by S D Simper
“I have felt the disturbances in the planes,” the dragon said, his attention fixed to her alone. “Who is this monster that would steal what is mine?”
“Someone you know, I think. The God of Order, Soliel. He’s come back.”
“That is not a name I have heard spoken aloud since the Convergence,” the dragon rumbled. “Yes, I knew him. He and his counterpart created us—myself, and my brothers and sisters. If he has fallen to madness, this bespeaks grave consequences.”
“He’s already shown he will resort to violence to get what he wants.”
“And who are you, Flowridia, to stop an Old God? With the same trickery you used to desecrate my forest?”
The slight stung more than she expected, and she could have brushed it aside had she not understood the dragon’s intention to insult her. “If it comes to it, yes. I value the greater good above my own name.”
“We six were given the task,” the dragon said, “to protect the orbs; to use them to preserve the careful balance of this world. I fear I am all that remains. Again I ask, Flowridia of no name, who are you to stop an Old God? Who are you to ask me to abandon my purpose of ten thousand years?”
Flowridia stared up into his gentle gaze, his words condemning, yet his eyes, a brilliant shade of jade, bore a softness to match his appearance. She did not doubt he could be fearsome, but here he was a creature of peace and tranquility, seeking only to preserve his home. “I am no one,” she whispered, standing tall in her stance. “I rejected the name my mother gave me, and I never knew my father and have no wish to claim his legacy. The only name I might’ve claimed was lost with my lover’s passing. So, I am merely Flowridia.” She swallowed, summoning her bravery. “But perhaps that is enough. The mark I leave on this world is mine and mine alone.”
With a fluidity his size should not have granted, the dragon reached forward with a single, clawed hand, moss and flower stems growing from between the scales. “Touch me, Flowridia of no name. We shall see each other.” When she reached a hand out to meet him, the dragon did not shirk.
An energy radiated against her senses. Permissive, it waited for her to withdraw her defenses, then bore into the very core of her being.
For a breathless moment, she was a child—but not a child, no, a dragonling—cradled to the breast of a woman she instinctively loved. A voice spoke, feminine and comforting, alluring to Flowridia’s very soul: “My magnificent little Valeuron—yours is the destiny of Gods.”
All changed, and she was grown, offered an artifact of depthless power by a man Flowridia knew and feared. But here he was a friend, a father, a man whose kindness shone in his earth-speckled eyes, gentle despite his great stature. She stood in the throng of her brothers and sisters—five other dragons of majesty and splendor—who each bore the power of their orb and their duties. She stood beside one she knew well, one of bone and dark magic.
One by one, their lights extinguished.
Flowridia saw one who roared with the power of thunder, wielding lightning like a toy, fall to the sword and silver flame.
Such, too, was the fate of a great being of fire, drawn from its domain within the heart of a volcano, only to be consumed in silver light.
One’s blood saturated the sea, strangled by the tentacles of some great monster.
And one fell to despair and loneliness, dying upon a throne of riches, its white orb held in an atrophied claw.
Flowridia knew the next. She saw the image of Casvir himself reigning terror and darkness upon a skeletal beast.
Then, a vision of a future not yet come to pass, of Valeuron erupting in flame, crying out as he burned alive.
The visions disappeared. Flowridia met Valeuron’s gaze, the last of his kind, and she realized how lonely a life his must be.
His voice rumbled, its depth reflecting his age. “Child of Odessa; beloved of Ayla Darkleaf. I have seen your life; I know your death.”
The dragon reared back. Flowridia cowered. Behind, Casvir’s metallic steps approached.
With a single clawed hand, the dragon brought its nails up to the glowing spot between its scales. It released a pained roar, blood spurting as it plucked the orb from its chest. Then, shaking, its thunderous voice said, “My duty is fulfilled.”
It returned to all fours with the orb in hand. Blood dripped onto the dark forest floor, but the dragon offered the orb forward.
A gaseous green radiated from the ancient artifact. Flowridia reached out to accept the gift, but a light from behind the dragon suddenly grew blinding.
The dragon clasped its claw around the orb and turned its serpentine head. When Flowridia peered behind, she saw the God of Order standing among the trees.
Dread clutched her gut. By the gods—how long had he been watching?
Two orbs shone in his hand, glowing bright in the presence of their companions. His armor glowed, the beauty of his ageless face framed by a magnificent halo. “Is this your loyalty, Valeuron? To hide from your creator, only to manifest to a powerless girl?”
“You’re a fool to think her powerless.” Valeuron’s claws grasped the orb. “I have seen your legacy through her eyes, the fear you have inspired. The mantle of Godhood is no longer yours to bear.”
From Soliel’s hand formed a sword of flame. Flowridia glanced to the orb wielded in the dragon’s hand, then back to Casvir. In his own clawed hand was his summoned mace, and the twitch of his smile bespoke his glee at the inevitable skirmish.
She dared not speak, lest she draw Soliel’s attention.
“So it shall be violence between us,” Valeuron said, sadness in his words. “For all your laws, you were always aimless without Her. What would the Great Mother say, to see you now?”
“She has her own crimes to answer for.” Bitterness stained the words, the first deviation from calm she had seen from this fallen god. “We all must abide by our duties. I must undo the damage of The Convergence, and you must protect your orb. I understand.”
Flowridia stepped back, her hand gripping Demitri’s fur. Soliel tore his gaze from the dragon, drifting instead to she and Casvir. “You were difficult to hide from. I commend you for that.” He withdrew a crystal shard glowing in shades of green; Flowridia recognized it as the same stone forming her bracelet. “And I thank you for leading me here. Leave your orb, and you shall live.”
Flowridia heard a truly frightening sound—Casvir laughed. “I revel in the opportunity to steal yours.”
“Very well, imperator. It will not be the first time I’ve slain you.”
Valeuron’s voice rumbled across the forest floor. “There is no honor in your so-called duty, Great Father.” From his throat expelled a noxious, gaseous liquid, manifesting in a putrid flame. Sickly green stained the earth, sizzling and eating all it touched, the earth crying out as it poisoned the life within it. Soliel, too, gave a pained cry when the acidic spray touched his armor and skin. “With Her death, you have lost your soul.”
Soliel glowed, and a shield of lightning danced across his armor. Fire erupted beneath the dragon’s feet, burning foliage and scales and the soft skin beneath.
Flowridia screamed when the dragon cried out. Jaws against her shirt tossed her aside, and Demitri tackled her as another blast of fire might have consumed them.
From her wrist, she touched upon the crystal gifted from Etolié, willing a shield to protect them. Non-magic expanded to cover her and most of Demitri. At her feet, Ana cowered. Flowridia pulled the skeletal creature into her arms.
The earth rumbled. Skeletal hands and paws shot from the foliage and dirt, all rotted and putrid from the damp atmosphere. When the onslaught of death swarmed the God of Order, he swatted them aside with his burning blade. A thousand skittering undead would not be so easily thrown away, and though they burned, more rose in their stead.
The dragon rose to its feet, and Casvir shot out from beside it, summoned weapon in hand. In practiced motions, he charged forward, perfect precision in his swing. Distracted, Soliel grunted
when Casvir’s weapon clanged against his armor.
Clouds gathered high above, foretold by the thunder shaking the sky. Soliel’s weapon met Casvir’s, the resulting crash causing Flowridia to cower at Demitri’s feet.
Flowridia attempted to rise. Teeth clamped against her shirt, stopping her from running forward. “Demitri—!”
Lightning struck, tearing through the trees, the dragon, and Casvir himself, who nearly matched the dragon’s roar of pain. Fire burst from the ground, engulfing Casvir and the dragon both.
A burst of light—not of fire or lightning but pure and divine—illuminated Soliel’s body from within, radiating out in an aura of purity. The halo at his head shone, testament of his divine blood. As he glowed, the undead ravaging his form screamed and burned. His flaming sword tore through Casvir’s armor like paper.
One swipe; Casvir was cleaved in two, instantly cauterized by fire.
Flowridia screamed. She dropped Ana; Demitri released her. She ran into the fray, where the fire lay dying and Casvir lay in pieces. The maimed dragon fell, rolling on the ground to parch the flame. When the black orb rolled from the torn shreds of Casvir’s armor, Soliel knelt to grab it.
All but ignored by the Old God, Flowridia stole it first. Immediately, she felt the crackling energy, the potential for mayhem threatening to burst from her soul. Power surged through her veins, like blissful fire through her blood. Her vision swam from the sudden influx of dark magic.
Soliel towered before her. “I know your death, Flowridia Darkleaf,” he said, his sword held before him, lightning dancing from his form. The very vision she had seen before, on the fateful day of Ayla’s death, the same that replayed in her nightmares. “Today is not that day.” In his off hand, two orbs glowed. “But give me your orb, or I will be tempted to change your fate.”
She did not cower. Like her own body, Flowridia felt the corpse of every dead thing, but knew they could do nothing to this resplendent God. In tandem with death, however, was life. An impossible plan formulated in her head.
The life around her suddenly cried out as she drained it into her very soul. She gasped at the power, the radiant energy—yet with the orb, she could filter it with ease, exempting Demitri and the dragon and every animal creature. The plants withered and died—
And were infused with death.
The plants she destroyed immediately saturated with energy, more pristine and perfect than in life. When alive, she could coax them to health, whisper sweet words to help them grow—here, they bent to her command.
The very earth betrayed Soliel, clinging to his legs, attempting to subdue him with vines and branches. Soliel cried out as he swung his sword, the plants severed by his flaming weapon and holy light, but still they burst from the earth, fell upon him in droves.
Flowridia stumbled backwards, shaken by her own power. Behind Soliel, the dragon loomed. Seared to the bone, a near skeletal face opened his mouth to roar. His beautiful form burned with the rest of his forest, destroyed in the onslaught of fire and lightning and death.
When Soliel might have escaped his prison of nature, Valeuron trapped him in a grasp of ruined scales and bone. He screamed as he held the radiant God, fire and lightning searing his body. He threw the God of Order to the ground, releasing another blast of acidic spray to coat him.
Flowridia ran toward the mutilated body of Casvir, gasping at the dark purple matter seeping from his lacerated torso. A clean cut—Casvir’s legs rested only a few feet away; a blow that would have murdered a lesser man.
But Casvir, it seemed, was no mere man. When Flowridia knelt beside him, she nearly sobbed when he spoke. “I need my orb.”
She held it out, remiss to be rid of it, she realized, but all that paled to the startled relief of knowing Casvir still lived. He took it into his hands, and all at once his bottom half reformed. Pure dark energy massed to create a shadowed body and legs.
Valeuron screamed and flailed, but his roar suddenly cut off. When Flowridia looked back, she saw that Soliel had removed the dragon’s head.
Her heart clenched, gasping at the thought of the gentle beast, now gone. She had seen him fall—a death of flame.
Casvir, she realized, struggled to stand, his new legs shaking and struggling to stay corporeal. She offered a hand, but he batted it away. “You are too small,” he said, but when Demitri appeared, Ana in his jaws, Casvir gripped the enormous wolf and allowed him to help him stand. His claw struck the air. Vertigo caused Flowridia’s head to swim.
Casvir, with a hand gripping Demitri, knelt beside his severed lower half. He launched it into the portal.
From the dragon’s corpse, Flowridia saw Soliel steal the third orb, fire and lightning now melding with a seeping, acidic gas.
A clawed hand grabbed hers. Calm even in the presence of defeat, Casvir marched her to the portal.
Flowridia caught Soliel’s gaze, his fury matched only by her own hatred. The time would come later for mourning the loss of Valeuron.
The world shifted. Casvir’s office appeared. The portal sealed shut.
* * *
Casvir collapsed, metal clanging against stone. Flowridia realized his summoned legs had vanished, leaving him a severed torso on the ground. She heard him groan.
Breathing frantic, Flowridia shook as she grabbed his burned hand. His armor contained his severed lower half, crumbled by the desk. “Casvir! Casvir, what can I do?”
“I am fine,” he said, and his voice remained calm despite the fact he lay in two pieces. “I am thoroughly impressed at what you accomplished with the orb’s power.”
“Thank you,” she said, but still she frantically inspected the burned line splitting his torso.
“I owe you an apology. I underestimated the orbs’ power in conjunction with a God and nearly got you killed.”
“Casvir, it’s—”
“Our contract remains,” he continued, ignoring her objections. “I will find you an orb. But it will have to wait.”
“Of course,” Flowridia said, heart still racing. “Casvir, will you recover?”
“Your concern for my well-being is endearing, but unnecessary. I am fine. My body will simply need time to repair itself.”
“Casvir, you’re missing your entire lower half.”
“Not missing.” He pointed at the twisted, broken armored legs and torso laying against the desk.
Flowridia stood and tugged at the severed lower body, jumping aside when the heavy armor clattered to the floor. Casvir watched with visible confusion as she tugged with all her strength at the mutilated lower half. “What are you doing?”
“If you aren’t going to die, then let me try and speed up your healing.”
Flowridia remembered words from long ago, of Thalmus saying holy magic wounded the dead. But perhaps the opposite might heal it.
With Demitri’s help, they managed to set the lower body against Casvir’s torso. But when she tried to take the orb from Casvir’s hand, he stole it back. “Flowridia—”
“I have an idea. I swear to give it back.”
To her surprise, he placed it into her hands.
Again, power threatened to overwhelm her craving body. But Flowridia placed her hands against the severed line of Casvir’s body and armor and slipped her fingers in until she felt cold skin and muscle against her fingers. The living she touched practically begged to be healed, but Flowridia had to search, Casvir’s body quite content, it seemed, to remain stagnant. She shut her eyes, letting her senses expand, and manually felt each strip of skin tingle, the torn muscles and bone relinquishing to her power.
Slow and bitter work, but fueled by the black orb, Flowridia managed to coax each severed vein and nerve together. Muscle repaired; skin sealed; Casvir’s musculature was expansive, his bulk larger than anything she had ever healed, but with each passing second, another bit of skin repaired, layer by layer.
Only when she felt no more work could be done, and when what had once been a clean slice was nothing but a thin
scar, did Flowridia remove her hand. Casvir sat up, his feet twitching as he tested the quality of her spell, and without looking up, she gave the orb to him.
Exhaustion, but not from her work, struck her then. Her face fell into her hands, tears welling in her eyes.
“Are you hurt?” she heard Casvir say.
Flowridia shook her head, relief flooding her in tandem with sorrow. Her tears were for Casvir, whom she’d thought was surely dead, and for Valeuron who had given his life for theirs, who would have willingly given her the orb had the God of Order not come to claim it.
So many questions remained unanswered. Valeuron had deemed her, she who came from nothing, whose love lay dead beneath the catacombs of the castle, who had slain her own mother and discarded her name, worthy. He had given his life for theirs, had seen her death as she had seen his and deemed it not today—
And Soliel had said the same, then called her a name known to no one but she and a book she kept treasured and secret.
“I don’t understand what the dragon meant. I don’t understand why it gave its life for us. I don’t—” She bit off her words, unwilling to release her tears. Embarrassed, she cowered, knowing she had no right to cry when Casvir, too, had nearly died to save her. Her fists clenched, and she willed herself to calm.
She realized, then, what had been left behind. Ana thumped her tail beside her, but the horses, her belongings, her spear—all of that had been in the forest.
“You should rest,” Casvir said, “but find me afterward. I would like to speak with you concerning your actions in the forest.” Curiosity twisted his lip—not intrigue, no, but wonder. “Never have I seen necromancy used to manipulate nature’s power. You continue to surprise me.” With the desk for support, Casvir stood, ruined armor creaking as he did. He shook each leg, perhaps testing them, then gestured for her to follow, his stance proud even in the aftermath of defeat.
She followed her unconventional escort down the carpeted hallways. Though he aimed for her guest room, she stopped him when they passed the secret entrance to Ayla’s bath. “I won’t sleep if I smell like smoke and death.”