Authors: Rhiannon Paille
Valtor smirked. “You seem certain.”
“That I am,” Lorac replied.
“And if she slays you before you have a chance to speak?” Valtor pushed through Delotha and Narwa to stare Lorac down.
Lorac raised his chin. “Then you will have your wish, and the brethren will belong to you.”
Valtor gave him a crooked smile. “Aye, I think it best we awaken Crestaos.”
***
Chapter 2
Twilight fell and the Daed gathered in the sanctuary. Torch light shimmered off the stone walls etched in various symbols of ancient importance. In the center was the altar, rectangular and wide, spread like an island in the middle of the room. The altar was adorned with a set of candles in a v shape on top of a red altar cloth. Tools were arranged on either side of the candle formation, and in each of the four corners of the altar were small cauldrons with different substances in them to signify the four elements. Turon walked to one of the locked chests at the far end of the sanctuary, and removed a peculiar looking item. It looked like a lantern, but there were a series of dials on the top and bottom of the chamber, eighteen in total. Turon set the lantern on the red altar cloth and began to turn the dials.
“Hortis get the necra powder,” Turon commanded. Though Lorac was the leader of their faction, in the sanctuary Turon held all the power. He had been exiled from Metaphis, a technologically advanced elven realm. Though his materials were primitive, he could transform almost any device into something that would work the magic needed to achieve their goals. It had taken him a long time to figure out how to get to Avrigost and awaken the sleeping giants that formerly ruled the Lands Across the Stars.
Hortis was the newest addition to the brethren. Having escaped execution on Talanisdir, he fled to Gornid, an arachnid planet of harmless beasts. He succumbed to Cam’Wethrin many years later when the company of spiders had worn on his soul. He was an apprentice of the brethren, and naïve about the ways of the universe. “What do we do with this?” he asked as he carried the jar to the altar.
Valtor chortled under his breath as he watched Hortis with dark penetrating eyes. “We ingest it.”
Hortis’s eyes widened and he looked to Lorac. “Is this truth?”
Lorac bowed his head in agreement, and Turon cut in. “Yes, but it must be in liquid form.” He took a small bit in a large hollow shell and held it over one of the candles in the center. The tan powder melted into a sticky substance first, and as it continued to heat it became a deep green liquid. He turned to Hortis and handed him the shell. “Shall we let you take the first dose?”
Cautiously Hortis nodded, taking hold of the shell and tipping it to his mouth. Turon knew it stung as it went down and the after taste was like rusted metal.
The transformation began slowly. Hortis grabbed the table in desperation as the effects of the drug escalated. He coughed, and choked on the imaginary noose around his neck, the very punishment for his treason against Satarine, the Queen of Talanisdir. He rubbed his neck in exasperation as the rope scalded it. Fear frothed from his eyes as the disorientation continued without pause. He opened his mouth to scream out but could only choke on the words.
Turon watched cautiously along with the rest of the brethren as Hortis swayed back and forth. “Handled it better than I thought he would,” he said letting out a low whistle.
Necra powder was known to affect the perceptions of the mind. Senses became slanted, memories twisted, repressed fears and anxieties attacked the seeker in an attempt to turn them to anarchy. Turon continued turning powder to liquid and handed it to the others. One by one they took the dose.
Azdrach screamed, being the seer in their faction. His memories were a mix of his own and others. He muttered words in random languages as the liquid reached his core. He doubled over in pain.
Turon simply glanced at him with a measured, hard look in his eyes. He hadn’t taken the drink yet but without it, Avrigost would turn into a mental prison for them. He set the coordinates on the lantern and downed the last of the necra powder, allowing its affects to course through him.
The lantern did its job; a small blue orb emanated from the inner chamber and grew to encompass all of them. The very sound of the orb stretching irritated him and he squirmed uncomfortably while the orb reached its max. Without warning the lantern pulled back with the gale force of a hurricane and they were sucked through the rift, including the lantern itself.
The unnatural glow from the blue sun was different that day, if days existed on Avrigost. Isadora, the Iolite Flame drifted in and out of consciousness, her astral form wavering in its strength as she fought for control. She hovered near the foot of the temple, and let out a sigh that echoed through the lands for hours. She couldn’t tell time anymore. On Avrigost the land didn’t move, the sun never stopped shining, night never fell. Nothing grew or truly died either. It was an endless sea of monotony, closed off from the other lands, and built by chaos.
When Tor defeated the Valtanyana, he sealed them there, in thick tombs, their dust the last thing left of them. She guarded the temple where they lay, providing what seemed like unnecessary protection. Beings on Avrigost were nonphysical, astral matter floating through the ruckus of decaying trees and browning vegetation. Those who lived on Avrigost could never go back to the other lands; their souls too in need of repair, broken beyond recollection of their former selves. It was almost blasphemous to believe the Valtanyana would be set free by those wayward souls.
Her indigo eyes noticed the difference in the sky that day. A mirage of jet-black hair fell over her flowing white dress, pieces of the person she used to be. It seemed unfair this was her fate; an endless afterlife stretched before her, after a lifetime of respect and strength. Isadora had been a respected seer in the Land of Immortals, mapping out the moons and summers that lay ahead. She knew long before the attacks hit, when time was ending. Death was something her senses accentuated, it was clearer than the other outcomes, because it was final.
She never anticipated her own death as part of that end.
A gust of wind drifted over the land and her senses sharpened. Her astral form hardened and for the first time in forever she felt the iciness of stone against her form. Lightning danced across the hazy cloudless sky, flashing and rippling and snaking, creating loud crackles as currents of electricity exploded across the sky.
Isadora panicked as forks pierced a single skeletal tree resting along the courtyard. It caught fire and her eyes went wide. The temple was situated at the top of the highest mountain in Avrigost. The courtyard stretched out, extending down the slope leading to the valleys and thick dead forests. The tree was the last bit of vegetation surrounding the temple. She clenched her fist and watched the burning tree. It became a blackened skeleton, rotted limbs crashing onto the pristine white slabs of rock.
A loud crack of thunder made Isadora duck for cover as another bolt of lightning forked and hit the ground near the steps. It was too close. She scampered up them and pulled open the temple doors. She never ventured inside the domed building. As she entered the massive chamber she let out a cry and a gasp.
Seven of them stood between the eleven tombs, concealed in black robes, their faces hiding behind hoods. All of them looked at her.
They moved, but Isadora moved faster, whipping out the dagger from around her ankle and slicing the air with it. She clipped one of them across the cheek and saw the drops of blood hang suspended in midair. His hood fell back revealing his tattooed face and black eyes. A scroll fell from his robes and hit the floor with a soft thud. He glared at her and tried to punch her, but his hand touched the nothingness she was.
She smiled to herself; there were perks to the afterlife.
They regrouped, forming a semi-circle in the center of the room, joining hands and chanting in unison. She felt sick to her stomach as she realized what they doing.
Awakening the Valtanyana.
Isadora pushed her palms to the floor and fog billowed across the marble. It devoured each of them in thick sheets of glass, the fog crystallizing to their forms. Isadora gracefully moved to her feet as another bolt of lightning struck the temple and pierced the center of one of the tombs. She gasped as dust floated into the air. It would have been benign, but Isadora’s eyes were on the blood, fresh, budding with life. It was the first living thing in Avrigost since the First Era. The dust swirled and hit the single drop of blood. All Isadora could do was watch. The dust rippled and hardened, creating layers of bone, muscle and skin. She shook, her knees knocking together, her breath caught in her throat.
His sickly form towered over everything in the room. His eyes sparked with white lightning, his mouth twisting into a smile. He lunged towards Isadora and she jumped back, feeling the wall pressed up against her back.
He bent forward and picked up the scroll, a seemingly innocent gesture. Isadora was confused by the deathly expression that crossed his face as he stared at the parchment. She tried to compose herself, the memories of the past rushing back to her. She knew his name, she knew it but she could not remember it. She pushed herself off the wall and strode towards the center of room, hoping that his abilities hadn’t yet returned.
His eyes bore into her soul and a single word fell from his lips. “Flame.”
Isadora felt like he could see through her. Indigo-colored flames encased her body as she drew a protective shield around her. She was prepared for the blow, but he hesitated.
“Where is she?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom. He took a step towards her and the marble cracked below him.
Isadora gulped and tried to blot out the past, but it circled her mind. Nothing had changed, he wanted her the same way he had always wanted her. One of her kind, all of her kind. A startling realization hit Isadora. The parchment, she knew what was on it.
Sunlight shone down on the two beings, on the left, the ferryman, on the right the flame. A promise of their importance scrawled in symbols on the top corner.
She smirked at him and shook her head slowly to say that she would never defy her kind.
“She cannot hide forever,” he sneered as he took another step towards her. He crumpled the parchment and threw it on the floor.
Isadora backed away, finding the temple doors. She slid them open and felt a gust of heat at her back. The land was burning; lightning pierced the ground in successions, forcing the land to sizzle. She glanced at the tree and as flames rolled across the courtyard, catching to browning vines crisscrossed against the stone. She gasped as the force of his form knocked her to the ground. She splayed out across the stairs and looked into his wild lightning eyes.
He held a bony hand above her and she squirmed against his wrath. It was impossible. He drew her essence into the palm of his hand, compressing her energy until she was no more than an orb in his palm.
Isadora bucked she couldn’t fight anymore. As she struggled against the weight of his essence she thought back to the First Era. She remembered his name.
Crestaos.
She met his psychotic eyes as he stormed into the temple and whispered to her, forcing her to remove the fog encasing the Daed warriors. In this form she was powerless to stop him, helpless against his will. No matter how hard she fought against it, she belonged him.
***
Chapter 3
Lotesse waited until the maiden left before pulling the mint green bow off her brown hair. She kicked it under the bed, disgusted. She paced the small room with its chestnut-brown rugs and sandy-colored stone. Pressing her hands to the windowsill, she undid the latch and gazed out across the lands of Nazole.
Lady Satarine’s kingdom rested on Nazole, in the Lands of Immortals, and Lotesse resented the fact she had to play princess. She breathed in the fresh scent of hazelnuts and smiled to herself as she narrowed her eyes and hiked up the skirts of her mint green and royal purple dress, contemplating the drop. Her room was high enough that she could see the tops of trees for acres from her window. She winced but she had done it before. That was before Satarine ordered the servants to remove the trellises. Without them she had nothing to cling to but the slippery rock.
She slid one slippered foot out of the window, and the other followed. Perched on the windowsill, she glanced back into the room for a moment. After seventeen summers, she was being given to someone from the south. She hated his accent and aloof attitude towards her. She needed to escape.
Lotesse took a deep breath and plunged herself off the ledge, the speed of the fall taking her breath away. She landed on her wrist and heard a loud crack as bones snapped. She rolled away from the castle walls and rubbed her wrist. Without a second thought her blue eyes snapped to liquid emerald and wisps of green energy spiked off her free hand. The bones shifted into place and fused together. It was no perfect fix, but it would do until she was ready to face the medicine man.
She moved to her feet, brushed herself off and glanced at the tree line. Someone was waving a pair of beige breeches in the air, trying to get her attention. She smiled to herself and crossed the field, meeting her sheepish servant friend, Livinia. She was a couple years older, with a thin frame and light-brown hair to her knees. Lotesse grabbed the breeches and eyed her plain beige dress and ivory apron.
“Who did you steal these from this time?” Lotesse asked as she led the way through the forest. Bright sun lit up the ground in patches as they wound through the young trees, staying on the muddy trail.
“I took them from the laundry,” Livinia explained, her cheeks flush with redness. She also had a tunic and belt in her hands, things Lotesse would need for what she was planning.
Lotesse stopped at a healthy looking elm tree and swiveled to face her friend. “Well, get me out of this thing, I can’t breathe.” She turned and waited while Livinia worried through the buttons and knots of Lotesse’s corset. She shrugged it off, pulled the tunic over her head and the breeches onto her legs.
“I don’t understand why you insist on doing this,” Livinia said as she pulled the belt around Lotesse’s thin waist and nodded. She turned and Livinia inspected her. She shook her head. “Your hair,” she pointed at the long locks of brown cascading down her back.
Lotesse sighed and drew it up into a ponytail. She turned as Livinia pulled a sash from her apron and grabbed the hair. She wound it into a large bun and did her best to keep it secure. “Do you think I can do it?” Lotesse asked, wringing her hands out as prickles ran through her wrist.
Livinia sighed. “Maybe you can do it once, but can you do it twice?”
Lotesse scrunched up her nose as she gathered her dress and pushed the bunch of fabric into the servant’s face. She looked funny in her slippers but the gown was worse. She would go without boots. She hated Livinia’s comment; she was determined to do it twice. If she could do it twice she could do it three or four times and then the kingdom would be the least of her concerns. She took off and stalked through the grass, Livinia on her heels as she moved deeper into the forests.
Lady Satarine owned acres of land; and beyond those acres were peasants. Lotesse had never met them, but she was sick of being cooped up inside and told what to do. She was a loyal girl that diligently attended lessons and learned how to harness her inner abilities since birth. She had been born to a peasant family somewhere outside of Satarine’s kingdom, but when her eyes changed instantly from blue to green, and her aura sparked in waves of emerald she was adopted and cared for by the royal family of Nazole.
She had known about her kinship as a Flame for as long as she could remember. Because of it her life had been a sheltered parade of duty and glory. Every elven on Nazole wanted a chance to meet her, dance with her, court her, and she was expected to play her part.
With her life being such a fairytale, Lotesse had to learn how to use her real abilities on her own, and that had been no easy task. It took forever to realize she never got sick, she could speak languages she never practiced and she could heal broken bones with a touch. The last one was a bit of an experiment; she only tried it on herself and on one of the servant girls when she fell out of a tree.
They reached the small shed in the forest, the one with the servants’ additional supplies. Livinia had been covert enough in securing a horse for her. She lifted the latch and let the brown stallion out of the supply shed. She clucked and ran her hands down its mane, soothing it with her stare. That was the other thing about Lotesse; she had a quiet gracefulness to herself that allowed her to speak to animals, in their own language too.
Lotesse, in male servants’ clothing no less, mounted the bareback horse. She pushed her fingers into its mane and beamed, leaning down and whispering something to the horse. It neighed in response and Lotesse released her hands from its mane. She closed her eyes and the horse began walking towards the edge of the kingdom.
Livinia remained frozen beside the shed, her hand on the wide swinging door. “I cannot watch,” she whispered.
Lotesse rolled her eyes. “This is just a test. I’m not really going to stay over there. Not today at least,” she said as the horse turned around in circles, anxious to get moving.
Livinia nodded. “Okay, at least I’ll know where you are if you fall into it.”
Lotesse raised an eyebrow. “Right, send help if I need it.” She laughed and the melodic sound trickled through the lands. It was both beautiful and horrible. She pushed her hands into the mane and kicked the horse. It took off galloping through the remainder of forest.
Lotesse soared through the trees while atop the brown stallion, the bun of hair unraveling behind her, a sheet of locks on the wind. She whistled as she pushed the horse to an unheard of speed and licked her lips. She crouched low as the ravine came into view. Every other horse had paused at the ledge, one almost tossed her in, but this stallion had power in its legs, determination in its heart and Lotesse knew it wanted this as much as she did.
She dug her fingers into the mane and held her breath as the horse leapt off the edge and soared into the air. Seconds ticked by as the ravine passed underneath her. It was deep, a thin line of creek racing over a bed of rocks. She smiled to herself as the stallion touched down on the other side, a patch of green grass stretching into endless plains.
Lotesse pulled the stallion to a halt and laughed out loud. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would explode. She shouted incomprehensible words and spread her hands to the sky as she fell back on the horse and toppled off it, landing on her head. She was too high with joy to notice the welt on forehead. She scrambled to her feet, still laughing and looking back at Livinia who was clapping on the other side of the ravine.
“I did it!” she exclaimed.
“Do it again!” Livinia called back to her as she backed away from the ledge and ran towards the trees.
Lotesse turned and pulled herself onto the horse. Its heart was still beating fast and she rubbed her hand along its neck, feeling the green energy rippled along its form.
Shh
, she thought as she backed into the plains and prepared to give herself enough room to get the speed she needed.
The second jump was easier than the first. The stallion leapt into the air and landed firmly on the other side. Lotesse yelped in success and hopped off its back. She ran to Livinia and crushed the woman to her in a hug. They toppled onto the ground and rolled until they were breathless and sprawled out along the grass.
“Twice,” Lotesse said, her eyes glimmering green.
Livinia squeezed her hand and sat up, pulling the princess to her feet. “Twice is good,” she said as she pulled her back through the forest, the stallion trailing behind them.
They reached the shed and Lotesse began undressing. “No,” she said as Livinia held the corset out to her. She tugged off the breeches and tunic and pulled the dress on. “Do I resemble a girl yet?” she asked, her eyes still green, her lips stretched wide.
Livinia moved towards her and placed her hands on Lotesse’s cheeks. “You always look like a girl, even in men’s clothing,” she laughed as she gathered up the clothes.
Lotesse went to follow her back to the castle when she felt something rumble underfoot. She frowned and gripped Livinia’s arm. “Do you feel that?”
Livinia shook her head, but concern crossed her face. Lotesse closed her eyes as the ground shook. She pulled Livinia towards the shed as she muttered something under her breath. Lotesse caught the stallion’s dark eye staring at her and swung onto its back. “Stay here!” Lotesse shouted as she kicked the stallion to life and raced towards the ravine.
Lotesse hunched her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. She let the green essence of her Flame spark off her in wisps. They snaked through the forests, gathering knowledge and bringing it back to her senses. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She broke through the tree line and yanked at the stallion’s mane. He neighed in protest and kicked the air, almost throwing Lotesse from his back. She fought to stay astride as its hooves hit the ground and her stomach leapt into her chest.
A massive army of black-skinned creatures raced towards the ravine. They were not the peasants. She froze as they spread out along the fracture, snarling and snapping at her with sharp teeth. She had never seen anything like them before. They wrestled each other along the ledge and one of them tripped and fell into the crack.
The stallion whinnied and snarled. He scratched his hooves along the ground as Lotesse panicked and pulled at him, trying to force him to turn back and go for help. There was a yelp behind her and as she turned she caught the sight of crimson against the beige dress. Livinia’s eyes widened as the hooded beings stalked away from the trees, throwing the servant’s body on the ground.
They surrounded the horse as it rose in the air and kicked at the seven of them. Lotesse felt her hands slipping. She tumbled off the horse and fell into the arms of one of them. Hooves pounded the ground as the stallion shot off.
Lotesse wrestled, trying to punch him, but he pinned her arms behind her back and stood up behind her, pressing her face into the grass.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed.
Lotesse felt her energy flare, green Flames soaking the air around her in thick sheets of heat, scalding her captor’s fingers. The hands released her as she pushed herself up and faced the rest of them. She only knew a few combat skills and was outnumbered. She either did something drastic or let them take her.
She was about to move into action when another appeared from behind the trees, his white lightning eyes flaring. A thin current snaked through the ground, creating a fracture as the ground sizzled into ash. Lotesse felt the energy cover her, throwing it into shock. She fell on her back, her body convulsing, her mouth foaming. She only noticed one thing before she passed out. The trees were rotting from the inside out, leaves crumbling to ash.
It was the smell that was the worst in the dank dungeon. The walls were covered with angry soot from the times of burning, and ashen bone spattered the walls. Lotesse laid there, her cheek pressed firmly against the waste pool of blood and slime collecting in the dungeon. The smell woke her from her comatose state. She looked around, and fear crept into her heart.
She sat abruptly, the mixture of slime and blood staining her mint green dress. She put a hand to her face, feeling something sticky against her cheek. She frantically wiped it off spreading the gunk onto her hand. She wiped the ooze down her dress, her thoughts a jumbled mess.
Manke n’amin?
She questioned, terrified. She went to lean on her wrist, but cried out. It was broken. Holding it with her right arm, she sat back into the ooze.
Ksher,
she thought as she pulled herself forward to stand up.
Her whole body ached, but she was desperate to escape and go home.
Amin irm eska....
She trailed off while thinking about her home in Nazole. She recalled the ravine and the black-skinned creatures and shuddered. She forced herself to her feet and glanced around, desperate to find a way out. There was nothing.
The catacombs outside the chamber were dead silent and she became very afraid. She looked down at her hands, and relaxing her pulsating heart she rubbed them together attempting to create a small bit of energy between them. She spread her hands to reveal a green flame between them. The sight of the Flame warmed her.
Amin ist-nuquen ksher.
She repeated the incantation in her head a few times while watching the Flame prepare its power.
Amin usin,
she pleaded with the Flame as it grew and became strong enough to heal her wrist. She heard a noise outside the dungeon stairwell, and as quickly as she had created the Flame, she rubbed her hands together and snuffed it out. She waited with bated breath as the faint sound of footsteps descended the stairwell. She instinctively backed away from the edge of the bars as they came closer.
The foe with the white lightning eyes encompassed the opening and with a torch in hand he lit the dungeon dwelling brightly. He walked over to her cell.
“Princess.”
“Amin na-il tarien,” she retorted at him resentfully. She wasn’t afraid of him. She knew who she was, how important she was to her people. They would send help.