“No.” Alaireia locked eyes with Sarhorr. “I cannot kill you. But they can.”
An aura of dark death swept over the grassy knoll, turning it black as the object Alaireia had thrown ripped open. Spirits poured out of it, the souls of Gims he had tortured into death. They reached for him, ripping his body, tearing away the mortal constraints. Pieces of flesh peeled from him like an outer shell, revealing his true identity. The mountain began to shake as Starman rolled out from under the Xero, sheltering his smashed hand as at last he reached for his sword.
“Run!” Marklus was shouting, holding his sword as he limped away, back towards the ledges.
The Xero dropped Alaireia in confusion and she stood, still staring at Sarhorr. “I have willed it to be so,” she proclaimed, her voice layered with a power greater than his own.
Sarhorr felt his body stripped away, leaving his unprotected spirit. Darkness covered him, and bulky muscle and ligaments stood out as he felt his shadow wrap around him. Thick horns pointed out from his head and from his red eyes he saw Legone picking himself off the ground, red marks cruelly displaying on his bruised neck.
“Finish this!” Alaireia’s voice rang in his ears as Legone saw his chance. He dived for the now empty Boleck as Sarhorr spread his spirit arms, and the waters began to thunder down as a waterfall erupted below him.
The undying eyes turned on Legone, and Sarhorr’s now changed voice shouted, “You cannot kill me! I am immortal; this dominion of the Western World was only child’s play. I warn you, this is the beginning of the end.” He turned and leaped off the cliff, reaching for the waters to drag him down into the water hole.
“Legone!” Alaireia screamed. “Take this!” She lifted the crystal, winged horse and threw it into Legone’s open hand.
Legone held her eyes for the briefest moment, lifted the Boleck, and ran towards the falls where Sarhorr had disappeared. Without hesitation, he took a deep breath and dove off the cliff into the streaming arms of the water.
55
The Beginning Of The End
The ground shook beneath Alaireia’s feet as she ran, leaping down the ledges, retracing her steps. The war was back, ringing in her brain, and ahead she saw Marklus, shooting at the creatures crawling out of the rocks. “Hurry!” a voice shouted, even as the ground behind her fell. Starman was also ahead of her, cradling one hand close to his body, the other holding his sword as he ran. They weren’t going to make it; the ledges were already closing in on each other.
“Reach!” a voice called above her. She looked up to see Crinte, who should have been dead, riding on the back of one of the Xctas. He held a rope down to them as they ran through the mist. One by one they grabbed hold while the Xctas flew them back down, towards the battlefield.
It was mere moments before they stood on solid ground again, shaking as they huddled near, unsure of what had just happened. “It worked,” Alaireia told them. “The spirits destroyed Sarhorr’s physical form and forced him to transform. He jumped into the canyon and Legone went after him. And Crinte,” she turned to Crinte, her voice breaking, “the vision I had at the house of Srackt happened just like you said. In the moment, it all seemed clear. I gave Legone the Clyear of Power.”
“Then it is up to him now.” Crinte nodded. “Well done,” he told his warriors, turning his golden eyes on the battlefield. “Night falls; it is time for the tower to come down.”
Turning, they stumbled back to the battlefield, ignoring their various wounds. Yet as Marklus walked, he felt the gap in his side close, as the door between life and death opened to him.
Just as Crinte said, night was falling; the lights in the sky were fading. There was a ripple in the sky and the stars glared white for a moment before they burst in a flash. The first star fell, shooting from the sky in a blur, creating a miniature crater as it struck the ground. Armies persisted dogged as the sheer heat threw them back and the mountain erupted in streaks of purple, blue, and pink. Warriors ran, dodging the fallen stars as they continued to crash into the terrain. But Crinte ran towards the tower, his sword out, as it began to shudder.
Marklus lost them in the chaos. He leaped up on a rock and drew an arrow. As he let it fly, the sky grew dark, and overhead he saw the mass of Xctas wheeling and circling, diving into the battlefield. From his post, he could hear shrieks and cries of agony as creatures around him crashed to the ground. Fingers of death reached up around him, welcoming the fallen, guiding them through the door to the other side. His mind reacted in a frenzy as he felt the death of the Zikes vibrate through him while their brothers and sisters mourned, then pushed forward in determination. He saw the archers shoot the great Xctas out of the air, their sharp eyes growing glassy as they plunged, beak first into the ground. Marklus reached for another arrow as the light faded and the stars lit up the battlefield in the ongoing struggle for survival.
At first, Alaireia could sense Starman was with her, wildly attacking, showing no mercy to his assailants. Their blows were even, stroke to stroke as they cut down skeletal Gaslinks standing in their way, pounded against the monstrous Xeros, unwilling to die, and cut open the voluptuous Garcrats. Arrows raced by them, daggers flew through the air, and battle axes cleaved open heads and hearts. The horrifying reality set in. Battles they had fought on their way to the Great Water Hole were no more than child’s play; even as their comrades fell around them, Alaireia felt the horror with every blow. Precious life was stolen, heartbeats stopped cold—was it all worth it when the very one who started it all was nothing more than a drifting spirit?
A dark night consumed the Great Water Hole as it erupted in smoke, ash, fire, death, and blood. The Slutan Army pulled back, running towards the smoking canyon. The Mizine army followed them, pushing them back even as they fell amid the ruin. Crinte, at last reaching the tower, plunged his sword into it, setting the spirits free and watching the massive structure come crashing down, chunks and boulders of rock and stone crashing onto the battlefield. And when he looked, he realized the end of the world had, indeed, come.
Dawn drifted onto the Great Water Hole, scarcely noticed as they fought in the heat and mist. Alaireia felt her throat grow sore and rough, her nose hurt from breathing in the reeking fumes of death, and she found herself watching. Starman was gone, separated from her at some point during the night. The war raged around her in the valley, but her arms were weak without help from the Clyear. She could feel blood on her face and tasted it in her mouth as she continued to shatter bone. Mechanically she moved forward, until she saw the arrows pierce him.
Starman was in the middle of the battlefield, his sword raised again and again, each time just a hint slower than the last. He whirled around to face his assailants, driving into their hearts, whipping off heads, and an arrow pierced his side. He was too exhausted to be surprised, but because his momentum was already moving forward, he sliced off another head and tripped a Gaslink. A searing pain sliced into his already wounded body and he saw spots of light dancing in his eyes. A white light was shining and he could see a door opening; voices were calling, beckoning him to the other side. He opened his hands, his sword thudding to the ground, and reaching out his arms, he fell to the ground.
A heart wrenching scream echoed over the battlefield and when it ended, Alaireia realized it had been her voice. Tears of rage filled her eyes and she turned, coming face to face with a Xero. No longer afraid, she charged it. “This,” she shouted at it, “is for Starman!” The Xero reached out an iron arm and threw her across the battlefield.
Crinte held his blade as he watched, his face ashen, his body weary from the war. He lifted his face to the sky, watching it cry, and he realized that truly, Sarhorr the Ruler was gone. The intense heat from the stars began to burn away the gray mist, and as the air cleared, Crinte could see the armies of Mizine continue to overwhelm the dark armies, pushing them back over the edge. A weight lifted off his shoulders and he felt his heart come to peace. He turned to search for his companions but he could no longer see
them, not even Marklus in the war stricken land. He watched, swallowing hard as he saw the destruction the war had wrought on the land.
Two days they had fought, and now helmets, metal, and iron lay shattered, digging into the rock. He could see white bone sticking up from broken bodies, and rivers of red blood joining the waterfalls that poured into the Great Water Hole. Blue flags fluttered in the breeze, pounded into the rock, signifying victory. Bodies were piled around them, and he could see where the people groups of Mizine took their last stand. He looked, realizing how few had survived. He placed a hand on his heart and lifted it to the sky, honoring those who had fought and died. Weariness wrecked his body as he turned towards the hill for a better vantage point even as the Xctas circled above, avoiding the falling stars. The war was over; he had to find his friends and assist the people of Mizine in recuperating.
Hot steam rose to meet Legone, forcing the threads of straight hair to curl up around his neck. He pulled his feet away from the lapping water. It seemed alive, determined to gather him in its heat, wrap its wet arms around him and pull him down to be transformed. His ears rang as he heard the Boleck he had trapped Sarhorr the Ruler in, shrieking in fear and anguish in the waters. The power of the Clyear had given him wings one last time, and Sarhorr’s spirit form had been sucked into his own creation, effectively trapping him. Legone had then dropped the Boleck into the transformative waters. It was finished, and he might as well be. His legs threatened to give way, dropping into the churning waters, despite his mind forcing him away, against the protective rock. But the waters were rising; he did not have a choice. The dark creatures were very much alive, as if their minds were programmed for one purpose, even with the Ruler himself eliminated.
Legone sighed, feeling the first chills of death wash over him. His cold hands began to tremble; the numbness would soon set in and he would be finished. He eyed the brown, swirling waters. Dark mist stretched its long fingers towards him, welcoming him into the temptation of death. There was nothing left in life for him. The emptiness bothered him. There was no escape. Why not plunge in and have it over with? Why stand there waiting for the inevitable when it could be over in seconds? His foot slipped as the first waters reached the ledge, rushing over it. Despite the cold, a burning sensation ripped through his feet, forcing him to cry out in pain. A hollow ringing began in his brain; already his vision was failing him. He was going. He spread his arms and lifted his face to the sky where far above him the sunlight shone on paradise. Paleidir, he whispered. My wings have been clipped. My destiny is complete. Farewell.
He closed his eyes, and just as he leaned forward to give himself to the waters he saw, quite clearly, a way out. He was already in motion, falling forward, but the words of an elder tongue came to him. He spoke them as he fell on his back, arms spread out, and felt the Clyear catch him. He lay his hands on his heart, as if in death, and felt the crystal boat speed his way through the waters of the Great Water Hole. He did not have to open his eyes as they passed below the great falls, the boat spinning in circles as it headed towards the open current that led to the South World. Legone breathed one shuddering breath after the other as he drifted to sleep. He knew that when he woke next, he would be in the arms of his beloved.
The spirit sank in the Boleck, weary from fighting, exhausted from the pain that clipped it. He had been so close to utter domination. His rule had been sure, the demise of the Western World in his hands. Like a toy ball he had played with it, twirling it in his fingers, tossing it high, laughing at their blindness. But his desire for more had ultimately been his downfall. He had known Legone the Swift would come at last; he was one of a pure heart, able to see past the power games of the immortals. Those without eternal life appeared desperate for the one life they did have, and determined to let all people groups live the way they desired. Full lives of adventure and hope and love. It had been his ruin, and now he found his body destroyed, his paradise conquered, and his spirit broken. A shattering sound jolted him and he stretched in the nothingness. The Boleck had caught on a sharp rock pounded by waves, and he could hear it breaking apart. It was bound to happen sooner or later; his temporary prison slowly broke free. Too weak to resist, he let his spirit be carried along by the current towards the South World. It would take time, but he would regain his strength, he would rebuild, and next time, the mortals would not find a way to break him. He drifted and shrunk in Oceantic, dreaming of paradise, biding his time.
Alaireia lay in the melee of the war, her head propped up by one of the hideous creatures, her legs covered by another. Her fingers shook every time she tried to feel them, each time she tried to remind herself she was still alive. The pain from the arrow in her thigh had faded, but she could still feel the stab wounds in her side, and her mouth was filled with blood. At some point she had passed out from the pain, but now unwelcome consciousness had returned. She could feel the arid heat and smell the acrid smoke of burning flesh. She could still hear cries from those wounded and dying. Further away, the sound of war continued, the shouting, the frustrated grunts and the screams of pain. She closed her eyes, willing it all to go away; here at the end she would rather be buried alive. The journey had taken every inch of her will, and now the tides of the battle had turned, and she was needed no more. Already her chest was tightening, and she gasped for the precious air she could breathe. She did not notice the shadow until it blocked out her view of the gray clouds. “Alaireia,” an agonized voice whispered. She opened her eyes to look into the battle-weary face of Marklus. His brown curls were plastered to his dirty forehead; a combination of soot and blood covered his face. His tunic was ripped and torn in places and his bow and arrows were gone. He appeared unarmored as he knelt beside her, dragging the creatures off her legs. “Alaireia,” he whispered. “Where are you going?”
She opened her mouth to tell him and blood dribbled out. “It’s over,” she whispered. “It’s time.”
Marklus shook his head as he attempted to wipe the blood from her face. “Alaireia, it’s not time to give up.”
“Marklus,” she wheezed. “I am going. We won. Starman is gone. There is nothing left.” She tried to move her fingers again, but they would not listen to her mind. “Tell the others…” Her voice was fading away. “I love them.” She took one last shuddering breath and closed her eyes.
For some reason she could still hear Marklus and felt him place his hand on her heart. “Alaireia, don’t talk like that. You know I hold the power of life and death.”
Suddenly she was gone, her soul drifting away from her body, and for a moment she rose up and looked down. She could see Marklus at her side, she could see the blue light filling her empty body, and instantly she was no longer a spectator from above. She was clutching Marklus’ arm and breathing wretched air that smelled sour but entered her body without pain and left it without collapsing her chest. Eyes wide in shock, she looked at Marklus, still gripping his arm. “Marklus,” she whispered in wonder.
His eyes were wet as he snatched her in his arms and held her as life returned. She leaned into him in awe. After a minute, she pulled back, and tears of joy lit up her features. “Marklus, I was gone, I had left, but you brought me back.”
Marklus looked at her. “I did more than that.” He rose to his feet. “I healed Starman as well. Your hearts beat in sync; that was the only way I could.”
Alaireia froze for a moment. “Starman.”
“Come.” Marklus reached out a hand to lift her up. “You will feel weak for a while as your strength returns. He is here, recovering.
Holding onto Marklus, Alaireia stumbled over the decaying bodies in the war zone. She could see Starman, wobbling on his feet, testing out his strength. He saw her and despite the mountain of bodies surrounding, him staggered over. “Alaireia! Marklus!” he called.
Alaireia paused and looked at Marklus, as if for the first time she understood, and she could not help the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.�
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Starman slowly stumbled up to them. “I’m alive,” he stated.
“I know.” Alaireia reached for him with a sob.
Marklus let go as they flung their arms around each other, laughing in awe at the gift of a second life. It was Starman who touched Alaireia’s face, leaned in, and kissed her. She responded by wrapping her arms tightly around him, gently kissing him back.
Marklus turned away from them to walk up the hill. As he did, he saw Crinte was waiting for him. “We won. It is over.” Crinte reached out a hand to Marklus.
“It is done,” Marklus replied. He turned one last time to look at the destruction of the Great Water Hole. Smoking bodies littered the ground, blue flags waved in the cleansing breeze that was beginning to blow, and two lovers brought back from the dead kissed in the desolation. The plan had always been to succeed, but as he surveyed the land, he realized he had never dreamed it was actually possible. A sad smile flashed across his grimy face for a moment, then Marklus turned and walked up the hill with Crinte.
The Beginning of…The End
Epilogue
The Five Warriors. That is what they were called as Simon the Brave spread their tale throughout the Western World, personally supervising the statue that was erected in their honor. As those tales spread throughout the Four Worlds, those foolish enough told them to their children as a fairy tale, a legend of old, an impossible tale when the land was young and fraught with mysteries and power. There were some who believed, and some who did not, and some who missed the warning signs that the end was near.
Crinte the Wise journeyed back to Spherical Land, requesting again access to the kingdom above the clouds. He returned with The Healer who restored the Mermis as best he knew how, yet Mermis were never born out of clouds and mist again. Crinte the Wise eventually married Malaseya the Mermi, and so their bloodline extended, and eventually, a portion of them flew away on the Silver Herd, to the Eastern World.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 36