“You dare speak his name!” Torsten lifted his Salvation, the sword wielded by King Liam himself in so many battles, and pointed it at the Arch Warlock. He heard the unified rasp of blades drawn around the circle. He was now surrounded and he hadn't even realized it.
“This profane ritual is nothing but cultish madness,” Torsten addressed the Shieldsmen. “You have to see that.”
“You are wrong, Torsten,” Redstar said. He turned with his hand on Pi’s shoulder to face the eclipse. The two moons were nearly kissing now, and soon they would cover the sun in its entirety. “This is the way of the future. Bound in love, our God and Goddess shall be reunited. For He is the light above, and She is below, buried, not dead.”
He raised the doll. “Blood of the enemy. Of the Lord and the Lady. Perhaps you weren’t as pious as I thought, but this man is, and he stands with us now.” He smiled and touched Wren’s wrinkled face. The old priest remained hunched over, looking frail as death.
“That is not the Wren I know,” Torsten said.
“That is because you refuse to see how your kingdom is changing. Evolving.”
“Wren, I know you are in there. Put a stop to this. Tell these Shieldsmen the truth.”
Wren raised one hand off his cane. It trembled, more bone and sinew than skin. He reached toward Redstar’s neck. For a moment, Torsten thought he saw something in the Arch Warlock’s eyes. Fear? But it was gone before Torsten could identify it. Freydis sidled up behind the old man, and his hand fell back to the cane.
“We have lived blindly in our faith for too long. I now see the folly,” Wren said. “It is you who are blind, Torsten Unger. The Dawning shall set us free.” His head remained sagging. But something else was wrong. Though it was his voice that came out of his mouth, his lips weren’t moving. Instead, the warlock Freydis spoke through him, controlled him. Blood stained her face and lips. The sight made Torsten want to vomit, and the moment Wren finished speaking, his entire body fell weak. He fell onto his cane with all his weight just to stay upright.
“Light above," Redstar started, "earth below. Soon all Pantego will know our truth. It is time now for the union of the Dawning.”
“I’m ready, uncle,” Pi said. “I’m ready to open my eyes.”
“Resist him, my King!” Torsten thundered. “Step out from that circle, and I will never let him harm you again. Your mother waits for you, ready to beg forgiveness for all that she’s done in your name.”
Redstar sighed. “Perhaps our King is right. How many times are you going to go through this, Torsten? My Lady said that no matter what I did you’d be here, but I tire of this. Men, in the name of Pi Nothhelm, the Miracle King, son of Liam Nothhelm, first of his name, and heir to be Dradinengor of the Ruuhar Clan, seize the criminal. Take him alive.”
Soldiers closed in, Drav Cra and Shieldsmen alike. Torsten spun to face those who once swore allegiance to him. “I have failed you, men,” he said. “I look upon your faces, and I don’t recognize them. I should. I should know each and every one of you… as Sir Uriah Davies did. I will pay for that negligence for the rest of my days, but I know your armor. I know what you stand for.”
Redstar spoke in Drav Crava, and all at once, the circle of warlocks around him sliced their forearms. They clasped hands, blood flowing down between each of their wrists. In a monotonous roar, they chanted in their language. Redstar did the same, standing between Pi and Wren who remained silent. Pi’s orepul lifted into the air. Pi flinched, betraying a bit of the child still beneath the cold exterior, but Redstar took his hand.
“Look inside yourselves and find the light!” Torsten implored. He brandished Salvation now, ready to do whatever necessary.
“There is no light today,” hissed a woman, voice like a serpent. With soldiers on either side, Freydis appeared in front of him. Her knees bent in a battle-stance, tossing a dagger playfully between her hands while she licked her bloody lips.
Torsten closed his eyes. “Iam, guide my hand,” he whispered, then he charged. An axe swung at his legs, but without his armor, he was nimble, and leaped over it. Then, falling into a roll, he dodged another swipe and brought Salvation crashing toward Freydis' head. She parried left, sliced her palm, and flung a ball of fire at Torsten, but he was ready for it. It flew by his ear and slammed into the chest of a Drav Cra warrior, sending the savage flying back into a few more. Torsten rebuffed the attack of a Shieldsman, then grabbed him and shoved him into even more of the attackers. Torsten winced as an axe grazed his torso and cut his shirt, but he spun, slashing one of the heathens across the chest. A hand grabbed his arm, stopping him mid-backswing. Torsten wasted no time, caught it in turn, and flipped the man over his massive shoulders.
Torsten froze as Salvation drove downward to stab into the assailant. A Shieldsman stared up at him, not afraid, ready to die for what he thought was their cause in serving the King of the Glass Kingdom—Torsten’s kingdom. That moment of hesitation allowed Freydis to slide behind Torsten and flay the backs of both his thighs.
He howled as he fell to his knees. An axe knocked Salvation from his grasp, and more hands wrenched his arms between them. He thrashed, but it was no use, like he was back in Winde Port again.
“Release me!” he roared. “Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’ll destroy your King. He’ll destroy us all!”
Behind Freydis, tiny droplets of blood trickled out of the floating orepul and began to swirl around it, a web of red lines. Pi’s arms were now outstretched, and he too levitated. A spectral presence stretched out from his chest, taking shape like an illuminated wisp of fog.
“Drad Redstar elevates him,” Freydis said. She knelt before Torsten and ran her bloody dagger across his cheek. The whites of her eyes shone within the crusting black paint on her brow, freezing off in flakes. “Soon you will see.”
Torsten threw his weight at her, but warlocks promptly hauled him back. Though the Drav Cra restrained him without a second thought, the eyes of the Shieldsman present darted nervously between him and the ritual. It was one thing to hear promises of an alliance between gods, but its must have been quite another to see their wicked magic raising their King from the ground; tapping the very light of his soul.
“Look around you men,” Torsten whispered. “Is this where you thought you’d find yourselves when you took the oath? Party to the Buried Goddess’ blood rituals? If you no longer trust me, I understand. I let hate for anything foreign to us cloud my mind and turn me to rage instead of seeing what was right before me. You, loyal Glassmen. Children of Iam, I should have looked to you and not into the darkness. So, let me pass on, but trust your hearts. Perhaps not all Drav Cra are evil, but that man is.”
Chanting in the circle grew louder, Drav Crava filled the air like a brewing storm, and now Pi didn’t just float before his orepul, but the air around and between them crackled with energy. Streaks of it distorted the view, and Torsten could see momentary glimpses of somewhere else through them; a small village shrouded in red.
“Drad Redstar says to let you watch,” Freydis whispered in Torsten’s ear. “But he says nothing about speaking.” She grabbed his jaw as he tried to appeal to his men again and held her dagger to his lips.
“Unhand him, witch!”
Torsten peered out of the corner of his eye to see Oleander standing at the top of the stairs, surrounded by the Eye-of-Iam-shaped gate. Sir Austin Mulliner stood at her side, a bow in his hands. A thrum sent an arrow toward the female warlock and sliced her cheek, knocking her back, then continued forward. Torsten turned with her, thinking he knew where it was going to strike until it stabbed into Pi’s floating orepul, finally landing on the opposite edge of the summit.
The distortion in the air around Pi suddenly stopped, and the strange wisp of light swirling around him began to diminish. The boy looked from side to side, and for the first time since his reawakening—even for the year before that—he didn’t seem emotionless. He was frightened. He continued searching until his gaze fell upon Ol
eander.
“Mama?” he whimpered.
“Redstar left the wife of Liam Nothhelm to bleed,” Austun shouted. “No matter what she has done, no matter who Torsten has killed—we must still protect our own.” He drew his sword, and a host of Glass soldiers behind him did the same. “Iam smite me if I am wrong, but this is not the King’s Shield to which I swore an oath. Brothers, it is time to take it back!”
He charged, and the men followed him. Drav Cra warriors broke away from Torsten to meet them head-on. The Shieldsmen committed to Redstar were confused. Torsten found himself thrilled that Mulliner saw beyond his hatred enough to do what was right— precisely what Torsten had failed to do.
In the confusion, Torsten broke free of his Shieldsman captor, kicking a downed-Freydis in the face in the process, then ran for the orepul.
“Continue the summoning!” Redstar ordered. “And you.” He stopped in front of Wren and laid his stump of a hand over his shoulder. “No more half-measures this time. One for the Lord. A true sacrifice.” He drew a dagger and placed it in Wren’s hand, then burst through the circle, racing toward the orepul as well.
“The blood of the enemy shall bring rise to her!” Redstar shouted.
“I should have destroyed it when I had the chance!” Torsten cried out. He barreled into him. They tumbled across the snowy surface, stopping just out of reach of the doll. Redstar had no weapon, and in hand to hand combat, Torsten was far more proficient. He pinned the Arch Warlock down and drove fist after fist into his nose. Redstar pawed at Torsten’s face with his one hand, clubbing him with his other. The more blood Torsten drew from Redstar’s mouth, the more he felt it—fire building within Redstar’s palm. The Arch Warlock spread his long fingers, and the heat made Torsten’s skin bubble.
“When will you learn to kill me?” Redstar hissed. He squeezed until the pain was too much for Torsten to bear. Torsten fell off him, the imprint of Redstar’s hand branded onto his face.
“Perhaps it is time you live like those you bow to,” Redstar said. “Like all the Glassmen. Blind.”
He stretched his hand across Torsten’s eyes. Torsten lashed out, punching Redstar in the ribs, feeling the bone crack beneath his fists, but Redstar held him down. The heat augmented, burning Torsten’s eyelids first and then his eyeballs.
“Get off of him!” Oleander shouted. Torsten’s eyes were covered, but he heard the soft crunch of a blade stabbing through flesh. Redstar screamed and slid to the side, tumbling off Torsten. Torsten’s eyes were so damaged by the magical fire, he could see nothing but shapes, but that was enough. A knife stuck out of the center of Redstar’s back, placed there by the Queen Mother.
“Whore Queen!” Redstar snarled. Red-hot fire leaped from his fingertips into Oleander’s chest and sent her flying. Then Redstar stood and limped to the orepul. Torsten pawed at the blur of his legs and slowed him, but without sight, Redstar was easily able to kick him away.
Gathering the orepul, Redstar started back toward the blood circle, only to find it compromised. With Sir Mulliner’s reinforcements, the Drav Cra warriors were outnumbered. A handful stood with their backs to the circle of warlocks, Freydis at their center. They faced at least a dozen knights and the same amount of Glass soldiers. It seemed that even if they wouldn’t fight for their disgraced ex-Wearer, they chose to fight beside their own.
“You fools!” Redstar rasped. “You cannot stop this.” He reached behind his back and wrenched out the knife his sister wedged there. With it, he sliced his own wrist, deep, like he didn’t care about bleeding out. “Like I told the last of you who thought to rebel, your armor is of the mountain. And what is below the peak, belongs to my Lady.”
He lifted his hand and squeezed.
“What the—” one of the Shieldsmen gasped.
“Iam’s light!” cried another.
More and more of them shouted in pain as Redstar’s arms moved slowly to the side. “Your armor is mine!” Redstar yelled.
Shieldsmen threw themselves into one another without regard. One grabbed a Glass soldier and hurled him over the ridge of the summit, his screams rending the very air.
“Freydis,” Redstar shouted, “kill them all!”
She clasped her bloody hands then pulled them apart. The ground split beneath the Glassmen, wide enough for ten abreast to lose their footing. The remaining Drav Cra warriors attacked.
Redstar made his way back into the circle where the warlocks chanted. He raised the orepul, and Pi went from a terrified boy, back to impassive. His body arched and the spirit continued lifting from his chest.
During it all, Torsten dragged himself toward Oleander’s body. His vision was still impaired, but it didn’t take much to recognize the massive burns coating half of her like a boar left over a hot spit.
“My Queen,” Torsten whispered, pawing for her hand in the snow. Finding it, he squeezed.
“T… Torsten,” she stuttered. “My sweet, loyal, Torsten.”
“Come. I must get you to safety.”
He tried to lift her, but she slapped him away. The blow was weak, not like all the countless times she’d done it before, but he got the message. “You made a vow to protect my boy. I… I…” She swallowed back her pain. He could see the red staining her teeth. “I order you to uphold it.”
“My Qu… Oleander.”
“Redstar thinks he must take his own life. Kill the bastard… for me.” Torsten hesitated a moment more, and she pushed him. “Go!”
Staggering forward, still seeing the world only in shapes and contrast of light, Torsten roared, “Redstar!”
The ritual illuminated the entire summit now, and Torsten realized why. The moons and the sun were in complete alignment; the Dawning was upon them. Just a ring of light surrounded them as Iam looked away and allowed his people to find the light within themselves.
Torsten wouldn’t ignore the call. He trudged forward, nearly sightless, body battered. Through the circle of warlocks, Redstar eyed him.
“Biding her time, her pain like a flood. Alone in the darkness, she longs for the blood. In the name of the Lady, in the name of the Lord, Shall settle it all with power and sword,” Redstar chanted. He lifted his knife, and Wren mimicked his every move with the dagger in his quaking hand. Torsten realized that the poor old man whispered the words along with him as well.
“Then she will arise, in glorious day,” Redstar continued. “Through will and through fire, her enemies slain. Forgotten, abandoned, but no longer bound. From Elsewhere and exile, she’ll receive her crown.” Side by side, Redstar and Wren plunged their blades into their own chests.
Torsten stopped and clutched his own. It stung him deep within to see, even through bleary eyes, the holy leader of his church forced to take his own life—a blasphemy, an abomination unto their God. As they dropped to their knees, the spirit poured out of Pi, taking the shape of a woman whose whispers Torsten heard on the air. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.
The blood from the orepul fed into it and the very air around them fractured, again revealing a hellish world between worlds. Torsten knew without question what it was. As the fabric of reality had been split in the God Feud when Iam made Elsewhere, now it was being reopened.
“Torsten!” Austun yelled.
Torsten looked right and saw the vague and blurred shape of the Shieldsman on his knees. Freydis had summoned vines from the ice to lash him down. She controlled them with one hand while with the other she stabbed a Glass soldier in the chest repeatedly. Austun tossed something to Torsten. He heard it clatter on the ground and found grip on it. He’d only had King Liam’s sword for a short time, but already, Salvation felt at home within his tight grasp.
The space between the circle of warlocks was narrow. Torsten’s vision was getting worse, so he closed his eyes and listened only to the laughing of the madmen King Autlas had abandoned in the North so long ago. He drew Salvation overhead, reared back with both hands, and released. In all the chaos, he focused on the thru
m as it sliced through the air, pommel over blade, again and again.
It found its place buried within Redstar’s chest. Torsten barreled through the warlocks to finish the job, and as he passed their circle toward the rift in the air, he found himself in what seemed to be a new realm. He could see perfectly now, but the world itself had grown red and blurry, darkness tattering the edges. The sounds of battle and the chants of heathens were drowned out by an otherworldly whirr. All that remained was a surface of life upon which Torsten, Wren, Redstar, and Pi remained.
He spun. Around him, he could see countless places—towns, villages, kingdoms, and plains, but all without focus. He blinked and tried to breathe, then saw something he least expected. Unholy monsters, demons the likes of which Torsten had never seen, chased a man and woman through a village. It all happened so fast, and the vision was unclear, simultaneously all around him and nowhere at all. He spun again and saw a circle of robed figures who looked like the mystics Torsten had fought so long ago by Liam’s side. They had their hands outstretched toward a curled-up body.
Between them all, Pi remained affixed in midair, enveloped by what was now the ghastly figure of a beautiful woman.
“Well done, my child,” she whispered, voice sensuous, intoxicating. “I can feel it. My power, returning from its buried prison after so long.”
The last thing Torsten expected was for Nesilia to look as favorably in reality as Redstar’s mural depicted. But behind that beauty were callous, colorless eyes set on devouring the world.
A force pulled at Torsten’s ankles as he struggled to move. It seemed to be affecting Redstar as well. His dagger lay before him, and he crawled for it, Salvation skewering his chest. Torsten was able to reach it first and kick it aside.
“You can’t stop it,” Redstar gurgled. “In killing Bliss, we opened this world to her spirit, but with our sacrifice, the goddess herself may return.”
“I can,” Torsten replied. In this strange realm, even his own voice echoed, as if a hundred of himself he were whispering from all around. “Today, you die by my hand!” Unseen forces tried to hold him back, but Torsten fought with all his might to grab Salvation’s hilt and shove it deeper into Redstar, all the way down to the crossguard.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 116