by J D Franx
DYRANNAI FOREST
FIELD OF THE FALLEN
Kael opened his eyes and quickly came to understand he was on his back with a glass dome over top of him. The scent of dust and ancient death clung to the air around him like an oppressive fog. Pushing his hands against the glass, he tried to heave it aside. It refused to budge, his numb hands and arms were not helping. Taking a quick glance around, it took only seconds to realize he was likely in an underground crypt or mausoleum. Panicking, he beat on the glass and screamed as the overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia crawled into the recesses of his mind. Frowning, he grabbed at his magic. Black and purple mist swallowed his fists as he punched the glass above him repeatedly. The dome exploded into tiny shards of glass. Sitting up, he looked around, more confused than before. He could not recall how he had gotten there. The last memory he had was of walking through Kazzador City's sprawling ruins with Cassie.
Kael rolled off the marble slab to stand, but his legs gave out and he crashed to the stone floor.
“What the hell?” he muttered. He could not feel his legs.
“How long have I been laying there?” he whispered aloud as he massaged his legs, trying to bring back the feeling.
“A long time,” a voice said drifting out of the darkness. “But far less than others.”
Kael squinted and peered around the room a second time, taking in several other glass-covered slabs. Covered in layers of thick dust, he could not make out who or what had been interred inside. All but his own were recessed into the stone walls. With feeling slowly returning to his arms, he didn’t really care. Walking and defending himself would not happen any time soon, so his recovery became his only concern.
“Where are you?” he asked. The voice in the dark had said nothing more, and the hollow echo of the chamber made it impossible to pinpoint where the words originated. His esoteric senses were also numb and no help.
“Here,” the male voice said as a pair of eyes to Kael's right lit up the dark corner with a steady red glow. “Mean no harm,” it added.
“Wouldn't matter if you did. I can't stand up let alone defend myself,” Kael muttered.
“Foolish. Should keep such things to self. Dangerous. Give body time.”
“Time, yeah.” Leaning back against the cold marble, Kael sighed and tried to think of how he came to be in a dusty crypt with a very short creature in the corner nearby. His mind drifted back to the Animus chamber and to his final fight with Sythrnax. Remembering how the Ancient being had trapped him on the Animus Seal with its magic brought back a cascade of memories. His discussion with Giddeon flashed before his eyes. Kael gagged and reached for his neck as he felt the wooden dagger pierce the base of his skull and a second blade cut his throat. He remembered the pain—so much pain—and he remembered dying... and falling... and Hell.
He remembered every goddamned dimension of it.
More magic swarmed his mind as caustic images assaulted his senses and agony throbbed inside his skull. He grabbed his head and screamed.
“No!” the voice barked. Kael heard a stomp a split second before a new type of magic entered his mind. Strange and powerful, but mostly soothing. His racing heart calmed as the pain and nightmare visions fled from his mind as if something far more sinister was hot on their heels. He finally regained enough control to push the remainder of the caustic images aside.
“Dammit, why does that happen?” he moaned.
“Magic. I send away,” the voice from the corner said. “But. You need Fae. They fix.”
“Why would you help me? he asked. “What do you want?”
“Want nothing.”
“You’ll be the first then.”
“Then, I be first.” The creature agreed.
He snorted at the asinine suggestion. “Says it all really, doesn't it.” he stated even though it sounded like a question.
The creature in the corner returned his grunt. “Move legs. Arms. Must leave, soon.”
“Where are we?” Kael asked, again, as he massaged his legs with hands that were starting to spark with feeling. He moaned from the pins and needles buzzing in his nerves.
“Place not safe.”
“Guess that means I'm back in the land of the living, then,” Kael said hopefully.
“Yes.”
“Who are you?” Kael asked.
“You people call me Raven.”
“You're not Human or Elvehn then?”
“No.”
“What do your people call you?”
The creature shifted, and its eyes glowed a second time, rising to three feet. “Once Vog. Now, nothing.”
Kael grinned. “Nice to meet you, Vog. How about you come closer, so we can meet properly?”
“You run?”
“Why?”
“You always run.”
Kael shook his head, finally understanding. “You mean people like me run when they see you?”
The red eyes bobbed up and down.
“Well, Vog, you probably can't hurt me, so I won't run.”
A sinister laugh growled its way out the shadows. “You not stand. Even if so, Vog kill.”
“No wonder people run, Vog. You need to work on your social skills a bit. Here, look,” Kael said, offering his hand. “Come shake my hand, then there's no need to kill anyone, right?”
The eyes bobbed up and down, again, and Kael stared as the short humanoid slowly walked from the shadows. Wrapped in rags, the creature carried a black staff made from raw obsidian the same height as himself. It took everything Kael had not to pull his hand back in disgust and rage.
“No wonder everyone runs from you, Vog. You're a Mahala.”
“No,” Vog said and retreated back into the shadows. “Mahala sick.”
“Yeah, that is one word for it. You going to come shake my hand?”
Again, the creature crept out slowly. “Yes.”
Kael watched closely as Vog approached and gently took his hand, shaking it. “You're not like the others, are you?”
The short Mahala shook his head. “Not sick,” he said and unwrapped his face scarves. The gaping mouth and long invasive tongue typical of the Mahala—both of which Kael knew too intimately—were missing from Vog. His mouth—only half as wide—had rows of sharp little teeth, but they were nothing like the long fangs and monstrous jaws that attacked him below Tazammor Mountain so long ago.
Moaning, Kael shifted his body as his legs and feet also began to spark with feeling. “The other Mahala are sick, you said?” he asked, and pulled his shirt to the side revealing a scar from a Mahala bite mark.
Vog nodded and traced a razor-sharp talon over the scars. Kael barely felt the grazing touch. Snorting, the little Mahala put his outstretched hands by the sides of his mouth and wiggled his fingers. “Sick.”
“Good impression. Sorry,” Kael offered.
“Long done,” Vog said, shaking his head. “Walk? Danger.”
“Yeah. I think so,” he replied. For some reason, he felt he could trust the little Mahala. That was, at least until they got somewhere, and he could jump away. “Just gonna be slow going. You'd think whoever went through all the trouble keeping me whole would have put me someplace safe.”
A strange squeaky noise crawled from Vog's mouth. Kael was pretty sure he was laughing. “You whole, you safe. Follow. Not safe long,” the little Mahala added.
Kael struggled to stand and felt Vog's hand on his thigh. “Call weapon.”
He blushed as he realized he had never even thought to pull his weapons from the Ether. The god-woman said the trigger for the spell was Sai.
“Sai, Vai'Karth,” he whispered, not sure if what he dreamed was even real, but the long scythe appeared in his hands.
Vog nodded as a crooked grin crossed his lips. “Change? Staff help walk.”
Kael chuckled at what was obviously a challenge, one he would have failed if Jasala and Akai had not taught him how to manipulate his weapons' shape by using the soul energy stored inside. Twistin
g the handle, Akai's voice echoed inside his head.
You were allowed to return?
“It seems so,” he whispered.
I am… surprised… but pleased. A staff then? Like the little one says?
“Thanks, Akai,” Kael said softly. The blade retreated into its handle, and the ornate bone shrunk down the five feet as an intricate webbed oval formed around a black stone at the top of the new staff. The weapon’s signature twist at the halfway mark made for a perfect hand hold.
Vog raised his arm for Kael to follow and headed up the stairs. He limped after the creature, not sure what to expect. As they reached the top of the stairs and exited the mausoleum, Kael gasped. Dozens of crypts identical to the one behind him circled an open field of grass for a mile in every direction. Everywhere he looked people were fighting against monstrous creatures he had never seen, not even during his time in the 7th Hell.
“Come,” Vog said. “Not much time.”
“We have to help these people. They're outnumbered.” Kael shook his head as archers in the trees released arrow after arrow in a forest he recognized from his time with the Tree of Life. He also knew the kind of men and women who fought. “Druids,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Vog said. “They die so you may live.”
“We have to help them,” he said, again.
“No,” Vog snapped and grabbed his wrist. “They help you. They fight for you. All for you. Come, escape and live. Come.”
“They'll die, Vog. We—” Kael did not see one of the nightmare creatures break off and come after him until it was almost too late. The female creature lashed out with her claws and forced him to duck. His numb, sparking feet failed him and he stumbled. The female hissed like an angry snake and green mist sprayed from her mouth. Kael raised his arms, knowing it was a futile gesture. Vog grunted and smacked his staff on the ground. A bubble of shimmering blue formed around the creature while Kael got his feet back underneath him. The green mist was trapped inside the blue less than an inch from his face.
As if the spirit inside his weapon could read Kael's mind, a blade snapped from the end of the staff, and he swung the scythe, cutting through the blue shield and the creature.
“What the hell was that thing?” He gasped.
Vog poked the dead creature in the eye with his staff. “Vascuul gorgon. Ri'Tek weapon. Must go. You cannot fight yet. Reflex gone, senses dull. Take—”
“Time,” he said. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Follow.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Kael agreed, shaking his head in disbelief. “And I thought Hell had some nasty shit.”
Vog squeaked another laugh. “Demons cower, hide from weakest Vascuul. Come.”
He followed after Vog once more as the Mahala headed down the stairs of another crypt. Unlike the one Kael had woken in, the mausoleum had been mostly destroyed. Signs of intense fighting and powerful magic scoured every surface. Cracks adorned the walls and gaping crevices split the floor in dozens of places. Vog stepped around them with ease, and Kael frowned at his own clumsiness. Finally, they reached the bottom, and Vog disappeared through a crack in the wall. Kael stumbled after him but immediately lost his footing and fell, sliding down a narrow chute of smooth stone. He hit the bottom hard and it left him dazed. The Vai'Karth vanished back to the Ether, and he slid across the stone and dirt. He stared at their surroundings.
He groaned. “Goddammit. We're in the Deep Earth.”
“Upper shelf, yes. Home,” Vog stated as he patted his chest.
“Hate this place.”
Vog snorted and pointed above his head. “Better than Vascuul snack.”
“Of course,” Kael said. “Because becoming a Mahala snack is so much better.”
“No sick here,” Vog explained. “Must show you. Then, take to safe place.”
“Actually, Vog, I’m good. Thank you for your help, but I’m going to jump out of here.”
“No!” the Mahala barked.
“Why?”
Vog stamped his feet and ran to a pile of rocks. Using his staff, he pried up a large stone and a black millipede rushed out. The Mahalan scout snatched the creature and brought it back to him.
“Jump bug. Small, just bug. Jump ten feet, there to there,” Vog ordered as he pointed.
Kael reached out and opened a jump vortex. Pain seared through his arm, but he held it open as Vog tossed the millipede in. Kael collapsed the door as he reached out with other hand to open the exit. Agony rolled up the other arm, too, but hit with more intensity as the vortex opened. The millipede flew from the jump door and slammed into a boulder, shattering both bug and rock.
“Okay,” he said. With no other options, he would have to stay with the Mahala for a while longer. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Vog.”
“Good. Come, show why.”
“Where are we?” Kael asked as he followed the scout.
The Mahala stared at him and crooked his head as if he did not understand.
Kael pointed his hand to the surface above them and made a circle with his finger. “Where in Talohna are we? Below Cethos? Under the Free Lands?”
Vog rubbed his head and pointed to the left. “Kasym.” Pointing to the right, he continued. “Ri'Tek.”
It dawned on him just how screwed he was. “Holy shit. We're on the far side of the Black Kasym,” he whispered. “There is no way I can jump through that.”
Nodding, Vog stared at him through a wide grin. “No, splat like bug. Not fit for dinner.”
“Me, or the bug?” he asked.
Vog frowned at him. “Jump. Only if you die, anyway.”
“Last resort only jumps,” he muttered. “Got it. Hey, how did you get here?”
Vog tapped his staff and a familiar blue shield formed around him.
“You can't do that for me?” The grin grew wider as Vog tapped his staff, again. A blue shield formed around Kael, and he could not move a single muscle just like the female gorgon who attacked him. However, he also could not breathe, as if the spell immobilized every muscle in his body—including his lungs.
The shield fell away, and he gasped for air. “Uh… your magic only protects you. Yeah. How did those things get through the Kasym?” he asked, pointing up.
“Vascuul?” Vog asked. Kael nodded. “Like bugs, filth. Always find way. Ri'Tek magic,” Vog paused long enough to spit on the ground, “help? Not know.”
“Fair enough. Not a fan of the Ri’Tek, either,” Kael said and began to relax. If Vog hated Sythrnax’s kind, then he might be an ally—an ally of one. “I can get behind that,” he added, talking more to himself than Vog. “What do you want to show me?”
Vog waved once more, turned, and walked away.
With no other options, Kael followed. No longer needing a staff to help him walk and with no visible threats in sight, he left the Vai’Karth in the Ether.
Several hours passed as they tread deeper into Talohna's dangerous underground terrain. Slowly, Vog worked his way south and up the mountainous side of the Black Kasym's northern edge. Kael guessed it had to border the Ri’Tek land behind them, what people called the Ancient Kingdom. Magic danced in the air like a living entity. Sparks of white and blue drifted in the underground current and where they met, charged bolts of orange energy snapped out, cracking and popping around them.
“No let touch,” Vog said as an orange streak lashed out, melting stone. A second bolt, blue this time, danced over a pile a stones and small rift appeared. A scream of unearthly pain rushed out of the rift but was cut short as the narrow doorway closed.
“Jesus, Vog. What the hell was that?”
Vog motioned to him, and Kael walked with him up over the crest of rocks they had been climbing for an hour. As he reached the top, he took a breath and gasped at the incredible, but surreal sight the lay before him. The Black Kasym stretched as far as he could see, but the craziest sight appeared at the far reaches of his vision.
“Magic wound,” Vog said and pointed a clawed finger across t
he expanse of dancing blue and orange lightning. “Time, dimension—magic, all hurt.”
“No wonder,” he sighed. The throbbing wound in the earth make his head throb. An inexplicable urge to heal the wound came over him but quickly passed as he realized the futility of the thought. Miles to the left and right, and for as far as he could see, the Kasym continued. Water poured through the cracks and seams of the earth above as if a huge ocean rested above the stone and rock ceiling.
Vog grunted as he slowly pointed at it. “Jaws of Ice and Rock. Ocean,” the Mahalan scout offered.
“I can’t believe it hasn’t eroded and collapsed, flooding the Deep Earth,” Kael said softly.
“Kasym own magic keep it, perhaps,” Vog replied.
“Makes sense, I guess.”
Vog bumped him gently and nodded back across the expanse of stone, magic, and water.
Kael gasped at the smoldering ruin. “That's ancient Dwarven architecture,” he stated.
“You know?” Vog asked.
“Yeah,” he whispered, refusing to acknowledge the memories that jumped to mind and threatened to swallow him. It was much easier than usual, and he knew Vog was the reason. “Spent a lot time in one and died in another. What happened to that one?”
“Attack. Ri’Tek, Vascuul,” Vog said, matter-of-factly. “Dwarven Animus there.”
Almost afraid to, Kael asked anyway. “That seal is open?”
Vog nodded.
“Was there no one there to protect it?” Kael wondered aloud as Vog whirled on his left foot. Boots scuffed the stone to his right, and Kael spun to face the newcomer.
“Sai, Vai’Karth,” he whispered.
Think it! Don’t say it. Akai screamed inside his head. It’s faster.
Kael checked the knowledge away for later as the long scythe materialized in his right hand, and a short-bearded man stumbled and fell less than ten feet away.
“Aye, sonny,” Dravik BloodPounder said. He struggled and tried to stand but failed. “There were, for... for what little it... mattered...” The man fell unconscious as his words trailed off.
The short man could only belong to the Dwarven race. At just less than five feet tall and slim like the Elvehn, there was no doubt to the identity of the long haired, bearded, and battle-scarred man. He had been through hell and back. A cauterized gash on his arm still wept blood plasma, and his neck and chest were covered in acid burns. Kael bent down to help as the sound of scales scraping on stone reached his ears.