Authors: Licia Troisi
“All the same, the spirits will answer your call, Sheireen. Though you must be careful, for the amulet will sap your vital force.”
“What are you …” Sennar interrupted. “You’ve lost your mind, old lady!”
“A councilor, in particular, should know how to listen, young man,” Reis hissed. “Sheireen will live, if she’s strong enough, but remember that the medallion’s power lasts only for a day. For one day, once Sheireen has evoked the spirits, the Tyrant will be stripped of all magic. In that time, you must strike him down.”
Nihal turned the amulet over in her hands. “Is this the reason I’m alive, Reis?”
The old woman nodded. “Yes, Sheireen. The purpose of your existence is to free the Overworld from the Tyrant.”
“Where are the sanctuaries?” Nihal asked.
“The amulet will guide you. Your heart will know where to search.”
Sennar was trembling at Nihal’s side. “No. No, it’s not possible,” the sorcerer argued. “Most of the sanctuaries are situated in enemy territory. She’d have to cross enemy lines, travel throughout the Overworld …”
The old woman ignored him, keeping her attention on the girl. “This is your destiny, Sheireen. You cannot escape it. Everything that’s happened to you, from the day you were born until now, has led you to this. Do you not want revenge, Sheireen? Do you not want to destroy the Tyrant? Yes, of course you do. I can feel your heart overflowing with hate.”
Nihal looked fearfully at Reis. The old woman’s words had her grasping for sense, and not even Sennar’s presence reassured her.
“Accept your hate, Sheireen. Nurture it. Follow it, for it will free you from evil! I’m offering you the chance to annihilate the very brute who exterminated your people! Think of all your sleepless nights, of the pained faces that haunt your dreams …”
The medallion slipped from Nihal’s hands and fell clattering to the table. “How do you know about my dreams?” she asked, rising to her feet. The stool she’d been sitting on crashed to the ground.
“You should be thanking me, Sheireen, ” Reis murmured.
Nihal drew her sword and pressed its pointed tip to Reis’ throat. “Tell me!” she screamed.
The old woman sighed and nodded. “When I discovered the truth about you, I knew I had to find a way to keep you from thwarting your destiny.”
Nihal spoke in a whisper. “It can’t be …”
“It was then that I pronounced the spell. A forbidden spell, extremely difficult to evoke. It took every ounce of my strength. But you should be thanking me, Sheireen,” she repeated. “Without my help, you’d have never picked up a sword. You’d have never discovered your strength.”
“It’s not possible,” Nihal went on muttering. “It’s not possible …”
“Yes, Sheireen. It was I who opened your mind to those dreams.”
The room froze. Not a sound, but for the hush of the distant waterfall. The black sword trembled in Nihal’s hands.
“I knew Soana would never have the courage to wake the spirit of vengeance in you, to make you the warrior we need. But if only you knew, if only you saw with your own eyes …”
Nihal’s face was pale. “I was only a child,” she said, raising her voice, “and you sent hordes of spirits to torment me. I’m a woman now and there’s not a single night I don’t—”
“Once you’ve completed your mission, the dreams will cease, Sheireen. But until you’ve done your duty, the dead will haunt you. Forever.”
“You monster!” Nihal shouted, and struck the table with the blade of her sword.
The old woman made no movement. “Your strength lies in your hate,” she said with a smile. “I’m the one who gave you that strength. I’m the one who made you who you are.”
“I’m not your creation!”
“Oh, indeed you are. …” Reis sneered.
Nihal had already lifted her arm to strike when she felt the warm touch of a hand, a hand wrapped around her own.
Sennar spun her around. “Put your sword away and let’s go,” he said calmly. “Now.”
Nihal stood there, undecided, her heartbeat pounding in her head. Slowly, she lowered her sword until it hung limply at her side. Then she turned toward the door of the hut without a word. The medallion lay on the ground among the splintered remains of the smashed table.
“Sheireen!” Reis called. “You can’t turn your back on your destiny!”
Before they walked out, Sennar cast a cold glance at the old woman. “I just saved your life, Reis. I suggest you keep your mouth shut, unless you want me to change my mind.”
Nihal was sitting curled up where a rock jutted out beneath the old woman’s house. Sennar lowered himself down and took a seat beside her, caressing her arm.
“Come on, let’s go,” he whispered, but she made no response. He leaned over in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Whatever you were searching for, it’s not here, Nihal.”
Tears were streaming down her face. “How many times have I said that I don’t want revenge to define me, Sennar? You know how hard I’ve fought. … And for what?”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” said Sennar.
Nihal stared off into the emptiness before her. “Don’t you see it, Sennar? My life is a perfect picture. I’m driven to fight because one day my parents consecrated me to some god whose name I didn’t even know. I’m haunted by nightmares that were planted in my brain, just so I would travel around the world gathering eight, stupid stones. It’s all written down and planned out. I’m a weapon in someone else’s hands; I don’t have the right to be a person.”
Sennar pulled her to her feet and took her between his arms, squeezing her tight. “Your life is yours alone, Nihal, and that’s all that matters. Now let’s get out of here and forget this ever happened.”
As they neared the base on their return journey, Nihal and Sennar noticed something strange. The closer they came to Laodamea, the more the air seemed charged with electricity, the villages below gripped with a troubling agitation.
Suddenly, they saw a small black dot flying toward them. Nihal drew her sword, fearing it was an enemy, though soon she recognized the squat figure of Ido on back of Vesa.
The dwarf signaled for them to land on a low-lying hill.
“What brings you to these parts? Have you come as our personal escort?” Sennar quipped as they walked toward each other. It wasn’t until he finished his joke that he noticed the grave look on Ido’s face.
“What happened?” Nihal asked, worried.
“Since you left, things have taken a turn for the worse. Without warning, they’ve launched an offensive against the Land of Water. The armies of the Tyrant are drawing near to the nymph’s force field. A battle is imminent, Nihal. We need you back at the base.” Ido remounted his dragon. “Follow me.”
In an instant, all of the thoughts that had accompanied her until that moment vanished from her mind. She climbed on back of Oarf and spurred him to fly as fast as possible, Sennar holding on tight behind her.
Ido led them to the vast plateau that extended along the border of the Land of Water and the Land of the Wind. As soon as they arrived, Laio ran up to meet Nihal, his face pale with fright.
“Something’s happening, something strange,” he said, walking beside her toward her array of troops.
“What are you getting at?” she asked, picking up her pace.
“I … what I saw frightened me, Nihal.”
She stopped in her tracks and looked him in the eye for a moment with a feeling of dread. Nihal had never been afraid during battle, but there was something chilling in Laio’s expression.
“Go back to the tent and don’t leave. I don’t like the look of things, Laio,” she said brusquely and walked off.
Everyone was in their places. Nihal looked about for Sennar and found him standing beside Mavern. Soana was with him, too.
What the devil’s going on?
She shook her head. This was no time to let her nerves get the best of her. She needed to concentrate, to keep her head clear.
She pulled her helmet on and flew to the battlefront. In the distance before her she could see the nymphs, busily maintaining their force field. They were spread out in several columns, one beside the other, their hands stretched toward the barrier. To her astonishment, Nihal recognized Astrea. Standing tall and confident, the queen was fighting for her land alongside the other nymphs. She seemed changed since the first time Nihal had seen her—her once fragile beauty burdened with the weight of long sorrow.
All was quiet. In other battles, the Fammin would have already come rushing in with their blood-curdling war cries. But this time there was nothing, only silence. Nihal was afraid, but of what, she wasn’t exactly sure. Not of death. Death had never frightened her. But a deeper fear, something more elusive and terrifying.
At long last, the enemy appeared, approaching from the Land of the Wind. This time, the Tyrant’s warriors were not Fammin, but men, or so it seemed. In rigorous order, they marched forward noiselessly, almost tranquilly. In place of their usual black armor, they wore breastplates of an ashen grey. At sight of the force field they didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. The nymph’s chanting grew louder, more melodious, their voices rising up in defiance.
Nihal could feel her own heart pounding. Two warriors, each on back of a dragon, appeared in the leaden sky. One wore a scarlet breastplate and rode a black dragon not unlike Dola’s. The other wore grey, his dragon milk white in the sun’s reflection.
The troops began to whisper among themselves.
“Prepare to attack!” the general shouted.
Nihal leaned down and cooed in Oarf’s ear: “Relax boy, everything’s going to be fine.”
Even her dragon’s nerves were on edge. His wings quivered, though it wasn’t for the fear of battle.
The enemy troops continued their silent approach, marching fearlessly toward the force field. Many of the infantrymen among them seemed to have already been wounded, their iron armor stained with large splotches of clotted blood, and yet they advanced without hesitation. When the front line came within a step of the force field, they halted.
The warrior on the black dragon flew forward.
“Today is a glorious day!” he shouted, directing his words to the Army of the Free Lands. “A truly glorious day! Today, brothers rise up against brothers. Today, fathers slay their sons. The right hand combats the left, only to destroy the body they belong to. Today, my friends, you are your own murderers.”
The warrior drew a three-pronged lance of a deep blue, gleaming with dark reflections. As he brandished it toward the sky, he was suddenly surrounded by a thin web of blue electricity. “My Lord, give strength to your servant!” he yelled, and hurled his lance at the barrier.
The entire army witnessed as the lance penetrated the force field with ease and staked itself in the dirt only a few feet from the nymphs. As soon as it touched the ground, a dark sphere encircled the lance and began to pulsate, expanding itself with a deafening rumble.
In a violent flash of green light, the force field ruptured. The nymphs and their queen were knocked backward and appeared to dissolve in a cloud of dark vapor.
A horrified silence gripped the soldiers. There was nothing left separating the enemy from the Amy of the Free Lands.
“On to a triumphant massacre!” cried the warrior, and his troops came charging without a sound.
The battle began.
The infantrymen along the front line raised their swords against the mysterious grey soldiers, but their steady blades struck nothing, passing right through their bodies as if through air.
As they fought, each soldier, each infantryman, each warrior of the Army of the Free Lands recognized a face among the ranks of their enemies. Some saw old friends from their company, others noticed their own commanders who’d fallen in battle, still others recognized their brothers, mortally wounded long ago. Before long, astonishment gave way to doubt, doubt to certainty, and from certainty came utter horror: they were fighting against an army of the dead.
The dead of their own troops, their one-time companions. The Tyrant had found a way to bring their fallen soldiers back to life.
Shouts of terror echoed over the battlefield and the entire Army of the Free Lands broke into retreat.
Nihal suppressed her terror, doing all she could to keep her troops in line. Back and forth she galloped across the field, urging on her reluctant dragon, exhorting her men, straining to prevent them from scattering. But it was a hopeless cause. Their moment of ruin had come at last. Even if the soldiers could overcome the terror of having to face their own dead companions, their weapons could do them no harm.
Nihal felt powerless, overcome with despair.
“Dammit!” she screamed, spurring Oarf up toward the warrior in red armor. But between her and her target stood throngs of ghosts. A soldier she’d once commanded appeared before her, staring at her with blank eyes.
In the meantime, Sennar and Soana had come up from the rear and were speaking with the general.
“Gather everyone who hasn’t yet been sent in to fight, General!” Sennar barked. “I think I know a way to defeat them.”
The general shook his head. “No, Councilor. I’m going to order a retreat. I don’t want any more casualties.”
Arrows were whizzing by their heads, but Sennar hardly seemed to notice. “If we retreat in these conditions, it will be a massacre. And we can’t just hand them the Land of Water.”
“What do you two have in mind?” the general asked.
“There’s a spell,” Soana answered, “but we’ll need to apply it to their weapons. Listen to Councilor Sennar, General. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Sennar had come up with the idea. It was the essence of fire feeding these spirits, and only with a spell rooted in flames could they combat them and send their souls back to peaceful rest. All they had to do was apply the enchantment to the soldiers’ weapons.
All of the soldiers who hadn’t yet been sent in to the fray were ordered to gather on the plateau where they’d awaited the Tyrant’s attack. Ido and Nihal landed nearby, kicking up clouds of dust. They dismounted their dragons and sped over to join the crowd.