowly to one knee, draping his forearm casually over his leg.
“A shame you weren't loyal to the Master,” Greg murmured, glancing at her misshapen wrist, and then staring into her eyes. “He wants to speak with you.” His pupils widened suddenly, his eyes unfocusing for a split second. Then they snapped back into focus.
He smiled warmly.
“Ariana,” a deep voice bellowed from Greg's mouth. Ariana's heart skipped a beat; she knew that voice.
Xanos.
“No,”
she whimpered, feeling all hope leave her. She tried to get up, to crawl away, but she still couldn't move. “No!”
“What a fine Death Weaver you could have been,” Xanos murmured, his voice sending chills down Ariana's spine. “You and Kyle both.”
Ariana's eyes widened.
“Where's Kyle?” she demanded. “What did you do to him?”
“The same thing I must do to you,” Xanos replied. The knife rose up from the floor again, flying into his hand. He didn't even look at it, his eyes never leaving hers. Ariana felt a crushing hopelessness come over her, even more powerful than the force pinning her to the floor. Her worst fears had been realized.
Kyle was dead.
She felt the force immobilizing her intensify, her arms flying out to her sides. She howled in pain, her left wrist pressing hard against the granite beneath her. Tears came to her eyes, pulled across the sides of her face by the gravity field. She gasped to take a breath in, her head beginning to swim.
Xanos knelt over her silently, the blade in his hand flashing in the dim light of the magical lanterns overhead. Then he brought the tip of the blade down to the center of her chest, under the rib cage.
And pushed.
Ariana tried to scream as the sharp point sliced through her clothes, digging into her skin, but only a pathetic mewling sound came out. She struggled to move, tried to scramble away, but it was hopeless. Xanos pressed harder, and the blade slid deeper into the skin, a sharp pain spreading through her chest as he did so. She glanced down, seeing a red circle expanding on her shirt around the knife. The tip dug deeper still, now completely embedded in her flesh.
She whimpered, unable to turn away, her eyes wide with terror.
Xanos paused for a moment, staring into her eyes wordlessly. Then he adjusted his grip on the knife's handle, and leaned into it.
Ariana felt a horrible pain shoot through her chest and up her left shoulder, and squeezed her eyes shut, opening her mouth to scream.
There was a thump, and then the sound of metal clattering on stone. The force pinning her to the ground vanished.
She paused, then opened her eyes.
Her shirt was slick and wet against her chest, the bloodstain large, but no longer growing. The pain in her chest was subsiding. She glanced about, and saw something round on the ground beside her, to her right. She frowned, reaching out to it, rolling it closer.
It was a head.
She cried out, leaping to her feet, staring down at the head. She realized then that there was something else on the ground...Greg's body, a few feet away, a blackened stump at its neck. The man had been decapitated, the stump of his neck charred black.
Ariana covered her mouth with her hand, then realized that her left wrist didn't hurt anymore. She stared at it; the bones were perfectly aligned, no longer twisted at a horrible angle. She squeezed the bones of her wrist with her right hand...no pain.
“What the...” she blurted out.
“My thought exactly,” a raspy voice called out from behind.
* * *
Ariana whirled about, seeing an old man standing there, some ten feet from where she stood.
Old, she realized, was an understatement. The man was positively ancient, his back bent severely with age, his pale skin like crumpled parchment. Broken and rotting teeth jutted out from his desiccated gums. A large, pale scar ran across his forehead, with smaller scars scattered on his neck and arms. His simple clothes were torn and mud-caked, a foul odor emanating from them.
His face broke into a smile, making him appear even more revolting than he already was.
“Who're you?” Ariana stated, taking a step back. Her hand went involuntarily to her nose, and she stopped the movement just in time, breathing through her mouth instead. If the old wretch had noticed the motion, he didn't show it.
“I, he stated, rapping the butt of a long, wooden cane he held against the granite floor, “...am curious.” Ariana took another step back, her eyes stinging slightly at the stench.
“I mean, what's your name?” she pressed. The old man shrugged.
“What does it matter?” he wheezed. Then he gestured at Greg's body lying on the ground beside her. “What matters is that this man lost his head...and that you are ignorant as to how.”
Ariana glanced at the decapitated corpse on the ground, clutching her chest with both hands. Slippery wetness coated her palms.
“Who are you?” she repeated, taking another step backward. With a thought, a gravity shield appeared around her. The old man chuckled softly.
“I am,” he stated, rapping his cane on the floor a second time, “...the greatest part of the whole.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“My Chosen is dead,” the old man replied, pointing one shriveled finger at Greg's body, “...because of you.” Then he frowned slightly, the countless lines in his face deepening grotesquely. “Or rather, because of something inside of you.”
“What?” Ariana asked. The old man raised one eyebrow, the scar on his forehead rippling with the motion.
“You don't know, eh?” he observed. He raised the butt of his cane at her, pointing it at her legs. “They're in your bones, little bird...I can feel them.” He tapped his left temple with one yellowed, cracked fingernail.
“What are you talking about?” Ariana demanded. She thought about making a break for it then, of sprinting past this old man and bolting through the door. If she could just make it to the riser...
“The runes in your bones, little one,” the old man clarified. He smiled grotesquely, his cataract-glazed eyes regarding her intensely. “I'd very much like to see them.”
Ariana froze.
“Come, girl,” he wheezed, swinging his cane around until it was pointing at the door to her bedroom. “Haven't got all day.”
Ariana made up her mind, and bolted.
Except she didn't.
Her legs failed to move, her arms staying at her sides. In a panic, she tried to weave magic, to create a gravity sphere to one side, so that she could pull herself around the old man...but there was no magic to weave.
She had no magic at all.
She tried to move her head, but could not. She could only stare at the elderly man, stooped over his cane, a shock of short white hair sprouting from his liver-spotted skull. He began to walk toward her bedroom door, and she found herself doing the same, her limbs moving without her consent. She followed behind him, trying desperately to regain control over her body...but to no avail. He limped up to the door, pushing it open with the butt of his cane, then gesturing for her to walk in. Which, despite her best efforts, she did. Her body brought her to the edge of her bed, turned her about, and made her sit down on the edge.
“Do lie down,” the old man ordered, hobbling up to the bedside. Ariana's body complied without her mind's consent, laying her down on her back in the middle of the bed. The old man sat on the edge of the bed beside her, regarding her with his sunken eyes. Ariana swallowed in a dry throat, her heart pounding in her chest.
“What are you doing to me?” she croaked, surprised that she could even speak. The rest of her body – from the neck down, other than her breathing – was effectively paralyzed.
“You, my dear,” the old man replied, putting a desiccated hand on her left leg, “...are being protected by someone. A person I'd very much like to meet.” He patted her leg, the sensation of his dry, cracked flesh making her skin crawl.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ariana protested. The old man smiled.
“Oh, I know,” he stated. Then his eyes unfocused, and he stared off into space for a second, his smile slowly disappearing. It only lasted a moment, and he turned his gaze to her soon afterward. “How interesting,” he murmured.
“What?”
“It seems,” the man answered, “...that another of my Chosen is about to be murdered.” He sighed, taking his hand off of Ariana's leg and gripping his cane with both hands. “A shame...he was a good man.�
�
“What are you talking about?”
“Your 'Dead Man,'” he replied. “I had him test the boy and the bodyguard. Someone just severed his communication stream to Xanos, and therefore to me. Which,” he added, “...is what happened before all the other Chosen were killed.” He sighed again, placing one hand back on her leg; if she could have shuddered, she would've. “You'll be happy to know it happened right as he was about to kill your friend.”
Ariana's eyes widened, and she felt her heart skip a beat.
“Kyle?” she blurted out, daring to hope. “He's alive?”
“Oh yes,” the old man answered. “For now. But I'm sorry to say that your bodyguard is not.”
Ariana felt a lump rise in her throat, and she closed her eyes, feeling tears squeeze out from between her lids and run down her cheeks. She may never have quite warmed up to Darius, but he'd been a good man.
“It was not the runes in his bones,” the old man continued, “...that saved Kyle. I had his drained as I am draining yours.” Ariana opened her eyes, frowning at the man.
“What?”
“Oh yes, he was protected as you are,” he replied. “A trip through the Void fixed that.” He sighed. “I always suspected he was the focus of his protector, and that you...” he raised one gnarled finger and pointed it at her “...were just...a happy accident.” He shifted his hand to her right leg, cupping her shin in the palm of his hand. “I left his runes alone, knowing that I could study yours while his protector was otherwise occupied.”
“What runes?” she pressed.
“Someone opened you up, dear,” he answered. “Likely while you were sleeping. Opened you up and carved wonderful runes in your bones, wards to protect you.” He shook his head. “They must be amazingly sophisticated, to get past the defensive wards my Chosen have. Poor Greg.”