Authors: Brian Fuller
“Go forward, Chalaine. You are not unexpected or unwelcome.”
The Chalaine spun. The voice was that of a woman, sonorous and strangely accented. She could just make her out as she stepped forward into the light from behind her, and the Chalaine gasped, backing away from her into the room.
She stood at least eight feet tall and was regally built, silver hair falling about her shoulders. Her ears were upswept and her features strong and beautiful. She wore a brown cloak clasped about her waist with a silver belt fashioned with interlocking leaves. Underneath the cloak she wore a dress of forest green that set off the intense gray eyes, eyes that held no malice or treachery, but sadness and years of wisdom. The Chalaine stopped.
“Who are you?” she asked, failing to keep the trembling from her voice.
“Fear me not,” she answered. “I am Sarina Kam, and I have longed for the day when I might meet you and see your face. I have longed to bring you before him,” she indicated the figure sobbing upon the pedestal. “He has wept for long enough.”
“What of Gen? The man protecting me?”
“He is asleep. Come. You will see that no harm has come to him.” Sarina led the way forward, walking as a noblewoman would, straight, tall, and proud.
“Are you an elf?” the Chalaine chanced, sensing she was not.
“I am Millim Eri, an elf master and messenger for the Ulrich—the gods—though we have no liege that we choose to serve.”
As Sarina approached the pool, the other cloaked figured removed his hood, revealing long white hair and a powerful face.
“This is Sore Kam,” Sarina explained, “my brother. The one who weeps is Aldemar. He was once Mikkik Dun, those like us that served Mikkik.”
“Why does he weep?” the Chalaine asked, finding it difficult to look anywhere but the floor.
“You will soon know. That is part of why we let you come here, why we protected you from his grief. Without our protection, you would be overcome, as Gen is, and never awake without our aid. Many we rescued from this place in the ancient times. You are the first to enter here in many, many years. But Mikkik’s work is at hand. Our salvation from the dark God has come to us in human form. Salvation has come in you. Remove your veil, please.”
The Chalaine didn’t think to disagree or disobey and lifted it from her head. She saw something spark in Sore Kam’s eyes, and he and Sarina stared at each other in silence for several moments before Sore turned his attention to Aldemar.
“Aldemar!” he ordered. “Lift up your eyes and behold the salvation of Ki’Hal. Look!” Aldemar did not stir and continued to cry. “Look!” Sore Kam thundered.
Reluctantly, Aldemar lifted his head, and the Chalaine took a step back as the tormented gaze fell upon her. Aldemar, like the others, was noble in features, but his face exuded sorrow and pain. Tears had stained his cheeks gray, and his eyes were red and ringed in shadow. At once she felt a crushing weight of spirit, a burden centuries old she could not bear. Sarina stepped to her side and grasped her shoulders, the weight easing at her touch.
Upon seeing her, Aldemar’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Sarina and Sore in surprise before turning back, eyes settling on her.
“Show her, Aldemar. She needs to see.”
Her vision wavered as Aldemar entered her mind. She could feel his pain, ancient and abiding, pressing upon her heart. In her mind’s eye, a scene opened before her, and she felt as if Aldemar had spirited her away out of the room and out of time.
She flew over a green field on a clear evening, yellow wildflowers starting to close with the end of day. Overhead, all three moons, Myn, Duam, and Trys, waxed full and beautiful. She breathed in, her lungs filling with clean, cool air. The world was new, innocent, and wholesome in a way she had never felt before. While she couldn’t say why, a sense of rightness pervaded everything, and she smiled in spite of herself. Here was peace and a reflection of a beloved creator, and finding happiness required nothing more than setting one foot before the other and reveling in the goodness that imbued the world. Every vista of mountain, tree, sky, and river exhilarated and soothed at once.
Just as the grandeur invited her to a bliss she longed for, the feeling gradually changed as the fields slid by. Curious and disappointed at the change, she lifted her eyes. A throng gathered in a small depression on the plain, their dark clothing offsetting a figure, brilliant and shining, in the midst of them. She flew closer and stopped, hovering above them.
“
Behold the throng of Mikkik, glorious Ulrich of Ki’Hal!”
Aldemar’s voice quavered. “
Look, for there am I.”
The Chalaine found him in the congregation, understanding that these were Mikkik Dun, Millim Eri followers of Mikkik. Aldemar stood among them, eyes worshipfully regarding his God. The Chalaine studied the figure of her enemy, but she could barely perceive his shape, his brightness defeating mortal vision. In front of him he had built a crude altar from stones, and upon it lay a sword, simple in design, such as a common soldier might use.
“It is the first weapon made upon Ki’Hal, though what you will see is not the first time it was used. It is filled with power, for Mikkik discovered a great secret.”
The Chalaine wanted to inquire into what Aldemar meant, but below her Mikkik’s voice raised in a chant, and the Chalaine recognized the sound and tone of those words, the same language spoken by the demon on the night of her betrothal. Though she understood that what she saw was a memory that happened hundreds of years before her birth, she felt the power of the incantation as Aldemar had, and she trembled. Each word felt of hatred, pride, ambition, and greed.
Mikkik stopped his ritual briefly, barking at the Mikkik Dun around him with one harsh word. At his command, they withdrew knives from their dark robes and cut their wrists, spilling their golden blood onto the waving grass.
The Chalaine felt weak as one by one they slumped to the ground, all but one, who stood facing his master with doubt on his face: Aldemar. Mikkik ignored him, grasping the sword and plunging it into the soil. He incanted again, and in a circle around him, the grass and flowers died, withering black and disintegrating into dust. The blood and bodies of the Mikkik Dun followed, and with each passing moment, Mikkik and his sword increased in luminescence and power until the Chalaine could hardly stand to look upon the scene.
“Prepare yourself, child,” Aldemar warned, voice laying open his agony, “What comes now is a crime such as Ki’Hal has never known. But you must see. You must know why.”
The Chalaine felt Eldaloth before she saw him descend from the sky like a burning white star. His presence was warm and electrifying, joyful and perfect. It was he that created the beauty around her, for he was beauty, and all creation reflected his heart and connected to his soul. He outshone even Mikkik, and she could scarcely lift her eyes to the luminance.
Eldaloth thundered angrily at Mikkik in a language she could not understand. Mikkik replied by raising the sword and striking Eldaloth with it. Eldaloth yelled in agony and fell backward, his blood falling on the dead grass.
Immediately, the aura around Mikkik and the sword died and his face registered shock. Stripped of his brilliance, Mikkik shared much in appearance with the Mikkik Dun. He was beautiful and strong in features, powerful in build, and fierce of countenance. Upswept ears held back long flowing golden hair, and on either side of a sharp nose, silver-gray eyes burned with power. The sword he held in his hand turned clear where Eldaloth’s blood ran along it.
A reverberation filled the air, and Eldaloth died. The brightness faded and nothing evidenced that the God had even been there, save that the ground, too, had turned to a clear stone where his blood had spilled. Only Aldemar and Mikkik remained. The feeling of rightness on Ki’Hal that had thrilled her had perished with Eldaloth, and she ached for its return as a child seeks the arms of its mother.
The Chalaine found herself crying with Aldemar. Mikkik slaughtered perfect beauty, perfect peace, and perfect goodness before her. Not one Churchman she had ever met could understand. They might preach paradise, but how could they feel its loss when all they had were vague notions and weak words to describe the abiding peace and the enduring rightness of everything that Mikkik annihilated along with their creator? For the first time, she understood her own importance. If the being to be fathered within her could indeed bring a return of that world of natural joy, then every sacrifice she must make, every indignity she would suffer, and every love she had to forsake would be of little consequence.
Below her in the clearing, Aldemar sunk to his knees and wept, and nature wept with him. Clouds gathered, the ground shook, and even the plants drooped and wilted. Mikkik gaped at the sword and examined himself, perhaps surprised at his loss of glory. A violent, wrenching crack split the ground in two at the point where Eldaloth had fallen, the earth collapsing into a deep gorge. Mikkik and Aldemar fell inside, and the vision faded.
The Chalaine wiped her eyes as the room came into focus. Aldemar smiled sadly at her, face and shoulders relieved of their burdens. Sore and Sarina stood behind her, watching Aldemar and witnessing the fulfillment of something they had worked on for years uncounted.
“You do not understand it all, Chalaine,” Aldemar rasped. “You know my folly, but not the folly and curse of my people, a burden we yet bear and will yet atone for. But understand that it is your destiny to undo one part of what was done that day, though perhaps not in a way you will understand.”
Aldemar turned his gaze to Sore and Sarina, bowing to them and speaking to them in their own tongue, though the Chalaine could discern the gratitude in Aldemar’s voice.
Sarina approached. “Chalaine, we thank you for this service. We have long grieved for Aldemar and his sadness, for while he did stand and watch Eldaloth die, he had, at least, the courage and the wisdom to disobey his master when the call came. He was Mikkik Dun, but now he is our brother and our ally. For your service, Chalaine, we would give you a gift, if you would receive it.” Sarina removed a small stone of molten glass from her cloak and extended it to the Chalaine. “Take it.”
The Chalaine carefully lifted and examined the stone, eyes widening at a flickering light within it. “I thank you, but what is it for? What am I to do with it?”
“It concerns the second gift we will give you. Tell me, if you could kill the Ilch, would you do it?”
“Yes, of course!” the Chalaine answered without hesitation.
“That is our gift. That stone is his
animon,
his life,” Sarina said. “He lies there by the fountain unconscious. You can slay him without fear. Just cast the stone to the ground and it will break like glass and finish him.”
The Chalaine looked toward the fountain, seeing only Gen upon the ground. “Where is the Ilch?” she asked.
“He is there,” Sarina indicated, pointing toward Gen’s body. “
He
is the Ilch. Kill him and rid yourself of your enemy and your fear.”
The Chalaine trembled, disbelief furrowing her brow. “He is not the Ilch!” she objected. She knew he was an orphan. She knew he was near the same age as she and Chertanne. “It’s impossible! He’s protected me. Almost died for me. He . . . he loves me. He cannot be the Ilch! He is one of the most noble and decent people I have ever met!”
Sarina took her hand, leading her to where Gen lay breathing shallowly. Sore Kam removed the boot from Gen’s scarred left foot. “We burned his foot to obscure the mark.”
Sore placed his hand on the instep of Gen’s left foot and after several moments the scars faded, leaving in their place a perfect circle—the unveiled moon of Trys.
The Chalaine sat hard upon the stone bench behind her, mind reeling.
It cannot be!
“Why did you do this? What have you done?”
“We have deprived Mikkik of his tool,” Sarina answered. “We have weakened Mikkik and strengthened your cause. We took Gen from the caretaker Mikkik chose for him. He was but a child, uncorrupted and innocent. We did not expect that he would ever come to your personal service, but we hoped he would be of some use to you and the world, for he will be powerful one day.
“We wanted to keep him secluded until Trys was unveiled, at which point we were to teach him or destroy him if he refused. But other forces have shifted our plans. He has grown to fame and importance and has served you well, for which we are gratified. But, Chalaine, we give him to you to do with as you please. He was to be your enemy. You can kill him or spare him at your whim.”
“How could I kill him?” the Chalaine groaned, head pounding and stomach clenching. “How could I murder him after everything he’s done? Who am I to decide and who are you that you can give him and take him as you please?”
Sarina frowned. “The prophecy says he will rend you unless he is killed first. I give you the chance to turn the prophecy to your favor. He is Mikkik’s creature. Can you live in peace knowing he is alive and watching over you while you sleep?”
The Chalaine shook her head, tears coming freely now. “He could never hurt me!”
“You care for him?” Sarina asked.
“Yes,” the Chalaine answered softly. Sarina’s face darkened, and she and her brother shared a meaningful look.
“Then you will not kill him,” Sarina stated. “Take comfort, dear. It seems my brother and I have done our work too well. Keep his
animon
so that you may protect yourself from him if you need to
,
but guard it well. Will you still walk with him? We can keep him here if you wish.”