Chapter 25
“You cannot find hope in the arms of Despair,” Azarielle shook her head sadly at her friend. “No matter how powerful you become, all you’d be able to do is destroy. You won’t be able to bring her soul back from its resting place – that is something only the Uncrowned King can do.”
“Never in my life have I held so much power,” Theredoniel replied, his discordant voice crawling through the room. “You cannot imagine what it feels like… “
“It feels like you are being buried underneath a mountain of waste,” Azarielle finished for him drily. “It smells like sewage and rotting meat.”
The young elf lord smiled sadly at her even as the emerald green of his pupil bled into the whites of his eyes, growing darker and darker until they became pitch black holes devoid of life. Inky darkness flowed out of his eyes, leaving dark, slimy trails down his cheeks, but turned to smoke before they dripped down to his chin.
Suddenly, he reached out his hands and grabbed his head as if he were pain, throwing back his head, “No, no… you are lying to me! No! No!”
He tilted his face to the sky and screamed, a sound so deafening and horrifying that everyone else was thrown aside as if struck by an invisible hand. His mouth opened impossibly wide, contorting his once handsome face, and vomited out a putrid greenish black cloud.
Abandoning his brother, Luthien dropped to his knees, held out his arms and prayed, beseeching the Eternal Father to protect him and his companions. He felt a blanket of cool power slide over him and knew that Azarielle had thrown her power in with his. But their combined powers could not keep the air from growing thicker and heavier, and the young knight wondered if his lungs would burst.
Barely hanging onto consciousness, Luthien watched as Theredoniel abruptly stopped screaming. His body jerked unnaturally back into a standing position and his shadow seemed to stretch out. One moment, he stood where had been standing, in the center of a bloody circle, and the next, he was kneeling next to his dead wife’s decaying body.
“Eowynaaa…”
Her name was spoken in a voice that seemed dredged from the very depth of the earth. Theredoniel reached out a pale hand to caress her forehead, but the moment his ghastly bone-white fingers touched her, her body collapsed in on itself and became a cloud of dust.
A million voices screamed in Luthien’s ears and darkness enveloped his world.
* * *
Ofeera shuddered as the ghoul crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. It must have once been a mage, for the creature was able to sense their presence despite the cloaks they wore, and had charged towards them. Hazuriel had sent three arrows into the creature’s body, but it had advanced towards them unfazed. It had taken the power of the Eternal Father to lay the creature to rest.
It had been too close. The ghoul had come within a few feet before Hazuriel’s screamed warning had moved her to action. If he hadn’t called out to her, it would have laid its rotting hands upon her.
“My Lady…?”
“I am fine, just… just a little surprised.”
Ofeera curled her fingers into fists to try and steady the shaking of her hands. She had determined that she would do nothing more, could do nothing more. But then, almost as if they had a mind of their own, her legs and carried her to the foot of the Spire where Arielle and Hazuriel had waited for her.
The old elven woman had transported them to within a half day’s walk from Shiftingstar City. Ofeera could see the shimmering Shiftingstar Spire standing defiantly in the distance against the backdrop of the hazy red sky along with the hazy shapes of other buildings. In times long past, well kept roads that meandered through Aztur’s verdant forests and led up to the ancient city, and the River Argentia, which had long since dried up in the Forsaken Lands, had cupped the beautiful city.
“The old ones speak of the great power the Ancient One bestowed upon his faithful,” Hazuriel remarked, looking at the dead ghoul. “They tell stories of healers who can give life back to dying men and paladins whose holy flames could burn away a legion of ghouls. They speak of mages who could move the earth itself with but a word of command.”
“I thought these were merely tales told to children until I met you and your companions,” the high elf turned to regard Ofeera. “If your people so wished, they would be able to come back and reclaim this land.”
Ofeera bowed her head, “We didn’t know that there were survivors. We didn’t think any of the ancient cities still stood… and… we are all still terrified of the Fog. I… I almost didn’t come here with you, Master Hazuriel. I am not like my companions; I am not as courageous as they, nor am I as powerful. Perhaps if everyone was more like them, then…”
“But you did come, Lady Healer. Despite your fears you are here,” the elven ranger replied.
“The Old One, Lady Arielle, she showed me a vision. I saw Oturia, my home city, fall to dust,” Ofeera clenched her fists. “And Theredoniel, he is… was my brother-in-law. My sister loved him dearly in life and she would not have wanted him to do this. I am not a fighter like my friends, and… and I am not… but I will do what Abihayil gives me the ability to do.”
Hazuriel nodded solemnly in response as the two continued towards the city.
* * *
As darkness rolled through the room, the ring that Azarielle wore on her finger burst into light, enshrouding her and her friends in a shell of silvery-green light. Acedia’s power flowed over them and around them like a river, smashing into the shield with earth-shattering force, and causing spidery cracks to run across its surface. But despite the strength of the malevolent power, the shell surrounding them held, and the young mage marveled at the craftiness of the barrier protecting them.
The seemingly thin shell was actually layer upon layer of small triangular shaped shields joined at the sides and together and overlapping one another to form yet more triangles. Just as triangles were the most stable geometric pattern in the natural world, so it was true with arcane creations as well. And though he had not told her that the ring was endowed with such a power, Azarielle knew that it was Red who protected them now. His power sang a melancholic tune; breathing words of sorrow and regret, but with an undertone of hope that pierced the hopeless darkness around them.
For what felt like an eternity, the outpouring of Acedia’s power continued. The ancient Fallingstar Spire shattered and pieces of jagged crystals fell around them. And then, as unexpectedly as it started, the destruction ended. The blackness faded away, leaving them in the ruins of what had once been one of the Aztur’s greatest architectural and arcane feasts.
There was no sight of Theredoniel. He had simply vanished.
“That was quite a display, wasn’t it?”
Azarielle’s eyes narrowed as she watched a figure step emerge from the dust and the debris. Lucien had not escaped unscathed. His body was marred with a hundred cuts, some so deep that it exposed bone. But, even as the young mage watched, the cuts stopped bleeding and began to mend.
“Where is Theredoniel?” she demanded.
“Becoming the avatar,” he replied as he walked forward. He held his hand over the shimmering shell, and then snatched it back when a tendril of silvery-green light leaped up angrily.
“My, my, you have some interesting friends, dear Azarielle,” he said, taking a step. He held up his fingers, showing burnt flesh. “Is it that ancient one in the forest?”
Azarielle felt motion behind her and had a moment of warning before Luthien surged past her, his hand reaching for his sword. She quickly held out her arm to try and stop him, but he would have broken free if not for the fact that Breaker also wrapped his arm around the Luthien to hold him back.
“Let me go!” the young knight snarled.
“If you charge through the shield from this side, it will break,” Azarielle explained. “And that’s probably not a good thing.”
Lucien cocked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow, “Hmm? And you had given me such an exuberant greeting. What’s the matter, dear Azarielle, I thought you were the type who enjoyed a little excitement.”
For once, the young mage did not respond. Azarielle carefully flexed her fingers, reaching for the short sword with one hand while trying to determine how much longer the shell would last.
“I thoroughly enjoyed our little… exercise in Lady Gwenever’s lovely forest,” Lucien continued, leaning forward slightly but keeping his face well clear of the shield that protected the companions. “I do hope you haven’t become averse to your own wonderful gift. Surely that is not the reason why you are resting behind the power of a decrepit old man? I can’t imagine that the apprentice of an archmage would be too frightened to fight an enemy because she fears losing control of her own powers?”
Azarielle smiled cheerily at him, “It’s good to just rest sometimes, you know? If you are so eager to tangle with me, then you have to do a little work. Ofeera is always telling me that it is unbecoming of a maiden to be too forward.”
Lucien laughed, a sound not unlike a merrily flowing stream, “If the sweet Ofeera is like a gentle spring breeze you, my enchanting mage, are the hot desert wind. It is no wonder Prince Yue seeks you so doggedly even after all these years. He was a fool for having thrown his lot in with that woman. The pleasures of the flesh that she offers him cannot hope to compare with a single caress of your power. You have such delicious power – so brightly burning, like the heart of the sun. Something warm to wrap around a cold soul when night overtakes day.”
Luthien jerked violently, almost shaking free of Azarielle and Breaker’s holds on him, glaring at his brother with unhidden rage. His brother merely regarded him with a mocking smile, his eyes glittering with scorn.
“I appreciate your knightly defense of my honor and everything,” Azarielle said as she struggled to hold the enraged knight back, “But it’s really not necessary. He’s not talking about ravishing me… in a physical sense, more of a metaphysical thing, which is highly creepy in its own way. It must be interesting at your family’s reunions or balls or whatever it is you royalty call it. I hope not Delynd’s like that or the Achienda Empire isn’t going to last very long.”
“By the way, other than being utterly evil and soulless and whatnot, why did your bring Theredoniel here to become the Avatar of Acedia? You aren’t Acendia’s servant.”
“Ah, you can tell?” Lucien smiled.
“A rotting egg and a rotting piece of meat both stink, but the stink is different,” Azarielle offered in way of explanation.
“What a way with words you have, dear Azarielle. You mean to say that you can differentiate the nature of our powers,” Lucien nodded. “That is right, your friend and I serve different masters.”
“Which have you handed your soul over to?” Azarielle asked. “Not Luxuria, because you and Yue would be busy trying to kill each other to stay in that woman’s favor. And I am going to guess not Gula, Avaritia or Invidia either. That leaves Ira or Superbia.”
As she spoke, Azarielle reached began to quietly gather her power. Lucien was right when he said that she had grown weary of her own power. She knew that it was not yet stable and if she reached too deeply into that dark place where the infernal maelstrom lay, she risked losing control and burning everything down around her again. But, she had a method in which she could the power of Red’s shield for an offensive attack and had begun to carefully alter the flow of his power to suit her needs. It was a painstaking task and one much better suited for silent surroundings, but such luxuries were not afforded her.
“Considering your penchant for splattering people everywhere and the whole animating the dead bit, I’d say that Ira would be happy have you,” Azarielle continued as she carefully traced a rune on the ground, taking care to make no rushed movements. “But, I am going to guess that the Abyssal One whom you serve is the Prime Serpent, Superbia.”
Lucien said nothing for a while, merely studied Azarielle as if she was an interesting bug he was examining. In that moment, his expression was utterly inhuman and though the young mage felt herself wanting to recoil in fear, she kept a bland smile on her face and continued to draw her rune.
“You are even more talkative than usual,” Lucien remarked. “I wonder why that is?”
Azarielle felt the surge of his power even as she finished the rune and screamed a word of command. The shell that had protected them began glowing an angry red, growing brighter and brighter until it blazed like a miniature sun. Then, it expanded outwards toward Lucien in an angry roar of screams before exploding into a sea of flames.
“Run!” she screamed at her companions as she took the lead, leaping to her feet and dashing in the opposite direction. Luthien and Breaker followed, with the elf grabbing the stunned knight by the arm and yanking him along while he cursed in a fashion that was most unbecoming of a knight.
