Chapter 23
Time seemed to have little meaning in the Forsaken Lands. It was either night with a blood-filled moon riding the sky, or dusk, with a pale sun peering out from behind the red haze that perpetually hung over this blighted place. And beyond the green boughs of the Sentinel Forest, the blasted earth stretched out into infinity.
Standing out on the balcony of the tower, Ofeera stared out into the dismal landscape and wondered how any life could have been sustained. If she woke to this disheartening view every day, she would have surely gone mad. How had the high elves survived here for so long? How had they clung on the hope when nothing but death surrounded them?
It had been three and a half days since Luthien and Breaker set out with a group of elves in pursuit of Lucien and Theredoniel. Azarielle had gone after them, despite having just woken from her days-long slumber. The old elven mage, Arielle, had given the young mage a ring of teleportation that would take her straight to their companions and Azarielle had promptly activated.
She could have gone along with Azarielle, and her friend had asked her to. But she didn’t, and couldn’t take her friend’s proffered hand. She had not been of much assistance to them throughout the trip, instead, they always had to divert their energy and focus on helping her. How adamant she had been in demanding to be brought along, but what had she accomplished?
Her sister was dead. That body was nothing more than a caricature of life, an empty shell that held no soul and no breath. The woman who had been her playmate and mentor, who had combed her hair and taught her prayers, that woman was utterly and irrevocably gone. Then there was Theredoniel. He had succumbed to the darkness and fallen away from the Eternal Father. And even if they were successful in turning him back from that evil path, he would spend the rest of his natural life in a dungeon.
As for Lucien…
Ofeera’s fingers curled around the fabric of her skirts. She did not want to think of him. She did not want to associate that handsome face and charming smile with the atrocious acts he had committed. That he would have used his powers to animate her sister’s body and hold it over poor Theredoniel, and tall those murders…!
A small sob escaped her mouth. And what had she done? What was she doing? While they were fighting for their lives, she was just standing here doing nothing at all.
“The former mistress of this spire enjoyed breakfasting out on these balconies. I’ve stood out here many times wondering what her view would have looked like.”
Startled and embarrassed, Ofeera turned around to face the old elven mage, Arielle, trying to wipe her eyes as discreetly as possible, “Old One…”
“From this balcony she would have looked out onto the ancient Gwenevar City. It was a marvelous place, with buildings made from crystals, living trees and power,” the old woman said as she came to stand next to Ofeera. “Mages and healers came from afar to further their craft, and she would watch the city that she ruled bustle beneath her. Three hundred years after her death, her apprentice, Doriel Kethevar, utterly destroyed the city. This place that Elucielle gave up her life to protect stood for only three more centuries after her sacrifice.”
The old woman’s eyes stared into the distance as if she were reliving a memory. There was something different about her though Ofeera could not quite put her finger on what it was. It had something to do with the expression on the old woman’s face, which seemed different, and the feel of her power. Though Ofeera was not a mage, she could sense just the faintest echo of something that seemed out of place in the old woman’s power. It almost felt as if there were two people’s power inside her, but that did not make any sense.
“Have you ever been there?” Ofeera asked quietly. “Gwenevar City, before it fell, I mean.”
“How old do you think I am, child?” the old woman frowned at her.
Ofeera blushed, feeling flustered that she might have inadvertently offended the old woman, “Forgive me Old One. It was just the way you talked about the city, as if you walked the streets yourself. So, I wondered…”
Arielle laughed, “I jest, child. You are must more courteous than that golden-eyed friend of yours, as one would expect from a healer of the Eternal Father. And elves have always viewed age as something to be revered, not something to be feared as humans believe.”
The old woman turned away and lounged against the railing of the balcony, a gesture that seemed very out of place with her age, “Have you heard of them, the Three Spires of Aztur?”
Ofeera nodded, “Fallingstar Spire was a monument that the elves resurrected to honor the memory of Lady Elucielle. Shiftingstar Spire was one of the greatest of the ancient mage academies.”
“Truly? One of the greatest amongst the mage academies?” the old woman shook her head, “Shifting Star was a mage school for only three centuries before Aztur fell. If it is considered one of the greatest of the ancient mage academies than truly, the state of mage education is in dire straits! But then, I suppose I should have expected this. Your friend would not have been set loose with her power in such a state!”
“Will she be alright? I’ve never seen…” Ofeera shuddered as she recalled again the memory of the flames Azarielle had unleashed.
“She stands at divergent roads for she is about to wake to her true Gift. This second waking is something that very, very few mages experience – a great gift and a great curse. If she survives the ordeal, she might become one of the most powerful mages to ever walk Faearth, though her life will be fraught with dangers and temptations. Some will try to destroy her for she poses a danger to them, others will want to use her.”
“Blessed Abihayil!” the young priestess gasped. “Does she…does she know!”
“I am sure she knows something,” the old woman sighed dramatically. “She is apprenticed to an ‘archmage’ after all, though that boy has really let her run rampant. In any case, what were we talking about again? Oh yes, Shiftingstar being one of the ‘greatest’ mage schools.”
“It probably deserves some credit, because Shiftingstar Spire and Shiftingstar City still stands today. When Doriel unleashed his little plague, the mages of Shiftingstar managed to raise a shield that held it at bay. It cost most of them their lives but it saved the people. Since then, the city has managed to survive by being self-sufficient.”
“A whole city of survivors! It is a miracle! I never knew…” Ofeera shook her head.
“Well, actually, for the first hundred years or so, the surviving mages reached out to the outside world for help. Of course, they were ignored. The Fog had not yet lost any of its potency and nobody wanted to risk catching the bleeding rot plague. After that, they sort of gave up and dug in. There is talk now of reestablishing Aztur or some such nonsense. That is all fine and well, if they manage not to be swallowed up by the Avatar of Acedia first!”
“The avatar…what?!”
“Well, that foolish son of Gwenevar will become the new avatar unless your friends stop him. That is what that the Keystaff of Everstar can do. It can be used to seal away the source of power that transforms one into an avatar of an Abyssal One, but it can also be perverted into unlocking that power.”
“And that is where Shiftingstar Spire comes into play. Everstar Spire and Shiftingstar Spire were both meant to serve as seals on the Avatar of Acedia. When that foolish boy came here with the staff, he brought down Everstar’s barrier. Now, only Shiftingstar remains. When he becomes the avatar that is where he will go. And if Shiftingstar falls then an Avatar will be loosed into the world. I tell you this because you are the only one who can reach Shiftingstar Spire alive and warn them. You are young, little healer, but you are very powerful. You have the ability to purity the air around you and not become infected with the plague.”
Ofeera felt tears well up in her eyes, “Old One, I cannot. I have done nothing of worth this whole while we traveled here. I will not be able to hold a purifying shield for more than a single day, I…”
“Look at me,” the old woman commanded, and Ofeera found herself moving to obey. She caught sight of green eyes and all of a sudden everything around her changed.
She had somehow returned to Oturia, and was standing in the middle of the bustling Bazar that she frequently visited with Azarielle. People bustled about all around her, waving their waves and shouting prices. She smelled exotic spices and freshly baked pastries. A woman waved around color silk scarves while a man gestured to cages filled with strange looking birds.
And then, suddenly, a wave of darkness swept over them. The tents and the stalls started collapsing, and the people around her turned to ash and blew away in a gust of fou-smelling wind. The earth heaved as if it were sick, and a sickly black fluid bubbled up from the ground. Everything it touched began to rot and decay until she found herself standing in a land as barren and blasted as the Forsaken Lands.
“No! No, no!” Ofeera gasped. The woman with the scarves reached out a hand to her even as her body began to wither and Ofeera tried to catch hold of that hand, praying desperately as she did so that she could keep the woman from death. But before their fingers could touch, the woman’s hand rotted off and she collapsed in on herself in a burst of sickly fluids and gases.
And then, everything shifted again and she was back on the balcony, overlooking the blighted Forsaken Lands. It was so sudden a change that she could not maintain her balance, falling to her knees and gasping as her mind tried to make sense of what had happened.
“That is what will become of the world if the Avatar of Acedia is not defeated,” she heard the old woman say. “Evil cannot create. It can only destroy. Will you stand by and let this happen?”
“No, no I cannot. But I am not strong… I am so weak, so weak,” Ofeera whispered as the tears began trickling down her cheeks anew. “Blessed Abihayil, so much death, such hopelessness…”
“Hopelessness and despair, that is what Acedia craves above all else,” the old woman regarded her steadily. “A man I once knew said to me that your Abihayil treasures weakness above strength. Only weakness can bring about humbleness of heart, and only with a humble of heart can we hear his words. Is that not right, healer of Abihayil?”
Ofeera looked at him in surprise, “Those were the words of Sir Korbael Thewin! They are engraved over the entrance of the Temple of Elad!”
“Well, those knights were a lot of imbeciles. It’s not surprising they’d revere the nonsensical squawks of a monkey,” the old woman waved her hands airily. Then she regarded Ofeera again, “I can save you a day and a half of walking, but that is as far as I can take you. You will have to make the rest of the trip on foot, though Hazuriel has offered to accompany you. In one candlestick’s time, we will wait for you at the foot of the Spire. Decide for yourself whether you will come, healer.”
* * *
Breaker crawled lizard-like onto the rock, taking care to move quietly so that he would not alert the creatures Gubriel had named black hags swooping about overhead. They had come upon Shifting Spire just before the sun had entirely set. Now that darkness had one again stolen over this blighted land, Breaker who had the best night vision had come to scout a way into the Spire.
This was indeed a place of nightmares. Thousands upon thousands of fiends amassed here, flying and shrieking overhead or skulking bout the wasteland around them. Some of these monstrosities he recognized, others he had never seen or heard of. And then, there were the ghouls. The damned creatures had gathered at the base of the spire and stood as unmoving as statues, like puppets waiting to be moved. Most disconcerting of all were the dragons flying around the Spire in slow lazy circles, their wings blotting out the sky.
When they had first spotted the dragons, Gubriel’s eyes had opened so wide that he feared the green orbs would roll out of their sockets. Though they had seen the other creatures before, they had never seen the dragons, Faearth’s most powerful inhabitants. Dragons came in a plethora of colors and sizes, and like the other intelligent species, they too possessed the free will to choose goodness or evil.
In his short century of life, Breaker had encountered a dragon only once. He had been pursuing a dark mage when he inadvertently stumbled upon the creature’s lair. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the immobilizing terror that swept over him when he beheld two large, golden eyes examining him as if he were some fascinating insect. When the dragon had opened its maw, he had seen shiny white fangs as long as long as he was tall and thought that he was looking upon his own death.
But the dragon had simply yawned, filling the air with the smell of sulfur and fire. The creature then lifted one of its great claws and pushed the mangled body of the dark mage he had been hunting in his direction. With a voice that rumbled from the depths of the world, the dragon had bid him to dispose the body and stop interrupting its slumber.
Though that dragon’s scales had been as black night itself, he had been very fortunate in that the creature had chosen goodness. Despite the fact that some of the dragons overhead had scales that shimmered like gold and silver, he doubted that they had made a similar decision. If these creatures spotted him, they would rip him asunder.
He had made his way around Spire once already, and all four entry ways were guarded by fiends holding torches. Would they be able to walk pass these creatures unnoticed?
And then, the Fallingstar Spire started to tremble.
