A bird flittered by on one wing. The animal did not appear damaged in the least. Nor did the lack of one wing seem to have any impact on its ability to gain lift from the winds which seemed to swirl too strongly for how light they were. Despite the impossibility of it all, that one winged bird soared to such great heights it was merely a spec in the bright sky when it expanded into a half cloud.
Other shapes zipped by, scurrying along the ground, floating along flowing waters, or soaring among the tops of those unfinished trees. Some looked like things Cialia had seen before. Others were completely foreign. All of them seemed unfinished, like incomplete ideas waiting to be born into something meaningful and real.
A frog hopped out of a river of milk which had not been there a moment earlier and said, “Someday, I will…” in a voice that sounded like a man.
“Someday you will what?” Cialia asked, but the thing turned into a rock, its features quickly smoothing until all the details which made it look like a frog had vanished. “Someday you will nothing, apparently,” she quietly added as she passed by the stone.
The world around her remained like that as she travelled. Shapes would emerge from nothing, form into something, and either vanish or soar up into the air. Day became night and night became day so many times she had lost count, and she just kept walking along. She never tired, nor did she sleep or take any kind of nourishment.
A mountain stood in the distance stretching up from the flat land surrounding it like a beacon; the center of the world with everything else stretching out from that one singular point. Though she had no way to determine why the place had meaning, she immediately knew it to be her destination.
Day turned to night and night to day three more times before the path Cialia followed began a steady incline toward the top of the mountain. There were no trees, but grass and wildflowers grew haphazardly on either side of the trail she followed. The colors were impossibly vibrant. The grass was the deepest, richest green she had ever seen, and the flowers were every color she could imagine in more shades than seemed possible. It remained consistent like that except for the very top of the mountain. That seemed too round for a mountaintop, and the grass there seemed too long, too thin, and an odd, yellowish color that stood in stark contrast to the vibrance of everything surrounding it.
It was not until Cialia reached the end of the trail she realized the mountain was completely hollow, and what she had thought was its peak was a separate structure entirely. It looked like a massive statue of a head held up by four giant stone pillars right up until it moved, shifting only slightly.
“Cialia,” the giant head spoke in a voice that sounded like her own. “You have travelled a great distance. It is impossible you have found me.”
In that moment, Cialia had an incredible realization. “Why do you have my face?” she asked.
“Of course, I do not have your face,” the massive head replied. “I am looking at your face at this very moment. If I had your face, you would not have one.”
“Fine. You have your face, and I have mine. Why do they look the same?” Cialia rolled her eyes. Overly particular people were irritating.
The face smiled, “You already know the answer to that question. You simply have not thought enough about it. Those swords of yours cannot solve every problem. What if you did not have them? Then what would you do?”
As the question reached Cialia’s ear, she instinctively reached for her swords. They were gone. “More tricks,” she complained. “I am tired of riddles and games. Can anyone just speak plainly?”
“Some things can be told to us, but some things must be learned,” the face continued smiling. “You need to wake up. You will never reach your destination until you do. Those things I can tell you. However, I cannot tell you how to do that.”
“You are the second individual I have met on this journey who has told me to wake up while I am already awake. This journey has been a waste of time. The prince is trapped at the top of a mountain of fire, and I am the only who can save him. Can you tell me where is this mountain of fire? Are you the girl who knows everything? If not, can you point me in the direction of where I might find this wise creature?” irritation seeped into Cialia’s tone.
“You already know where to find the girl who knows everything,” the face replied.
“I do not know anything anymore,” Cialia sighed.
“As long as you believe you will not reach your destination, it will remain unfound,” the massive face closed her eyes.
“The hawk told me I needed to speak with the girl who knows everything,” she complained. “She is supposed to guide me to the mountain of fire. That is all I know.”
The head remained silent.
“This cannot be my life,” Cialia shouted as she kicked a stone. When it became apparent her outburst would not earn a response from the irritating head, she flopped onto the ground, and let her own head drop onto her bent knees.
She sat like that for a good long while, lifting her head occasionally to look at the massive face in the hopes it might have something else to add. It did not. It just sat there propped up on those pillars. Was it really sleeping, or did it just not want to speak with her anymore? What did it matter? What did anything matter? The prince was probably dead already. She stretched out where she was and closed her eyes. Maybe some sleep would help.
Hours, days, or mere moments? Cialia had no idea how much time had passed while she slumbered. She may have slept the rest of her life away had that familiar voice not asked, “Is this where your story ends?”
What she saw when her eyes snapped open surprised her. The mountainous head in the crater she had fallen asleep upon was gone. She was in a room again. It resembled the room where she had fought the warrior who resembled her so much, but it was different. As she glanced around the room in confusion, “How?” was all she came up with.
The old man who had convinced her to veer off course and search for some girl who allegedly knows everything stood before her. His eyes were just as beautiful and troubling as the first time she saw them. Those horrible, wonderful things stared down at her as he said, “You ask a lot of questions. Sadly, you never seem to ask the correct questions, and you provide very few answers.”
Cialia rolled her eyes and laid her head back down on her folded arms, “I am tired of your games. I sought the girl who knows everything and found a giant head who had nothing useful to offer.”
“I am disappointed,” the old man frowned. “I expected much more from you.”
“No more disappointed than I,” Cialia countered. “I have failed my mission.”
“You have failed nothing. The only thing standing in your way is you,” the man vanished, and Cialia was alone again.
Despite how large the circular room was, it seemed the walls were closing in. She had gained nothing on her journey and was no closer to her goal. How could the imbecile suggest she had not failed? The stone walls staring back at her were starkly different than a mountain of fire. “I wish father were here,” she whispered to no one as she dropped her head in her hands and allowed tears to overtake her.
She had barely worked her way up to a healthy cry when she heard father’s voice above her sobbing and sniveling. “What on Ouloos are you crying about?” he asked.
“Father, I have…” her words trailed off as she raised her head. The man staring back at her was not the man she had cried over in the forest. Nor was he the man who forged her mighty blades and raised her to be a warrior. Despite that, the man sitting cross-legged in front of her somehow was her father. She recognized his dark flowing hair and equally dark eyes. She cocked her head to the side and said, “You are not Agrimon.”
“Agrimon the titan? No, I am not. He died years ago. I never knew him, but I did love the stories they told of him,” he smiled. “You loved those stories too. I remember I told you the story of how he forged those blades you wield so expertly from a mountain fallen from the heavens.”
Recognition
sparkled in Cialia’s eyes as she tapped the hilts of her swords, “You are Daritus. You gave me these blades, Vengeance and Mercy, when I was very small.”
“Have you grown so old you no longer refer to me as father?” he frowned. “I know we share no blood, but you have always been my daughter.”
“You taught me to swing these blades,” her gaze drifted off toward nothing in particular. “Agrimon was not my father.”
“You do share blood with the legend, but no, he was not your father,” Daritus agreed.
“You are not really here, are you?” Cialia smiled back at him.
“Only you know the answer to that,” he replied and then was gone.
“I am the girl who knows everything in this place, because this place is within me,” she added, looking at the spot where her father had been. “I am done with this mission.”
The room darkened as the lines around her softened. Bricks broke apart as bright light slipped through the cracks. She floated above it all as it melted away until nothing remained but darkness. Though she could see no visual cues to gauge the rate at which she travelled, the sensation of rapid movement was undeniable. She raced toward something.
Then a dim light sparkled in the distance. It looked little more than a pin prick but added a point of reference to the speed at which she traveled. She raced across a great, black void faster than any horse could hope to run. Milliseconds passed and she could make out a shape. A heartbeat later, she recognized the shape. It was Brerto, his tightly closed eyes snapped open, black voids impossibly swirling with all colors known and unknown. Rage twisted up his face for a moment until fear chased it away.
Cialia’s eyes snapped open, and the god was gone. Free from his spell, she saw everything. His garden, so peaceful and perfect, surrounded her, but she saw through the illusion. A snow-covered, barren waste devoid of life sprawled out in all directions. The difference between a lush garden and snow-covered waste mattered little. The door which suddenly stood before her, that was what mattered. It was not a door in the physical sense, no passage between one location and another. It was a passage between the physical reality to which she was accustomed and a spiritual reality she had barely glimpsed while she had split time. Now she saw it clearly. In a thought, she was gone.
Once again, she stood before the god. His eyes widened at the sight of her. His lips moved to speak, but no words came. Cialia simply shook her head and sealed the god’s mouth shut. “Brerto, deceiver, false god, I have judged you,” her tone was flat and emotionless. “Say your peace before I destroy you.”
Brerto’s mouth had remained sealed until Cialia allowed him to open it. Rage bubbled deep in his voice as he shouted, “Who are you to judge me? I am eternal. You are but a blink, barely a heartbeat in time. You know nothing.”
“And yet, I am your judgement,” Cialia’s tone remained calm as flames swirled about her. “The next words which leave your vile mouth will be your last. I would not waste them damning another, but do as you see fit.”
“Petulant child,” the god fumed as his staff glowed brighter than the sun.
Cialia shook her head again and the staff quickly dimmed until no light remained. “All creatures of Ouloos are free from your terror,” she whispered.
The moment Cialia spoke those words, Brerto’s flesh began to sizzle. Fear once again chased the rage from his face while his body trembled with effort. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as his eyes first went wide and then slammed shut. Flames formed out of the air licking his flesh that smoked and smoldered for the briefest of moments until the god exploded in a flash of brilliant light, all colors existing at once in equal saturation. And he was gone.
Cialia fell to her knees. The effort it took to vaporize a god was oddly minimal. It seemed she had grown stronger with each passing moment since finding her flame in the forest outside Druindahl. However, the entire duel had sapped her strength. She had grown weary trapped in his illusion. Something held her attention briefly, something primal. Was it a smell or a taste, or was it just an odd awareness? She could not know. Sleep came far too quickly, and the sensation was gone.
Chapter 47
Feed the Gods
Ijilv hid in darkness only partially existing in the realm, like dipping one toe into the water. Despite being equally split between two places, he was acutely aware of everything happening in both. Part of him looked lovingly on the sleeping boy who would one day wake to be his Dragon, his destroyer of worlds, precious Geillan. An equal part of him rested on his brother Brerto’s throne, a whisper outside the visible spectrum of light.
He felt his brother’s fear and Cialia’s odd lack of rage. He expected a fury from her so strong it had flavor. Yet, she remained calm, even aloof. Killing the gods, his brothers, was not malice or revenge. She truly believed it her duty.
“You are pathetic,” Kallum’s voice was a distraction not quite strong enough to pull him completely away from experiencing the battle going on before him.
“Why?” he asked.
“You admire this weak thing. She is pathetic, a child with a strength she could not possibly understand,” Kallum scoffed.
“And yet, she wields it with a mastery none of my brothers could boast. Like most things, you were and still are wrong about her. She is the Dragon. All of you bumbling fools were so worried about Maelich and all your false prophecies. I wonder if you would have been destroyed had you let the lad of the Lake be,” Ijilv remained dazzled by the control Cialia held over Brerto as he disregarded Kallum’s attempts to denigrate her name.
“Given the chance, she would kill you as well,” Kallum continued.
“Yes, she would, and she may still,” Ijilv agreed.
A bright flash ended the conversation as Brerto exploded into bits before them. Ijilv inhaled deeply sucking shimmering pieces of his scattered brother into his mouth and nose, his jaw and nostrils expanding to inhale each precious bit. None were spared.
By the time he had finished, Cialia lay sleeping. Ijilv materialized there in the room before her sleeping form. “Look at her,” he said. “She is perfect, the most powerful being on Ouloos…for now.”
A moment later, he was standing outside Kallum’s cell looking down at two of his brothers. Kallum was exactly where he had left him, but now Brerto sat chained next to him. Brerto’s head slumped down onto Kallum’s shoulder. Not one to allow any creature even the smallest comfort, Kallum shrugged his brother off.
“Welcome, brother,” Ijilv boomed. “It has been too long, my friend. Well,” he paused long enough to get Brerto’s full attention, “at least it seems that way for you. By now, you must know I was your accomplice in the destruction of Havenstahl.”
Brerto struggled momentarily against his bonds. Never one to tip his hand, the fear that momentarily flashed in his eyes fled before completely settling in. After a deep breath he replied, “I know all.”
“Of course, you do,” he laughed at his new prisoner. “I am certain you have an elaborate plan in which I am but a pawn.”
Kallum glared at Brerto as he chided him, “You had no plan. If you were as aware of all things as you fancy yourself to be, perhaps it would have been you collecting my scattered parts to restore me to my former glory. Instead, you helped this deceiver take everything away from us both. You have always believed yourself to be the wisest among us, but you were never more than a scrod happy to sniff around at my feet.”
“Mind your tongue, brother. I went along with your schemes because we shared a common goal. I never intended to bow before you or allow you to rule this place on your own. Now that all has been revealed, I can tell you that you were the one being used. You have always been the strongest and most prideful of us. That made you an easy pawn. However, where I failed was believing you could control the lad of the Lake,” Brerto paused as he glanced around the small cell. “I will defeat this illusion. There will be a reckoning, and I will bring all my brothers to heel.”
Kallum laughed in Brerto
’s face as Ijilv smiled and said, “You are already trying. I can feel it. Please be assured, the effort would be a waste. You are both within me, and soon all of us brothers will be as one.”
He left them alone to argue amongst themselves. There was work to do. Two gods remained free to terrorize Ouloos. One Dragon remained lost in an illusion sprouted from a broken psyche, while another charged along on her mission to kill the gods. And his destroyer lay sleeping, growing stronger every day. Everything was going according to plan.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
E. Michael Mettille is the author of To Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1), Kallum’s Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2), and Hell and the Hunger (as Mike Reynolds). He has also written numerous short stories and poems. Mike has spent the last twenty years in direct marketing, print, and communication. He is fascinated by history, belief systems, the human condition and how all of those things work together to define who we are as a people. The world is a wonder and, based on the history of us, it is a wonder we have a world left to wonder about. Mike lives in Milwaukee, WI with his wife, Shelia.
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