Soul Forge

by Richard Stephens

  Alhena frowned. There was no worry of that happening.

  The creature turned to intercept Silurian.

  Alhena cringed as the two collided. His jaw dropped. They embraced each other.

  Stepping back, the creature said, “Silurian Mintaka. After all these years, I thought you truly dead.”

  “You should know better than that, Seafarer, you walking handbag.”

  For the first time since Alhena had found Silurian, he saw genuine happiness upon his face.

  “What brought you back to life, my friend?” The reptilian creature settled down upon his stomach before the fire, reminding Alhena of a massive crocodile.

  “’Tis a long story,” Silurian said. “Truth be told, I probably shouldn’t be here.”

  Alhena stoked the fire as he listened to Silurian relate their adventure thus far. When Silurian mentioned the wolves, the creature nodded.

  Silurian had barely finished his tale when Seafarer suddenly froze, his eyes glowing brighter.

  Alhena followed the creature’s concerned gaze to the Mountain Pools.

  Seafarer rose to his four back feet. “Remain here. I must deal with something, but I need to speak further with you before you face the Chamber. It is vital you await my return.”

  Without another word, Seafarer ambled down to the water’s edge and slipped beneath the surface.

  The Portent

  Helleden! Rook shuddered. Black storm clouds brooded overhead, coalescing into an unnatural domed ceiling and blotting out the sun.

  He forced his feet into motion, walking to the swamp’s edge for any sign of the magical creature.

  The air thinned. His breathing quickened. A cool breeze stirred his unkempt hair, and quickly became a gale. He leaned forward to prevent himself from being blown backward.

  The skies opened, drenching him.

  Fear gripped him. He wheeled about and staggered to his hut. Grabbing the door latch, he threw the bolt. The door whipped open, just missing him.

  Hanging onto the jamb for dear life he retrieved his bow as the wind ripped the door from its hinges and cartwheeled it into the ethereal darkness.

  He pulled himself into the turmoil within his hut—parchment and debris swirled about as if caught up in a mini twister. He grabbed his quiver and ducked to avoid being hit by sections of the hut’s disintegrating roof.

  He stepped clear of the teetering structure just before it collapsed upon itself and shattered into unrecognizable pieces, following the door into the maelstrom beyond. Grasping the remnants of the last remaining corner pillar, he dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms about its base to keep from becoming a projectile himself.

  A crimson bolt of crackling energy erupted from the surface of Saros’ Swamp. A geyser of muddy swamp water shot into the air in its wake as the bolt etched a path toward the black clouds and blasted a hole through the dome, exposing the sun.

  The winds subsided and the driving rain diminished but the reprieve was short lived. The dome regenerated itself and the sun disappeared. The winds intensified. Driving rain fell heavier than before.

  Rook lay helpless in the mud, unable to stand. Shrubs and larger vegetation flew over his head, touching down at random intervals and bounding away.

  Saros’ Swamp spilled its banks, pushing a wall of churning muck before it as another crimson blast shot skyward, followed by two more in rapid succession. Thunderous detonations reverberated overhead, shaking the ground. With each successive blast, the dome regenerated faster. It wasn’t long before the blasts did nothing but rock the land and empty the swamp.

  The parade of crimson bolts ceased.

  A strange sensation flooded through him, dulling his senses.

  A massive fireball hurtled skyward, totally emptying the swamp. The resulting explosion pulverized the unearthly dome and black ash rained upon the ruined land.

  A wave of mud sloshed over Rook. Through the fog that had taken over his mind, he sensed that he no longer grasped the hut’s stanchion. His body slid away from Saros’ Swamp, entombed within a sliding wall of sludge.

  The rain had stopped. Hurricane winds were replaced by stray gusts that stirred eddies of black ash around the Innerworld. Sunshine warmed the devastated landscape, revealing the extent of the destruction. Great branches littered the landscape—trees splintered and broken all the way to the horizon. Saros’ golden aura hadn’t returned.

  A set of crimson eyes broke the plane of brackish water, nestled atop a large reptilian head. Seafarer emerged from the murky depths, rising to his full height upon the edge to survey the damage.

  Rook lay twenty feet from the banks of Saros’ Swamp. Muddy water swirled about him, the blackened sludge sliding back to the crater it had been blasted from.

  Silence gripped the land buried beneath a carpet of black ash.

  Rook stirred. He lay within the embrace of a soft bush, although he had no idea how he had gotten there.

  The smell of wet rot and charred flesh told him that all wasn’t as it should be. Overhead, the sun drifted between puffy, white clouds.

  Clouds!

  Images of the unearthly storm bombarded him. He remembered the black dome and the wind storm that had annihilated his home.

  Rolling free of the bush, he fell to his knees upon what had recently been the floor of his hut. Beside him lay his bow and quiver. He was instantly attuned to the fact that the golden aura no longer enshrouded Saros’ Swamp. The little shrine he had constructed two decades earlier was gone.

  A loud pop from a nearby fire alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t alone. On the far side of the uprooted bush, a bonfire sent plumes of black smoke into the air. What shocked him most, however, was the sight of a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  “Seafarer?”

  The reptilian had gathered the dead swamp denizens strewn around the area and fed them into the fire. Dropping a twisted carcass onto the pyre, he said, “Rook Bowman. Welcome back to the living. It appears I have arrived too late.”

  Standing, Rook took a few moments to gain his equilibrium. Grabbing his bow and arrows he stumbled around the bush and embraced the towering creature.

  Stepping back, he asked, “Who did this?”

  “I fear you know the answer to that, my good friend.”

  “Helleden?”

  The reptilian closed his eyes.

  Rook turned a slow circle, expecting to see the vile sorcerer.

  “We don’t know where he is, nor how he cast such a spell. The latest reports had him entrenched in the Altirius Mountains. He certainly never stepped foot inside the Innerworld.”

  Rook’s arms flailed about helplessly, “But…” He couldn’t find the words.

  “We don’t know how to explain it.”

  “We?”

  “Saros and I. Saros was in dire straits when I received his summons. He had been battling Helleden long before either you or I were aware anything was amiss. Together, we shattered the dome Helleden conjured, but the battle is far from over.”

  Rook hung his head. How many creatures had died?

  “There is more to the story you need to know.”

  Rook swallowed.

  “First things first. Sit and eat. You will require all your strength and then some, real soon.”

  A short while later, Rook sat before the fire with a steaming bowl of broth cupped in his hands. Where Seafarer had found the bowl and the food within, he had no idea, nor was he sure he wanted to know. He picked at his meal, surveying the absolute destruction surrounding him.

  Lying on his stomach beside him, Seafarer said, “You will be interested in this. I attended the Mountain Pools before coming here. Investigating a report of someone slaughtering wolves. You’ll never guess who was responsible.”

  Rook looked up.

  “Alhena Sirrus, a messenger from the Chamber of the Wise.”

  Rook grunted. He had never heard of him.

  “He didn’t know me. In fact, he was put off by my appearan
ce.”

  “Imagine that,” Rook muttered.

  “His companion, however, knew me well. I thought him long dead, so this time it was me who was surprised.”

  Seafarer paused, causing Rook to stare at him.

  “Who should walk out from beneath the waterfall? Silurian Mintaka!”

  Rook choked, spitting a mouthful of food into the fire. Gruel drooled down his chin.

  “Aye, the one and only. Mind you, he looks rough. He is on his way to meet with the Gritian council. Anyway, before I get sidetracked, Saros asked me to explain the meaning of the thirteen eyes…”

  Rook tuned him out, his brain stuck on the mention of Silurian. He should be elated, but instead it seemed like a weight had been loaded upon his shoulders.

  Seafarer sprang to his four hind legs. Without explanation, he made his way to the banks of Saros’ Swamp and slipped beneath the surface.

  Rook followed, stopping at the water’s edge. The water’s surface stilled for only a moment before it bubbled again, marking Seafarer’s return.

  The large creature crawled from the water, dripping with flotsam.

  “You must leave at once,” Seafarer declared. “Saros and I will do what we can to ensure your safe passage to the Mid Savannah. You must leave now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rook threw his hands up, slowly spinning around to include everything in sight. What had they just been talking about? Something about the thirteen eyes. “I can’t leave. Not now. The Innerworld needs me.”

  “Rook, hear me. Saros falters. His hold upon our world draws nigh. He foresees the Innerworld’s destruction. He can no longer prevent it.”

  “What are you talking about? The Innerworld’s destruction? That’s absurd.”

  “Nonetheless, the only thing left for you here is death. Saros and I have merely afforded us a temporary reprieve. When Helleden attacks again, the Innerworld will be obliterated. Do you recall what happened to Queen Quarrnaine’s expedition a few years back?”

  “Ya, but…Where is Helleden? Lead me to him. There must be something—”

  “Rook!” Seafarer boomed. “Listen. Before it’s too late. You need to leave. Now. Escape to the Mid Savannah. Silurian needs you.”

  Rook’s next words caught in his throat.

  “Aye, for Silurian do you listen. Heed my warning, Rook. Our hope, Zephyr’s hope, depends on you two staying together. If you become separated, we may all be lost.”

  “Where will I find him? In Gritian?”

  Seafarer shook his head. “Saros has dispatched his disciple, Thetis, to rendezvous with you and Silurian at Madrigail Bay.”

  “Madrigail Bay? That’s clear across Zephyr.”

  “Those are Saros’ instructions. Now, you must make haste. If you can reach the Outerworld by high moon, you should be alright. We will try to afford you the time you need, but I’m thinking we’ll be hard pressed.”

  The amphibian’s red eyes shone brighter. Before Rook knew what happened, Seafarer enshrouded him within a translucent crimson aura—its cocoon-like properties bent and stretched with his every movement.

  “How do we find this Thesis?” The world was cast in an eerie, reddish glow. Seafarer had done something to him. Turning his arms this way and that, mesmerized by the conforming force field around him, Rook asked, “And what the hell is this?”

  “Thetis,” Seafarer corrected. “You need not worry yourself about that. Thetis will find you.” He glanced at the sky with concern. “You’re wrapped within a protective barrier that will protect you as you flee and help you run faster, but it won’t last long. You must go.”

  Seafarer had found Rook’s old, leather rucksack and packed it with provisions. He held it out for Rook to shrug into. “Grab your bow and arrows. It’s time to go.”

  Thunder rolled ominously in the distance.

  Rook took a few tentative steps to the west. He hesitated. Seafarer was already making his way into the water. He wondered if he would ever see his old friend again.

  Seafarer’s great head swiveled upon his scaly shoulders. “You must go. Run!”

  Whether it was the crimson aura tainting his vision or because of the energy Seafarer had spent in generating it, the reptilian looked haggard.

  Rook wanted to ask him if he was going to be okay but Seafarer had already slipped beneath the surface.

  God is Dead

  The translucent aura Seafarer had cast upon Rook turned his world crimson. He crashed headlong across the devastated marshland, marvelling at how fast he moved over the rubble-strewn landscape—not tiring in the slightest. He recalled their rushed conversation. If you can reach the Outerworld by high moon, you should be alright.

  By Rook’s calculations, even at his newfound pace, he wouldn’t reach the border in time.

  He struggled with what his flight meant. He was abandoning the creatures who had sheltered him through his darkest hours. He should be standing shoulder to shoulder with them in the face of this danger, not running away from it. Seafarer’s warning echoed in his mind. You are wrapped within a protective barrier that will not only protect you as you flee but will also help you run faster. It won’t last long. But fleeing while his friends were about to be destroyed went against every tenet he had lived his life by. He felt like a coward.

  He stopped his headlong progress and attempted to turn around and return to Saros’ Swamp, but the aura prevented him. He stepped forward and sideways without difficulty, but he couldn’t step backward.

  “Damn you, Seafarer.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. A cold shiver gripped him. It had begun and Seafarer had claimed he and Saros weren’t strong enough to thwart the attack a second time.

  With a despondent look over his shoulder, he sprinted faster than he had before. At this speed, his momentum carried him over smaller bogs and ponds in a single bound. He leaped giant boulders and downed trees. He almost thought he could fly.

  As he ran, the signs of destruction from Helleden’s previous onslaught lessened.

  The sky darkened. Tendrils of black cloud converged above him, coalescing into a low ceiling of impending doom.

  Beneath his springing feet another swamp flew by. All he could do was run. Seafarer had seen to that. He must reach the border before Seafarer and Saros…what? Died? They would fight to their last breath if it meant he reached safety. Perhaps if he ran faster, they might find time to escape themselves.

  A large, uprooted willow passed beneath his feet. Then a boulder, and a wide, stagnant river. On he ran, faster than the wind that blew in his face.

  The Innerworld darkened. The light cast by the cocoon’s aura allowed him to see, but his jumps became trickier in the diminished light.

  Bounding ever westward toward freedom, he couldn’t rid himself of the gut-wrenching knowledge that he abandoned his home and the creatures that had harboured him all these years. The beauty. The vegetation. The geographical anomalies that made the Innerworld so diverse. Everything he had come to love was on the verge of extinction, and he could do nothing to prevent it.

  The wind increased to a gale.

  He wanted to stop and shed the crimson aura so he could go back, but he didn’t know how. Seafarer’s words kept his legs churning: the only thing left for you here is death.

  So? What was the point of living if everyone he cared for died?

  Escape to the Mid Savannah. Silurian needs you. That last sentence echoed in his mind.

  A heavy rain began to fall.

  Silurian needs you.

  He barely managed to avert his run and skirt along the shores of a large bog, its other side not visible in the aura’s meagre light.

  The black sky pulsed in several places, pushing aside the darkness, heralding the creation of great orbs of fire. Sickening whines tracked their earthward course. He looked up and almost lost his footing.

  He resigned himself to the fact that he was powerless to alter the events set into motion, but by the gods’ good grace he vowe
d to do everything within his means to meet up with Silurian and set things right. Together, they would exact a dire toll for the Innerworld’s injustice, and finish what they thought they had done years ago.

  The earth shook. He picked up his pace as the first fireball detonated somewhere behind him, shaking the ground.

  Resounding explosions heaved the landscape. Animals bolted from their burrows, scurrying about frantically, not knowing which way to flee. Rook cried out for them to follow, but they couldn’t match his pace.

  He ran and ran, amazed at his ability to maintain such speed, magically assisted or not. His tormented mind wandered from sadness to anger and back again in rapid, delirious succession. Vaguely aware of lapses in the onslaught, as Saros and Seafarer fought back, provided him little solace. They could not win.

  He didn’t know how long he ran. Occasionally the sky lightened, the wind dropped, and the rain lessened, but inevitably, Helleden overcame the powers opposing him.

  A tremendous blast, many leagues away, threw Rook to the ground. He careened uncontrollably to a stop. The bogginess of his landing spot, together with the protection offered by the aura, kept him from serious harm.

  He lay stunned at the edge of a slough. The air was still. The rain had ceased and the wind had died. The constant drone of plummeting fireballs was absent. He struggled to his knees, shrugged his rucksack into place, and unsteadily gained his feet. Nothing moved within the limited vision cast by the crimson glow. Had Saros and Seafarer found a way to make a difference?

  Far to the east, a red wave rippled along the horizon. Another wave lit up the northern horizon, followed quickly by one to the south, and finally, one close to where he stood—the dome’s eastern wall pulsated. Dark red veins of lightning forked up from the base of the dome toward the blackened canopy.

  Rook sucked in his breath. He had no idea what it meant, but it didn’t take a great leap of faith to realize it wouldn’t be good when the lightning converged. Wasting no time, he ran harder than before.

  Approaching the dome’s wall, he had no idea how to break through whatever substance comprised the evil shroud. He glanced down to judge the leap required to span a small bog in his path. Looking up again, he found himself staring into the malevolent glare of two massive, red beasts brandishing tridents as they reared up out of the darkness. To either side of the well-muscled demons, Innerworld creatures bolted by, frantically trying to escape the impending destruction—only to vapourize into puffs of black smoke as they impacted against the dome’s surface.