Word of Truth

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Pull him up,” Sora said, slowly.

  “Yer shog-shuckin mad!” Gargamane cried. He lifted Whitney just a bit but didn’t drag him back to solid ground.

  “I said pull him up.”

  “I’m makin the rules round here,” Gargamane said. “Ye and yer companions are gonna—“

  “Sora, don’t!” Lucindur screamed, but it was too late.

  Sora yelled and unleashed a focused stream of fire directly at the dwarf. The flame hit Gargamane square in the wrist, giving him no choice but to drop Whitney as he shook out his arm.

  Tum Tum and Lucindur shouted, reaching outward, but Sora didn’t seem fazed.

  “Ye killed him!” Gargamane cried.

  Two things happened at the same time. Sora lowered her hand to the earth, and the ground beneath them shook. More snow and ice created a massive avalanche. Fire erupted in a line along the rock wall, melting the snow as it did so. They fought against the stream of water gushing toward them. Much of it turned to steam, the heat of which was intense. Everyone stumbled, but Sora. Whitney’s cry could be heard above it all, but instead of becoming fainter, it grew louder and closer. From below, a snow-covered finger of rock rose. Gargamane leaped back.

  Safely nestled within the blanket of powder was Whitney, eyes clenched tight, mouth wide open. He stopped screaming as the shifting chunk of the mountain came to a halt.

  “I—what—huh?” Whitney stammered.

  Everyone stared at Sora, mouth as open as Whitney’s had just been. She was on one knee now, cheeks without color, panting like she’d just run from Balonhearth to Westvale and back.

  “Meungor’s foamy beard. What the yig was that?” Gargamane asked. He and his clanbreakers—now revealed due to the melting snow—backed up.

  On his hands and knees, Whitney crawled across the small gap between the magically-raised portion of the mountain and the pass they all stood upon. When he was safe on solid ground, he threw up.

  “Shog in a barrel,” Whitney groaned as Lucindur helped him to his feet. Tum Tum would have, but he remained frozen in stunned silence.

  “We don’t even need the stone,” Whitney went on. “You could bury Nesilia better than Iam did!”

  “Leave now,” Gargamane said. “Please. Ye’ve done enough. We won’t pursue ye, but don’t ye try to return neither. Ain’t nothin here for ye, outcast. Balonhearth and the Three Kingdoms are closed to all foreigners—including those who forsook their homes.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any place to be making threats!” Whitney said, voice and arms shaky.

  “Oh, be quiet,” Lucindur told Whitney.

  Sora rose to her full height. Her hands trembled, and she seemed a tad woozy, but she didn’t back down. “You’re going to open that door and take us to see the king,” she demanded.

  “Please, I can’t,” Gargamane replied. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t open it. Not from the outside.”

  “Then how will you get back in?” she asked, voice laced with skepticism.

  “Guard changes twice a day. Dawn and dusk. But before ye get any ideas… ye might be able to do wonders—whatever that was—but not even ye can fight all me men. That’s no threat, just the truth. I can see how much that took out of ye.”

  “She’ll still barbecue you in a second,” Whitney spat.

  Gargamane held up his palms. “I’m askin again, we’re just doin what our king demanded. No one in. No one out. He’s done involvin himself in the troubles of flower-pi… southerners.”

  Tum Tum had never expected to see a dwarf of such high-standing and military renown looking so defeated.

  Turning to the others, Tum Tum said, “Let’s go.”

  “Let’s go?” Whitney and Lucindur both said. Sora was still shooting arrows with her eyeballs.

  “We haven’t gotten what we came for,” Whitney said.

  “Aye, and we won’t be doin it like this,” Tum Tum said, voice low. “That door ain’t budgin for no man or dwarf. And he’s right, we ain’t equipped to take on all of Balonhearth unless Sora plans to take the whole yiggin mountain down.”

  “He’s right,” Lucindur agreed.

  “You too?” Whitney said.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Lucindur said. “We always do. Come on.”

  “You mean I always do,” Whitney grumbled.

  It took some coaxing, but they finally managed to get Sora to move.

  “What was that!” Whitney asked once they were a safe distance away.

  Sora looked down at her hands. “I… I don’t know. It’s like…”

  “It’s like you still have god powers is what it’s like,” Whitney finished for her.

  Whitney’s words seemed to trouble Sora, and Tum Tum couldn’t blame her. That was raw power. He’d never found himself frightened of her until then. Such abilities were the things of legend and lore, and goddesses.

  “I mean it, you could probably kill Nesilia all on your own!” Whitney said.

  “Stop it, Whit,” she argued. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s like… she unlocked something in me.”

  “Pff, don’t give her any credit. You’re just a true mystic now, plain and simple. You got it from your mo—“

  Sora’s hand flew over Whitney’s mouth before he could finish. Lucindur then spoke up and reminded them all why they were deep in the snowy mountains.

  “Okay, we need a plan,” she said.

  There was so much going on. All of Pantego was at risk, but there was only one thing Tum Tum could think of. “I’ll never be welcome there again,” he said louder than he’d intended.

  “Here? Who cares?” Whitney said, sliding down the embankment to walk beside him. “You know how dark and dreary that place is?”

  “Ain’t time for jokes,” Tum Tum said. “That was me home.”

  Whitney placed a hand on Tum Tum’s shoulder, forcing him to stop. “You know who you’re going to be next time you return there?”

  When Tum Tum didn’t respond, Whitney said, “The dwarf who saved the whole Iam-forsaken world. Not only will they welcome you back, but you could be the yigging king if you want to be.” Then, in a lower voice, he added while glancing up at Sora, “Not that anyone would want to be, right?.”

  Tum Tum smiled. “Yer all right, Whitney Fierstown. Yer all right.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” Sora said, coming up from behind. They started walking again. “That speech sounded awfully familiar.”

  Tum Tum turned to see Whitney shrugging.

  “Now, really, what do we do?” Whitney asked

  “We get into the mountain and get that stone,” Tum Tum said. “Ye don’t think I’ve given up, do ye?”

  “Mischievous…” Lucindur said, joining him with a grin. “What do you have planned?”

  Tum Tum turned to Whitney and said, “Ready for one last heist?”

  XI

  The Knight

  “Possessed you say?” Lord Jolly asked.

  He, Torsten, Dellbar the Holy, and King Pi sat in a war room located beneath the Caleef’s throne room. The Shesaitju had afforded them and their people this lower wing of the keep.

  “Yes,” Torsten said. “It’s worse than we feared. One demon tried to take me, and through it, I caught a glimpse of what Nesilia is planning. She has split the barrier of Elsewhere and corrupted all the weakest minds of Panping. They serve her now.”

  “Possessed…” Pi whispered.

  He sat at the far end of the table, quiet and pensive as he’d been since the feast ended. Torsten couldn’t believe how much he’d grown since last he’d seen him. A growth spurt had him in that awkward phase between adolescence and adulthood. Torsten had worried that the boy would always be small and frail, but he was beginning to see a clearer picture.

  Perhaps his own bout with possession and being corrupted by Redstar’s blood magic had stunted him, but now, he was very clearly the spawn of Liam the Conqueror and his impressive Drav Cra wife. Even the tone of voice had
lowered.

  The Miracle King would be formidable, just like his father.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Torsten said. “Sir Danvels and I saw them with our own eyes. Or, his, rather.”

  “Those unfortunate souls,” Pi said, staring out over the sea, eyes glazed over. Torsten could only imagine how he felt, all things considered. Nobody in the world would better know their suffering.

  “If there are any of their former selves left inside,” Lord Jolly said.

  “There is…”

  Torsten laid his hand over the King’s. He knew Liam would’ve thought ill of such uninvited familiarity, but Pi wasn’t his father.

  “We’ll do whatever we can to save them,” Torsten said.

  “I’m supposed to protect them,” Pi replied, voice shaking. “That is my only duty as King. Protect the people.”

  “You can’t be expected to face a vengeful goddess,” Lord Jolly said.

  “Father would have.”

  “And you are certainly not him.” Dellbar voiced his opinion for the first time. He leaned against the wall in the corner, his blind eyes making it impossible to tell where his attentions were. Though, Torsten had noticed one peculiarity. Neither at the feast, nor this morning had he taken a single swig of alcohol. In addition, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Perhaps it’s time for a nap, Dellbar,” Lord Jolly remarked.

  “If only I could.” He strode toward the table, patting for the back of one of the sandstone seats. When he found it, he leaned over it on his elbows. “I meant no offense. It’s purely a statement of fact.”

  “Not a necessary one,” Torsten said.

  “But it is. King Pi may not be Liam, but he was possessed by Nesilia. When Iam worked through me, I felt His fear. He gave so much of Himself to drive Nesilia’s new form away. Like me, our Miracle King may know Nesilia’s fears.”

  “I don’t,” Pi said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t remember anything with clarity. It’s like it was her but wasn’t at the same time—an echo of her, funneled through Redstar… I don’t know.”

  “Or perhaps you’d just rather not think about it?” Dellbar moved around the chair, leaning right beside the King. “Because you miss what she gave you.”

  “Mind yourself, Your Holiness,” Torsten warned.

  “I don’t miss it,” Pi said, his gaze drooping toward the floor.

  “I understand, Your Grace. All I can think about is Iam’s power coursing through me again. How it felt. Our mortal bodies aren’t meant for what they are.” He stepped closer, and Torsten noticed Pi’s foot tapping under the table. “Think, Your Grace. Put yourself back into those moments and see her.”

  “I can’t!” Pi shouted, slamming his small fist on the table.

  “Enough, Dellbar,” Torsten ordered. “I was there, atop Mount Lister, when Nesilia was driven back the first time. Whatever she was then, she wasn’t yet complete. She was weak. This is different.”

  Dellbar sighed and returned to his spot against the wall. “Now isn’t the time for coddling.”

  “No, it is a time for celebration,” Lord Jolly said. “For at the high sun, our King will be wed, and the two greatest armies in Pantego will join. Possession, magic—we defeated it once in the hands of the mystics. Then, we needed no tricks. The same will do again. Right, Your Grace?”

  All looked to King Pi, and for a few seconds, his stare lingered on the floor before he composed himself. “We must prepare,” he said, standing. And without waiting for a response, he headed for the exit, Lord Jolly struggling to keep up.

  “I’ll join you soon, Your Grace,” Torsten said as Pi breezed by, receiving no answer. He and Lord Jolly exchanged a nervous look. The confident, growing young man Torsten had witnessed the night before had vanished the moment talk of his dark past arose.

  Torsten watched until Pi left. Then he turned to Dellbar.

  “He can’t remember anything,” Torsten said as he approached the High Priest.

  “So he says,” Dellbar replied.

  “Either way… now is not the time to fill his head with doubts.”

  “You were there, Torsten. You witnessed her return, just as I did.”

  “I witnessed many things I cannot explain,” Torsten said. Then he moved up beside Dellbar and glanced down. Up close, he observed trembling hands. “You’re not drinking anymore.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Dellbar replied, words dripping with sarcasm.

  “That’s good.”

  The High Priest turned to face Torsten. He didn’t need eyes to exhibit the heartbreak wracking his very soul. His shoulder’s slumped. His cheeks were gaunt. His features all darkened like the storm lingering out over the Boiling Waters, ready to wreak havoc.

  “Last night, at the feast…” Dellbar said. “All that spiced wine and… nothing. No urge.”

  “Well, we need your mind clear.”

  “It’s not. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t yigging drink. Feeling His power flowing through me again—it’s everything, all I crave. I can’t think about anything else.”

  “He chose you for a reason, Dellbar,” Torsten said. “Even if you can’t see it. Your faith was strong enough to summon his power and save us all to fight another day.”

  “That’s just it. He gave you sight when all your hope was lost. He gave me purpose when I stopped caring. He chose us, and we were right there to stop Nesilia. Right where we were meant to be. And even with Iam’s aid, she somehow survived. That was the moment when I felt his fear. Not when He fought her, but when she didn’t die. It’s when I realized that perhaps there really is no stopping her now.”

  Torsten sighed. “Of all people to lose faith.”

  “We study demonic possession in Hornsheim, Torsten. You must know that. I’m sure the Shieldsmen do as well, ever since the First Panping War. Even if it became so rare it seemed like myth. Destroying the host doesn’t destroy them. They can seek refuge in another body.”

  “But there’s a way to banish them, isn’t there? I fought the mystics, and our priests weren’t only healers in the war against their magic. They called on Iam’s light itself to shield us.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it?” Torsten said. “Their magic comes from Elsewhere. So do these cursed spirits.”

  “I’ve never dealt with possession myself, but there are tomes and stories from the elders. They say Iam’s light can drive them back to the shadow realm He created for those unworthy.”

  “Then we can stop them.”

  “One problem,” Dellbar said. “Elsewhere has been split wide open.”

  “Open?” Torsten said, voice empty of life.

  “How else would she command such forces?” Dellbar said.

  “There must be a way. Iam’s light will protect us again and provide a means of facing them.”

  Dellbar shook his head. “When the mystics were destroyed, such defensive arts were no longer needed, buried in texts in the Chamber of Light below Hornsheim. There was only a battered world left to heal, and together, Liam and Wren ordained that the Church of Iam should focus only on rebuilding efforts.”

  “Then perhaps it’s time you visit Hornsheim and change that. Right now, we must gather the priests of Iam and have them join this fight.”

  “Those were different times,” Dellbar argued. “Iam had the Order prepared to fight the mystics. Time is not on our side.”

  “There will be nothing to heal if we’re all dead.”

  “Besides, Wren the Holy was far more knowledgeable than I. His faith, far more unbroken.”

  Torsten took Dellbar by the shoulders. “Yet Iam never deemed him worthy of working through his body, Father Morningweg,” Torsten said. He purposely used the man’s former name and title—a reminder of how he’d once been known.

  “Only the truest followers of the Light will be able to banish Nesilia’s new servants. But they won’t all be eager to listen to me and march off to their deaths. You’ve never be
en to Hornsheim. It’s politics more than faith, and they chose me only because they knew I had no power myself. I’ve been High Priest for barely a fortnight.”

  “And been party to two miracles.” Torsten used his blessed sight to stare directly at the man. “You don’t need Iam controlling you to serve Him, my friend. He’s always been with you. Perhaps, this is why.”

  Dellbar exhaled slowly, then nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am. We’re still here, aren’t we?”

  “The parts of us that matter, I suppose. Fine, Sir Unger. At the request of the Master of Warfare, I will travel to Hornsheim and gather the priests after we’re done here. But know that it still may not matter. The cursed spirits the mystics released in the wars were freed by accident. They were exposed. Solitary.”

  “I’ll take anything that helps buy us time to figure out a way to stop Nesilia. Once she falls, they all will.”

  “So, we hope. But Iam was afraid for a reason, and it is because as this darkness floods our world and people lose their faith in Him, His light wanes. That is the truth I’m now unfortunate enough to know. We can call on His power all we want, and there might not be any left to help us.”

  “There will be.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Torsten gave Dellbar’s arm a light, reassuring squeeze. Then, he pounded his own chest. “There’s enough faith right here. Enough left in me alone to give.” Then he turned his hand to Dellbar and laid a flat palm against the man’s chest. “And combined with yours? Iam might as well have the faith of all Pantego.”

  Dellbar offered a small smile and bobbed his head, then shuffled to straighten out, leaning on his cane.

  Torsten returned the smile, then turned to leave. He was in the doorway when Dellbar stopped him.

  “Oh, Master Unger, the rest of the Royal Council convened, and we all agreed,” Dellbar said, face turned away. “We see no reason why the Master of Warfare cannot also serve as Wearer of White, head of the King’s Shield. The King must’ve been too distracted to bring the white helm here—it was his idea—but you’re finally you again.”