The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 23

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.

The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 22

Chapter 22
The red-orange tinged sky stretched into the horizon and bled into the parched earth all around them. Three days had gone by since they set out from the Sentinel Grove, and its tall green trees already seemed a distant dream. Save for the occasional ghoul and the twisted, bleeding trunks of the cursed trees, they had seen nothing but emptiness. Breaker imagined that the Abyss was probably no different from this.
“We will reach Fallingstar Spire by nightfall.”
Gubriel, who had volunteered to lead them after their query, pointed into the distance as he spoke, his eyes narrowed and his body taut with tension. The elf wore his cloak of invisibility, but since Breaker and Luthien were also given the cloaks, they could look upon one another.
Breaker noted the high elf’s white-knuckle grip on his bow and the almost imperceptible tremor when the words Fallingstar Spire were uttered. He saw the same unease mirrored in the other three high elves who had accompanied them on their trip.
“What of this place?” Luthien asked.
The knight had barely slept in the past few days. Back in the Everstar Spire, he had stayed at the mage’s side until he was assured of her safety. And during their trek through this blasted land, he would be awake even when it was another’s turn to keep watch. There was little doubt in his mind that determination alone moved the knight’s weary legs. Would Luthien even be fit for battle?
“It is a damned place, even in this forsaken land,” Gubriel answered with a shake of his head. “It is said that the Fallingstar Spire was raised by mages of old in tribute to the Great Lady at the site of her final battle. But this once holy place became cursed when the Blight of Pestilence worked his foul power there to create the Plague. All manner of ghouls, abominations and other Abyssal denizens have been drawn to this place.”
“You have been there?” Breaker asked,
The golden-haired elf nodded with a shudder he could not quite suppress, “The Old One tells us that we are safe in the forest, that an ancient power protects us. But some amongst the very young or the very old dream of your outside world and seek to escape this cursed place.”
The elf stopped for a moment, and Breaker saw his jaw clench tightly. When he spoke again, his voice strained, “Hazuriel and I pursued a… mad old man. He had taken one of these invisibility cloaks and food, but in his madness he set out in the wrong direction. The Old One knew where he was headed and told us that we had to reach him before the Fallingstar Spire. We chased after him, but he had been a skilled ranger and we did not catch up to him until it was too late.”
“There were monstrous creatures everywhere. There were ghouls and… things that looked sewn together from many corpses; obscene creatures with too many heads or too many limbs with entrails seeping out of their bodies; things that didn’t have a form they could hold onto, changing from one shape to another; and then, there were the black hags, winged fiends that have the semblance of old women but with large leathery wings sprouting from their backs.”
“We spotted my… the old man, but he saw us too. He knew that we had come to bring him back, so he ran. He was so panicked that he wasn’t watching where he was going, and his cloak caught on the limb of a tree and ripped and was ripped off of him.
“The black hags caught sight of him first. Screeching horrifically, they descended upon him. When they saw him it was as if all hope for survival left him. He simply stood there until the first harpy ripped him open. I suppose it was a blessing that he didn’t live long. The hags devoured him in moments, tearing him to pieces in mere moments. And what was left of him when they were done became food to the ghouls. It was all over before we could reach him.”
Gubriel spun away abruptly, “If we catch up to those servants before they reach Fallingstar Spire, we’ll have more of a chance to survive.”
* * *
Lucien stretched out his arms, took a deep breath, and promptly sneezed as the foul stench of harpy breath assaulted his nostrils. Two of the unfortunate-looking creatures flanked him as he strolled through what had once been the Doriel Kethevar’s laboratory. Their droopy visages that resembled melted candle sticks inspired gloom upon all those unfortunate enough to behold them. Which, being servants of Acedia, was what one would expect. Still, if he had to keep company with abyssal fiends, he would have much preferred a voluptuous succubus or two.
Of course, if he had a choice in the matter, he would much rather have his beautiful Ofeera and the mesmerizing Azarielle at his side. Had circumstances been different, he would have taken his sweet young bride with him. Though he has had the pleasure of knowing many women, few could match her beauty or the innocence of her heart. How many years would it take before he turned her from her beloved Abihayil? A hundred years, perhaps, five hundred? Watching her descent into Abyss would have provided him many years of entertainment!
And then there was the mage. She was not as beautiful as his Ofeera in the conventional sense. But her power! That wild, heady, alluring fire, oh how it excited him! Though she too seem quite enamored with the Eternal Father at the present, the very strength of that exhilaratingly terrifying power could very well prove to be the catalyst to sway her towards him. He would not be able to discard her once she joined him – she was too powerful for that. In fact, her power could potentially challenge his, which was what made her so irresistible.
“This is the place,” one of the hags rasped, her gloomy voice dragging him out of his pleasant thoughts. He glanced at the wretched creature that looked at him with her dreary face and spoke with a mouth filled with yellowed and decaying teeth. This one was particularly odious, no doubt because she had eaten earlier. Hags were not particularly choosy what they ate, and from the bit of rotting flesh caught between the cracks of her teeth, he surmised that she had probably dined on a ghoul or two.
“Lovely,” he said. “Now please, give me a little place, my dear. Your breath is quite lethal, and though I am sure you’d be more than happy to make a meal of me if I were to faint, it wouldn’t be pleasing to your revered mistress. And that would be most unpleasant, I assure you.”
The hag hissed at him, a sound not unlike a death rattle, but backed away with its companion. Lucien rolled his eyes and beckoned at the Rising Sun mages who stood at the entrance of the laboratory with stricken expressions that he found quite droll. There were only two of them now, Dao and Ting…or maybe it was Dao and Kai. He hadn’t paid enough attention to differentiate between them. One of them had met with an unfortunate accident when they had first come upon the Spire. The pathetic man had taken one look at the servants of Acedia and ran. He didn’t get far before a black hag caught took a bite out of his neck.
Lucien hadn’t decided whether to make a ghoul out of him yet. He would be rather useless since he couldn’t bite anything unless it held still for him. On top of that, it wouldn’t be long before the bit of skin and tendon holding the head onto the neck wore away and he became nothing more than just a head with gnashing teeth. On the other head, ghouls with floppy heads were thoroughly entertaining to watch.
“It’s a bit of a mess, gentlemen, but do come in and find a seat… somewhere,” Lucien gestured around the room filled with yellowing scrolls, cracked containers and rotting furniture. “Or if you would prefer to stand there, then at least let dear Theredoniel through. He’s the star attraction!”
The two white-lipped mages trudged into the room, with Theredoniel following suit. The yellow-haired elf strode into the room with Eowyna’s body obediently following him in. Lucien’s lips curved in a mocking smile when he saw the elf clutching his dead wife’s hand. What a hopeless fool.
“She’s not doing well,” Theredoniel said to him. Almost on queue Eowyna’s legs folded underneath her, and she crumpled to the ground.
She had started to rot again. Clumps of her hair had already fallen off, and her body was emitting a most unpleasant odor. Theredoniel hated it when he was reminded of his wife’s true state, but it was needed to keep him in line… and to sway him to serve the Abyssal Ones.
“There is nothing for me to do, dear Theredniel,” Lucien replied. “You will have her fully restored and at your side in mere moments. Are you ready?”
Theredoniel picked his wife up and laid her down in a more comfortable position at the furthest corner of the room, “We’ll be together my beloved. We’ll be… happy again. I love you.”
Eowyna did not respond and her eyes stared past him. That was the most painful thing for him to see, her open eyes that didn’t see. Many times he had wanted to reach out his hands and close them, but every time, he would stop. If he closed her eyes then she would look… dead.
Of course, she wasn’t dead. She was just resting; just sleeping.
Theredoniel leaned down and kissed her forehead, tenderly, afraid that he would damage her fragile skin further. Then, he rose to his feet resolutely, grasping the Staff of Everstar more tightly in his hand. In his other hand, he held the scroll he had obtained from Elucielle’s study.
“I am ready,” he said to Lucien.
The cruel prince smiled, “Good, then let us get things ready. First, we need a little bit of blood…”
He gestured at Kai and the hapless mage walked towards the center of the room with a look of confusion, quickly becoming terror, on his face.
“Kai, what are you…” Dao turned to the pale prince. “What do you think you are doing, Prince Lucien?!”
“Hmm? Why, I am merely putting Ting or Kai, or whichever one he is, to good use, as your dear Prince Yue intended,” Lucien replied with a pleasant smile.
“His Higness would not…” Dao bit back whatever else he intended to say. Instead, he pointed a finger at the vile prince and began to speak the words of an incantation. Green-yellow light ignited at his fingertip. The light stretched and twisted until it formed a web and shout out towards Lucien. However, unlike a similar attack Dao had sprung upon Azarielle, the one he intended for Lucien was meant to kill.
Lucien laughed and did not move. At the last possible moment, he snapped his finger at Kai. The unfortunate man leaped in front of him with a wail and was struck by the full force of Dao’s attack. The green-yellow web passed through him, slicing him to pieces in an instant.
To Dao’s horror, his companion’s blood spewed forth from the torn body but did not splatter onto the ground. Instead, the many droplets of blood hung suspended in the air, glistening like red pearls. Lucien plucked a blood drop as if it were a cherry and held it up to examine it.
“Ah, the fellow had been experimenting with poisons. Don’t look so sad, dear Dao; he only had a few years left in him anyhow. If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”
Lucien flicked his finger and the blood drop splattered flew through the air and splattered onto the startled Dao’s face. The Rising Sun mage wiped the blood away and glared fiercely at Lucien, his lips already moving to speak the words of another attack. Lucien merely sighed and made a dismissive motion at the mage.
It started as a tingling sensation on his cheek and his hand that had wiped away the blood. That was the only warning Dao got when he suddenly felt pain slicing across his face and his hand as if he was being cut by a knife. Spidery cracks ran through his skin, but quickly deepened and widened until flesh split with the sound of an overripe fruit.
Dao tried to push back against this insidious power that was invading his body but found that he was unable to even slow its spread. Knowing that he had only moments to live but determined to take his enemy down with him, the mage chose instead to focus his remaining power on offensive. He screamed the words of an incantation with his last few breaths, but before he could complete his attack, his throat closed. He felt a flash of pain tear through his throat before darkness fell over him.
Theredoniel watched as the man keeled over, covered from head to toe in his own blood. Both this man and his companion had died horribly, but the young elf realized that even as he watched this all transpire he no longer felt horror or revulsion at these brutal deaths. It was just one more atrocity in a long line of atrocities he had aided, abided and committed on this journey.
There was nothing left in him but a desire to see Eowyna smiling and talking.
“Let’s be done with it,” he said dully to Lucien.
Lucien chuckled and inclined his head slightly in acquiescence. He held out his hand and began to speak. His voice took on a frightful echoing tone as inhuman, monstrous sounds crawled out of his throat. The blood of his victims began to flow in a circular shape around them, forming spidery runes that began to glow with an unholy red light.
“The scroll contains the incantation that would unlock the true power of the keystaff,” Lucein said as he stepped outside of the circle, “With it, you will be able to attain power enough to save your beloved. All you have to do is open the gate.”
Theredoniel laid the staff down onto the ground and carefully unrolled the scroll. Letter by letter, word by word, Elucielle’s commands appeared in glowing gold letters across the ancient parchment.
Child of Gwenevar,
If the temporary stewardship of this staff falls upon you, and your need is great, then speak the words below and the power that has been invested into this fact shall be loaned to you for one day.
If no archmage exists to guard this staff, it is to be handed over to the High Council of Mages, and passed onto one faithful to the Uncrowned Prince.
Elucielle Gwenevar
Beneath it, inscribed in one neat line, was the incantation that unbound the power of the Keystaff.

The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 21

Azarielle bolted out of bed, landing in a crouched position with the words of a defensive shield tumbling out of her mouth. A quick look at her surroundings told her that she was in a very large, circular room. There was the bed she had lain upon and two chairs.

“It is alright, young one, you are safe,” a kindly voice said to her.

The mage turned her head in the direction of the voice and found a rather startled old elf holding a worn towel over a metal bowl looking at her. The old elven woman had to be over a thousand years old. Age had left its lines over her face, and bowed her spine. Her hair was almost completely white; a rare sight indeed for one of Faearth’s longest living races.

“Please pardon my rudeness, but who are you?” Azarielle demanded.

The old woman was a mage and Azarielle could feel her earthy power. It spoke of leaves, flowers, and running streams, and seemed untainted. But there was something else, an undertone of melancholic power that hummed beneath the surface. She had never encountered anything like this, and it felt almost as if there was someone else in the room with the old woman.

“The young ones call me the Seer or Old One” she laughed with a sigh. “My name is Arielle, and you are in the Everstar Spire.”

Azarielle nodded her head but did not relax her stance, “Elder Arielle, greetings. Where are my companions?”

“The healer of the Ancient One is resting. She stayed at your side for a very long time, determined to see you through your ordeal. I was finally able to persuade her to rest. The other two, the knight and the gray elf have gone after the servant and the son of Gwenevar with Gubriel and some of our warriors. They set out three days ago.”

The old woman did not appear to be lying but Azarielle was not entirely willing to accept her words, “I’d like to see the healer.”

Arielle nodded and gestured to some clothes set out for the young mage, “I will take you to her.”

Once Azarielle had dressed, she followed the old woman out of the room and down a flight of spiraling staircases. The entire tower did seem to have been shaped from one solid piece of crystal, including the steps of the staircase. The railing was made of living wood, complete with rich green leaves and small, blooming flowers. Small mage globes would light up with each step that they took and fade back into the darkness once they passed.

“Are there many mages amongst the survivors?” Azarielle asked.

The old woman shook her head, “There are only two others beside myself with the gift. You must be wondering what powers the mage globes we just passed by.”

“It doesn’t seem like something you would spend your powers upon, especially if there are only three of you,” Azarielle replied.

“Ah, it would seem Azariel wasn’t an entirely incompetent teacher.”

A sudden surge of power blasted the young mage like the arctic wind, and she sat down hard on the steps, her eyes wide. The old woman turned around, to Azarielle, she might as well have transformed into a totally different person. The way that she held herself, a certain tilt of the chin, a straightening of the shoulders, and the peculiar curve of her lips, had changed. So did the tone of her voice and her inflection of words.

“Puppeteering is a banned Art, Red. I can’t remember if taking over someone’s body was allowed back in your time a gazillion years ago, ” Azarielle said, staring at the eyes she was more used to seeing as two-colored, one green and one silver. “Or, rather, would you prefer I call you Prince Cyderiel of Aztur.”

The corners of the old woman’s mouth curved up into a melancholic smile, “Is your memory really as short as a fish’s? I did tell you that the name I preferred was Red, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but that was probably before you mentioned that you were the Avatar of Acedia,” Azarielle replied.

“Were?” Red lifted one of the old woman’s eyebrows. “Are you certain of this tense usage, mageling?”

“Abihayil knows if I used the right version of the past tense. Only you elves would think of having twelve different versions of it. But, I don’t think we’d be talking if you still are the avatar,” Azarielle replied drily. “You also wouldn’t have let staff out of your sight like that.”

“Not entirely hopeless,” Red replied with a tilt of the old woman’s head.

“So, why aren’t you dead? The sparkly flash at the end should have killed you.”

“Tactful, are you?” Red paused for a moment, as if searching for his next words. “Elucielle meant to destroy the avatar, and she succeeded in that. She cast out the presence of Acedia without killing the host. If she had gone after the host as well, perhaps she would have survived that battle.”

“Well, even archmages are prone to making bad decisions once in a while,” Azarielle replied. “Azariel does stupid things all the time.”

“Like taking in apprentices who don’t seem to know when to shut their mouths,” Red glowered unappreciatively. “I am telling you a sad story and you should be a little more sympathetic! I say, you are most definitely not a cute girl!”

Azarielle shrugged, “Yes, well, I’ve come to terms with that long ago. Does the old woman know you are using her body like this? Can she hear us right now?”

“Arielle and I made a deal a long time ago. Sometimes we share these experiences together. Other times, she sleeps while.” Red regarded the young mage for a moment. “What would you have done if I told you that I claimed her body for my own?”

“I’d try to cast you out. And if I couldn’t do it, someone else will come back and finish the job,” Azarielle answered.

Red lifted the old woman’s eyebrows up in an expression of surprise, “Who? Your master Azariel?”

“Azariel has been too lazy to train another apprentice so he’d probably be mildly annoyed if I went off somewhere and got myself killed. And he is impressively scary. Although I don’t know which one of you is scarier, actually,” Azarielle replied. “But, even if it’s not Azariel, someone else will come along and stop you.”

“Because goodness will always triumph over evil?” Red laughed.

“Evil is simply a perversion of good. The one who created all that is good will restore that which has been perverted.”

No sooner did she finish saying that when Azarielle felt another blast of power slamming into her and knocking her to the ground. The old elf woman had turned to face her, and Red’s eyes, with the weight of centuries, bore into her. Those eyes had seen the world reduced to ashes.

“Truth does not change even after two thousand years, or however long it is you’ve been alive,” she said, despite feeling his power pressing into her and threatening to crush her.

Red blinked and the pressure that she had experienced eased away, “Elucielle believed the same thing. You are both such idealistic fools… so much faith this Uncrowned Prince when you’ve never even seen him.”

“That big sparkly blast Elucielle let loose was powered by faith, and she won. So I’d say she had a little substance to base her faith on,” Azarielle replied. “Also, are you quite done knocking me over? I am thinking about standing back up, but only if I won’t end up back here again in a minute.”

Red didn’t answer. Instead, Azarielle felt his power recede like tide. The old woman’s face became lax as Red relinquished control of her body. Then, like a puppet combing back to life, the old woman’s body twitched. She blinked a few times and looked around herself in confusion. When she spotted Azarielle still sitting on the ground, “Are you alright, young one?”

“That is just creepy, really, there’s no other way to describe it.”

“What… oh… you spoke to Ancient of the Spire,” the old woman smiled kindly. “It is unnerving, isn’t it?”

“He said you made a pact, is that true?” the young mage asked as she climbed to her feet and dusted herself off.

“You know of the Bleeding Rot Plague?” the old woman asked.

“Doriel Kethevar, yes.”

The old woman shuddered, her finger gnarled fingers clenching and unclenching, “I’ve not heard that accursed name for centuries. But yes. The Plague Mist drifted into our village and everyone started to fall ill. Some died right away while others became the ghouls you see wandering this forsaken land.”

“By the grace of the Ancient One, both my father and I were immune to the effects of the Mist. When we saw what became of our neighbors, he took me and ran. We were alright at first when there was food. My father was a skilled ranger and we were able to steer free of the other plagued villages. But then, even the animals and the trees themselves became diseased. Everywhere we went we were surrounded by death.”

Arielle’s eyes were wide as they stared into a nightmarish scenes from her past that only she could seen. She was silent for a long moment, reliving those terrifying days that had not faded from her memory even now. After a long while, she let out a shuddering breath. Her voice was soft when she finally continued to speak again.

“Eventually, we ran out of food and clean water. Father would not let me eat anything because he feared that it would make me sick. He said that we had to the Everstar Spire. It was a sacred place and he believed that we would be safe here.”

“We weren’t far from the Sentinel Grove when we came across ghouls. My father had been able to fight them off before, but we’d been without food or water for almost three days. He told me to run for the forest and charged towards them. ‘Run Arielle! Run and don’t stop until you reach the Spire!’”

“And so I ran. The ghouls chased me until I reached the Grove, but then, for whatever reason they stopped just outside of the trees. I continued to run until I reached the spire, and then I fell to the ground, exhausted. That was when the Ancient of the Spire came to me. He was beautiful, like a herald of the Ancient One. His hair was as bright as the sun and his eyes – he had strange eyes; one green and one silver. “

“He told me that I was safe. The ghouls could not reach me inside the grove. Then, he asked me if I would help him. He told me that he couldn’t move about and speak and asked me if I was willing to be his host. He told me that there would be other people coming to the Spire and told me that he’d be able to help them if he could move easier. He taught me how to use my Arcane Gift, and over the next few years, we would leave the Forest and help other survivors who came this way. ”

“So you were able to save all these people from their villages?” Azarielle asked.

The old woman shook her head, “No, the Anceint of the Spire’s power did not extend that far. Everyone who came here first was immune to the plague and had gotten close to the Spire. He could sense it when they were a certain distance away, and we would lead them back here.”

“Does everyone else here know about him?” Azarielle asked.

“No, he told me that he did not wish to be known, so I tell them only that there is an ancient power in these forests.”

“Did you ever ask him who he was?”

The old woman shook her head, “I never did. He always seems so sad.”

They came to a landing in the stairway with a single door. The old woman pushed it open and gestured for Azarielle to go in. Beyond was a small library with floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with ancient leather bound books. Other books and scrolls lay in stacks on the ground. The room opened up to a balcony where Ofeera stood leaning against the railing.

“Azarielle!” the healer ran towards her friend, relief evident on her face. “You are finally awake!”

The young mage patted her friend awkwardly, “Ah, yes. I did take a rather long nap.”

“I thought…” all of the fear she had felt in the past days crashed over her and the healer burst into tears. “Azarielle, I am so sorry. I couldn’t… couldn’t… do… do anything! I couldn’t… do anything! You and Luthien both almost died, and I just stood there. I couldn’t… I couldn’t fight Lucien.”

“Hey, I didn’t do so well either. My memory’s a bit hazy but I vaguely remember trying to roast the entire forest,” Azarielle replied.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Ofeera gasped a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t do anything. I just… I just sat there. And… Eowyna is dead. I can’t believe it… I can’t believe she’s dead! And Theredoniel… he, he….”

“He has gone mad,” Azarielle shook her head as she gently led her friend into the room. “We have to stop him.”

The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 20

The ancient trees of the Sentinel Forest rustled, the rich green leaves rippling like emerald waves as in the wind. Standing on a balcony with her slim-fingered hands grasping the crystalline railing, Ofeera stared out into the distant wasteland.

Eowyna was gone. Ofeera had known that something was wrong when she had gone to visit her sister and found their home to be entirely abandoned. Then, the Mage Council had called upon her identify a signature at scene of a murder, and she had recognized it to be unmistakably Theredoniel’s. She had known then that something must have happened to Eowyna, though she prayed that her sister would still be alive.

But the Eternal Father had instead collected his sister’s soul. And though it was a small comfort given everything that had transpired, in the very least, Ofeera knew that the corpse shambling at Theredoniel’s side, though a mockery of her sister’s life, was no longer a vessel for Eowyna’s soul. The Uncrowned King would not permit the Abyssal Ones to lay claim to woman who placed her faith in him as wholeheartedly as Eowyna did.

The same could not be said for Lucien though, and even she was not so blinded by love that she did not recognize what her beloved had become. Although they had fallen under an enchantment created by the mysterious elven woman her kinsmen reverentially referred as the Old One, Ofeera knew that when Lucien and Azarielle had been engaged in their mage duel, the darkness hovering over him was the presence of an Abyssal One.

And Azarielle…

Unbidden, the image of her dear friend surrounded by roaring flames and laughing wildly as the world around her became a sea of fire came to mind again, making her shiver. Azarielle had been gifted with great power, this she had always known. But she had not known just how destructive that power could be. She had not realized how terrifying Azarielle could be. The golden eyes that blazed like suns held no recognition, only a fierce joy as Azarielle let loose the reins on her power. In those moments when it seemed that they would all be burned to a crisp, Azarielle had been lost.

Luthien had tried to go to the young mage while Breaker had probably intended to kill her. As for herself, she had done nothing. In fact, she had done nothing at all once she had laid eyes upon Luthien, had simply stood by.

“No, that’s not true,” Ofeera murmured, bowing her head as she felt her eyes burn with shame. “I haven’t done anything at all.”

“There is nothing you can do for her right now, Lady,” a soft voice said from behind her. “She sleeps deeply, and your voice cannot reach her.”

As silent as the shadows cast by the hazy sun, Breaker came to stand beside her, the tendrils of his dark hair blowing about his face like smoke. He gently laid a slender, but powerful hand on her shoulder for a moment, before turning to face in the direction where Lucien and Theredoniel had gone.

Ofeera intended to thank the elf for his kind words, but instead, a torrent of words spilled from her lips “I have never done anything, Breaker! Prince Lucien was… I had recognized that he was slipping further and further away from the Eternal Father, but I turned a blind eye to it. I could have said something to someone and perhaps people would not have lost their lives… their souls! And then, I asked Prince Luthien to bring me along, but I have done nothing but hide like a little mouse?! And when we came into this forest, I let everyone else do all the fighting while I stood by… Azarielle, she expended so much power and that was why she lost control? I should have tried to call to her, but I didn’t. And now, she’s unconscious and… I have prayed to Abihayil for clarity, for strength, for his guidance, but he hasn’t answered me. Breaker… I…”

Ofeera realized that she was sobbing, and horrified, the young woman wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.

Breaker looked upon her silently as she cried, and after a while, the gray elf said, “My lady says that the Eternal Father has not answered you, but has he not given you guidelines in that Book of Proverbs you have read to me, and has he not given you a mind so that you can think? Perhaps your Eternal Father intends for you to come up with the answer yourself. The knight and I both seek an end to the life of the Defiler. The mage intends to stop the high elf. What is it that you intend to do?”

The young healer lifted her face to the elf with an expression of surprise, then, she let out a sound between a laugh and a sob, “Eowyna has always told me that I wait too long for ‘signs’. She would say to me, ‘There is not going to spires of golden flames randomly bursting forth from the ground every time you pray to the Eternal Father. If he hadn’t wanted us to think for ourselves, he wouldn’t have given us brains. The last time I spoke to her, she had decided that she was going to go help a sick village, though we didn’t know what manner of illness had struck the villagers…And now she’s gone. She’s gone!”

Unable to hold back the tears anymore, Ofeera covered her face with her hands and wept, for the loss of her sister, for the loss of the man she loved, and for herself. Slender but iron-hard arms enfolded her, and she found her face resting against a muscular chest. She could hear his heartbeat drumming loudly in her ears, and feel the warmth of his body all around her. Breaker spoke to her in a soft, lilting language that she could only half understand, but his voice was soothing, and she found herself gradually growing calmer.

* * * * *

“You need to rest, young man.”

Luthien started awake, reaching for his sword reflexively before his sleep-fogged mind registered who it was that spoke to him. The Old One walked slowly into the room, moving with a grace that any human dancer would envy despite her age. The passing of many ages were carved into her face, and her hair that was once golden was now a snowy white, pulled into a bun and held together by a simple wooden comb.

“My lady mage,” the young knight rose to his feet and bowed.

The ancient elf woman smiled, “I have heard tales of your noble Order, young one. The mighty paladin, Korbael Thewin, was said to have been a good friend of Lady Gwenevar. It is a privilege to see that his Order has flourished. Nevertheless, you need to get some sleep before you keel over.”

“Thank you, my lady, but I feel fine. I think I will stay here a bit longer.”

The old woman shook her head as she came to stand next to Luthien, “You and the young healer, the two of you will tire yourself out waiting for your friend to wake. She sleeps now to recover her strength, and she’ll not wake until her body has been rejuvenated. You needn’t worry for her though, she will be fine.”

Luthien glanced over at Azarielle. The mage lay upon a bed that was formed from a single piece of milky, translucent stone that was like ice to the touch. The Old One had commanded Hazuriel and his men to bring the young woman into this room and lay her upon the jade. And though he had been rather suspicious of their intentions, Ofeera had confirmed that this was good for the mage as it seemed to help cool the wildfire power coursing through her body.

“I’ll stay with her just a moment longer,” Luthien decided.

The Old One let out a long sigh and eased herself into a comfortable chair on the other side of the young mage, “As you will, young man, but only for a while longer. You will need your strength soon enough.”

Luthien looked at the old woman, “My lady, do you know why they came here? My… the servant and that elf?”

The old woman let out another sigh and shook her head, “Do you know what it is, the staff that the forsaken son of House Gwenevar has in his possession?”

“One of the Seven Great Staves, the Staff of Everstar was Lady Elucielle’s greatest weapon,” Luthien responded.

“Yes,” the old woman smoothed a wrinkled hand over her dress. “But it is more than just that. It is said that the seven Abyssal Ones were once the wing heralds who served Abihayil the Ancient One. Because they plotted to usurp the throne of the Ancient One, they were cast out of the Holy City and into the Infinite Abyss. And though the Abyssal Ones are bound to that plane, they were able to create a doorway between the planes and able transfer a portion of their terrible power into mortal vessels – the avatars. The seven paladins that served the Uncrowned King battled the seven avatars and defeated them. They were also able to close the door between the planes and prevent the power of the Abyssal Ones from flowing into this world. This story, I am sure you are familiar with.”

When Luthien nodded, the old woman shook her head a little and continued, “What you may not know is the method with which this was accomplished. In essence, they closed the doors and locked it – and the Seven Great Staves are the keys that unlock these doors. The Staff of Everstar is also the Keystaff of Acedia. The Archmages are the guardians of the keys to unlocking the doors to the Infinite Abyss.”

Luthien stared at the old woman in wordless horror, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, “What… then…”

“They came here for the incantation to unleash the Keystaff’s full powers, and with it, they intend to create a new avatar.”

The chair that Luthien had been sitting on crashed to the floor as the young knight bolted to his feet, but before he could rush out, the old woman continued, “If they truly intend to unleash the powers of Acedia, they will likely head for Fallingstar. It was once another bastion for the mages of Aztur, but has since fallen into the hands of the servants of Abyssal Ones. Shiftingstar Spire is where you will find help. We are not the only ones that have survived in this cursed place, Shiftstar Spire houses thousands of survivors!”

“How many days to Fallingstar Spire?” the young knight demanded leaping to his feet.

“Five,” the old woman replied. “Remember, just as your friend slumbers, so the servant also needs rest. He too has used up much of his power.”

“Then we have to stop him now,” Luthien suddenly glanced back at Azarielle.

“We will keep her safe here,” the old woman replied. “I’ve not the power to lend you much strength beyond these trees, but here, in the Sentinel Grove, we are protected by an ancient power. You needn’t worry about your friend.”

* * * * *

Azarielle strolled through a garden filled with beautiful flowers whose intoxicating fragrance she breathed with every breath that she drew. But with every step that she took, she blighted the ground beneath her feet. Flowers shriveled and burst into flames, becoming little more than ashes as they touched the ground. Grass wilted and died away, revealing cracked, dry earth underneath.

She had once loved this garden, but now, it rejected her very existence. If she stayed here, this garden would die, leaving behind cursed earth from which not even a weed would spring. A laugh bubbled forth from her throat, a deep, melodious, but hollow sound, a man’s voice.

Another few steps, leaving behind a black and deadened trail behind her, and she came upon a pool. She looked into its still waters and saw a stranger’s face looking back at her. He was an elf in his prime, with hair the color of molten gold except for a bright red splash that went from his temple to his shoulder. His eyes were different in color, one the common elven green and other strange, metallic silver.

And, he was grievously wounded, having been struck in the chest by a powerful arcane explosion that had singed away flesh to reveal white bone beneath. The blow would have killed him if he were an ordinary elf, but the power of Acedia flowing through him kept him alive.

Ignoring the wound, she, or rather, he knelt down and placed his fingers into the water. The clear waters instantly became murky and started to bubble like a teapot.

“Are you intending to ruin my garden?” a voice that reminded him of a merrily running stream demanded, speaking in high elven.

“Elucielle,” he whispered the name softly.

The elven woman who stood in front of him was tall and willowy, with an ethereal beauty that made her seem like a creature not of this world. Like him, she was severely wounded, bleeding from several different places and barely able to stand up straight.

“Even though you’ve taken the White Moon jade out of the pool, the water is still as cold as snowmelt,” he said as he withdrew his fingers and got to his feet slowly.

“Will, I doubt I can mediate in it now,” Elucielle replied drily. The once serene and clear waters had become mass of churning black-green goop, and strange, terrifying shapes had started to take form within its depths.

He sighed, a sound that seemed to have come forth from deep within his heart, “You took care of everything yourself. I never understood why you didn’t have the gardeners at least to do the weeding for you. What a sight that was – the Great Lady Archamge digging like in the mud like a child and cursing at a spiny weed.” Something that might have been a smile curved his mouth.

“Do you think I am some simpering elf maiden?” Elucielle lifted her chin with indignation. “Besides, those royal gardeners you had tried to press upon me were a lot of buffoons. They’d have cut up these perfectly nice bushes into a unicorn, or something ridiculous like that.”

“But you are an elf maiden,” the smile on his face twisted something bitter. “Or rather, you are Elucielle the ice queen whose heart cannot be moved by mortal man. I thought you would have taken that idiot human knight for a lover by now.”

“The monkey holds me in great respect, as he should, and I believe that his case of stupidity is not entirely fatal. Beyond that, there has never been anything else between us,” she replied flippantly.

Then, the arrogant lines of her face softened and a sad smile touched her lips, “Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I had married. I might even not be entirely opposed to the idea of child bearing and rearing, though I would have never spoiled them rotten as my sister did.” She paused for a moment and shrugged, “But, I never loved a man to whom I could be wed.”

“Elucielle, I…” he began, but she held up her hand.

“Cyderiel, you are the father of my nieces and nephews and the husband of my sister,” she said. “Your wife and your children are praying even now for you to return.”

At that, he laughed, a sound that was like glass shattering, “Cyderiel Azturvar, it’s been a while since anyone has called me by that name. Hasn’t my esteemed father, His Majesty, the Sun King of Aztur, stricken it from the records yet, Archmage Elucielle?”

“The Uncrowned Prince has not,” she replied. “He still holds his hand out towards you.”

“Look around you, my dear Elucielle, do you see your Uncrowned Prince anywhere?” he asked, gesturing at the garden. Even in the short time that they spoke, the corruption that he spread by simply being had spread through the garden and festered. “This is what I am, the Avatar of Acedia! He holds his hand towards me… towards the incarnation of hopeless sorrow?” he threw back his head and laughed.

The sound echoed through the garden, growing louder and louder until it became like a hundred thousand damned souls crying out in despair. The ground shook and began to crack, the skies above turned pitch black as streaks of red-tinged lightning lanced through the sky, like a pulsating, ruptured vein.

He turned his face towards the sky, his hair whipping wildly in the wind as he spat out his hatred, his rage and his hopeless pain. The darkness coiled within him took the form of a shadowy dragon, consuming his body as it grew. The Avatar opened its great maw and howled, unleashing a blast of energy so powerful that it tore Elucielle’s body to shreds.

But the elven archmage faltered, but did not fall. She held her staff out her glowing staff in front of her and stood her ground. Blood splattered out of her parted lips and yet, her mouth moved as she began to sing.

In the roiling madness and darkness, her glowing staff shone as bright as the sun. And floating in the sea of screams, her voice was like a perfect, untainted pearl singing praises to the glory of the Eternal Father and the beauty of the world he created.

“Elucielle!” that small part of the Avatar that remained him screamed, a curse, a prayer. Unable to withstand the light, the Avatar spread its wings and hurled itself at her, annihilating everything that it touched.

“He has never withdrawn his hand, Cyedriel. He will never withdraw his hand,” she said simply. The jewel blazed so brightly that he was blinded. But for just a moment, he saw her face, radiant and shinning, and her smile, joyous and carefree. That was how she had looked, the first time he had met her. In the guise of a redheaded human mage, he had wandered through the garden of the mage school where she was a new apprentice.

“See you later, Red.”

His world exploded in a web of shinning gold light.