Rituals Page 15

  Then, as Sahja’s fist was about to meet with the dark lord’s face once more, Dom’rel phased right through the bloodlion, freezing the bloodlion in place. Sahja’s eyes returned to normal and he fell to a knee in instantaneous exhaustion. There was a visible dark energy that seemed to follow the devil out of the bloodlion, but it soon receded back into Sahja. Fia ran to the bloodlion, throwing herself over him as if to put herself between the two. “Don’t worry, child,” Dom’rel smirked. “I wouldn’t dare harm a specimen as fine as this one. That would simply be a terrible waste.”

  The devil held up his left hand towards the broadsword he’d tossed aside, and the blade came to him. He held the hilt of the wicked blade towards the bloodlion. “This is far more suitable for your abilities, Sahja,” he said. Sahja slowly took the hilt of the broadsword in his hand. “Your resolve is certainly worth recognition,” Dom’rel remarked with a sly grin. “Yes, there must indeed be a fantastic and promising future for the two of you on the other side of this.”

  Vil’el whispered in the devil’s ear and licked his neck, being all but subtle in her desires. “Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Dom’rel remarked in departing, motioning a sort of ‘tip-of-the-hat’ to the mortals.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Codex W:L

  In time, Iris had become comfortable enough with the most basic of the wrath hymns to practice them in their entirety. She was just past the skylight outside of Veil’Umbra, now a favored spot of hers. Unsure of what the result of this test would look like, she only requested Sophia’s presence. Sophia acted as a coach familiar with a number of languages and dialects.

  “Breathe easily,” Sophia said quietly. “Feel the languages and tongues of humanity come from your soul to you.” Iris glanced down at the page, then shut her eye. She soon found her melody and quietly eased into the song.

  I have to admit, I’ve always had a soft spot for singers.

  She was clearly coming into her own as the hymn continued. It was a sad but victorious melody. As Iris’ voice grew bolder, the very winds changed direction in their vicinity. The paragon took a half step back as the wrathsinger’s gift presented itself in the form of Celestial Fire, joining the winds in the maelstrom, sparks of which rose from Iris like stars.

  Flickers of light rose from Iris’ hands and from the corners of her eye like tears as her emotions began to swell. Dashes of lightning soon danced around the priestess with each word of the various tongues, growing in volume as the song grew in intensity. Sophia’s armor joined the wrathsinger in radiance, even bearing adornments of the prismatic fire.

  As Iris hit a set of high notes, the winds and flames split into numerous individual twisters, with streaks of lightning feeding between them. Then, as the ancient song eased in its intensity, so did the anomaly that accompanied its words. One could see the glyphs that had been scorched into the ground--symbols of divine wards. Iris, clearly in a nervous awe, smiled as she watched a final spark leave her fingertips.

  As the two made their way back towards the Veil, they were met by crowds that had come to see the source of the anomaly. There was relief and reverence in each of their expressions. Even Hescan was unaware that the pair had reached such a point of maturity. “I’m not sure if they look more terrified or joyful,” Iris remarked quietly. “Take a bit of pride in either, priestess,” Sophia replied. “I know I was overwhelmed with both.” Iris blushed, truly valuing such a compliment from her paragon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A Cool Breeze

  As a whole, Mol’do was in turmoil. The majority of the continent, swallowed by a war of beasts and monsters, was held by either Anri-Vex or Dom’rel; but Dan-hali had been secured as a lighthouse akin to their comrades in Malene. While there was still substantial clean-up to be done, its consecration would provide nourishment and healing for the battered island and the souls that would reside there. Xavus was given the title “King of the Streets,” following the official wedding between himself and lady Elsa. Sheth’rel remained among the city in her “advisory” capacity and also as a safeguard.

  The skies over Dan-hali remained clear of the black veils that draped over the rest of Mol’do’s atmosphere, but a veil of mourning would gently rest itself upon the lighthouse for some time to come. Yes, the broken streets of Dan-hali would be a solemn place, but there was at least some sense of stillness as well as rest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Time Flies When You’re in the Dark

  Fia eventually gave birth to two sons and one daughter. The fallen angel’s blood allowed Fiaria’s body to adapt to a hastened process. Fia had received some amount of vitality that offset the circumstances of the births, but the pain would come all the same. Dom’rel himself delivered the children in that unholy place, smiling as if they were his own.

  Pagomyyl, Titania, and Khemyrus.

  I can honestly say, I’ve never seen him so disarmed before.

  While Fia was given some time to rest, the two were stocked with provisions and enough coins to last the rest of their lives. When the time came, Sahja sheathed the devil’s own broadsword on his back. Fiaria kept close to his side, still weary, but recovering well. Vil’el gave one last gift to the girl, a short-bow of unholy origin. No quiver was required. The fallen angel held Fia’s face like a lover, but she spoke no words before she left to return to the babes.

  With the slightest wave of his fingers, the dark lord conjured a portal before the mortals. “Mol’do is no longer a place for you,” he remarked. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer you more of a fresh start.” Fia held onto Sahja tightly, neither speaking a word. Just before they stepped through, Sahja glanced back at the devil. Then…

  In the blink of an eye, Sahja and Fia found themselves under a stormy night sky. The deluge of rain brought them both to their knees, refreshed beyond belief from the putrid environment in which they’d been captive. The stench of death and decay was replaced by the aroma of budding flowers and lush life.

  Fia held onto the bloodlion, her tears mixed with the water drops. Sahja kissed her hands, feeling like a dreadful weight had been lifted from both of them. They were in mountains they’d never seen before, overlooking a fierce battle taking place below them in the distance. Artillery and projectiles soared back and forth, accompanied by chains of lighting shooting across the plains. “Where are we?” Sahja uttered.

  Fia, in disbelief of what she was about to say, took some of the azure mud in her hand. “This is Zuhetta.”

  “They will be culled without restraint--torn up by their pustulent roots. The dark will not go hungry, feeding on an unsealable wound.” – MK:XI

  Rituals: Zuhetta

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sons of Thunder

  In an old trollish dialect, Zuhetta means “Lightning.” Among the lands that remain above sea level, Zuhetta retains the most inherent elemental energy. It was originally a massive resource cache for the first kingdom before the dispersion and is still rich in unique properties.

  The continent survived well enough, but the inevitable nature of its occupants has finally caught up with it in a much uglier way than ever before. Though there were only a few original tribes and bloodlines, time has produced numerous factions and relevant conflicts.

  The continent was plentiful in rivers, lakes, and mountains. Islands that encircled the central landmass were some of the most heavily contested areas in the past and current theatres. The center of the inland served as a meeting ground for the larger battles of formal armies.

  Among the original trollish tribes, only one was fighting for more than simple survival or conquest. The common tongue simply called them “thunder trolls,” a pious culture of shamans and mystics that still saw the powers of this world to be the true gifts that they were. It shouldn’t be any surprise that their command of elements was mostly unsurpassed, especially that of electricity.

  They we
re not the fewest in number, but they occupied a fraction of the land over which they once had dominion--a southwest corner of the inland with a chain of minor islands to the west and southern sea.

  Genri and Azal’el came through their portal among the smaller islands to the west of Zuhetta. Azal’el took the time to speak with the people, allowing Genri and himself to learn and hear from the people on the ground. The news they received over a few months was accurate and detailed, speaking to the brazen speed and prominence of the unfolding events.

  The troll and angel shared in a number of relevant and intelligent conversations to what they learned day-to-day. Genri often found himself studious of the angel’s insight. A curious pair of missionaries, indeed. They had performed exorcisms and had slain a handful of fiends across their island hopping.

  Their journey led them into a rather quaint village in the southwestern peninsula of Zuhetta. The somewhat tropical landscape, with clear skies and untainted air, was interrupted by steep peaks to the distant northern border. The two stepped off the small boat and onto a sturdy dock. The villagers and casual-looking guards watched them with odd expressions, even as they recognized Genri as one of their own.

  Genri leaned towards the angel and whispered, “I really hope you have some plan on where to begin, because I’m certainly a bit lost.” Azal’el grinned as he looked around. “I don’t know; I could honestly vacation here,” he joked. A couple of fishermen approached the two, cautiously greeting the strangers. They directed Azal’el and Genri to the local temple a few miles due northeast.

  “You haven’t been to this village before?” Azal’el inquired. Genri shrugged. “I can’t say that I recall it. Even if I had been, it may have been to a different place,” he replied in kind. “One of the bloodlines here was that of Christoph O’zuega,” Azal’el commented. “I wonder if any of the humans around here still carry that name?”

  “The summoner?” Genri asked. “I haven’t heard that name since stories were told to me in my childhood. Is there one here?” he asked. “Not here,’” the angel replied. “Malene?” Genri asked. Azal’el was amused by the troll’s questioning. “There’s a summoner on Harth,” he stated with a chuckle. “You should be satisfied with knowing that at least, yes?”

  For the angel to say it in such a way was to simply declare it as a sign of the times. The temple they came to was fitting to the seaside village. It was still lit even at this hour, as it should be. There was only one guard, a trollish warrior that looked to be on par with Genri in age. He was playing a card game with his sword and shield resting next to him.

  The guard glanced up at the two’s approach, raising an eyebrow but nothing more. “We were told your seer would be in.” Azal’el inquired. The guard nodded. “He be inside. Him always preferred da night shift.” Azal’el and Genri gave a gracious salute, then continued inside. The guard kept a curious eye on Genri, shrugging off some thought he had.

  The only acolyte there was a younger human lad who had dozed off upright in a pew. It wasn’t long after they entered the small structure that an elder thunder troll shuffled out from the rear of the building. He was robed in white and blue with an incense lantern dangling from his waist.

  The old troll noticed the two strangers; and, putting on his glasses, began his way over to inspect them. He sniffed Genri, then poked Azal’el a few times with his cane. “What could a mortal angel need with this old fart?” he asked, “and a thunder troll with a foreign scent?”

  “Quite frankly, we’re looking for the war,” Azal’el replied casually, “as well as a seat of power for this one,” he added nodding at Genri. “I see,” answered the seer. The wrinkly troll tossed a coin from his pocket at the snoozing acolyte, waking the lightly-snoring lad. “Do you know where the maps are?” he asked.

  The acolyte stuttered, giving a quick and confused glance at the two strangers before dashing towards a cluttered library space. The seer inspected the primeval battle robes Genri was wearing, clearly impressed. “You must have quite an interesting tale. Perhaps we’ll be able to have the discussion someday,” he remarked.

  Azal’el chuckled and said, “Interesting, he says.” The acolyte stumbled over with his arms full of rolled-up maps, placing them on a small table before the three others. “Did you put that coin in the collection box?” Azal’el subtly joked. The acolyte ran back to find the coin, falling over a pew in the process, but managing to fulfill the angel’s request.

  The acolyte returned, nervously standing next to the angel. Azal’el smiled, brandishing an empty leather sack. He waved his hand around it, filling it with gems and giving it to the boy. “This is to share,” he said happily. The boy closely held the gift, bowing graciously at the rather small but showy miracle.

  The seer found a suitable map and unrolled it, pointing to their current location. “This is our quaint little town, Zufa’zuf,” the seer began. The angel snickered. The seer sighed before continuing. “Tok-tal’a is the only state formally controlled by our clan. Our military staging area is to the north in Om’Borla,” he explained, running his finger to the center of the neighboring state.

  “Where are the necromancers?” Genri asked. The seer pointed to the northernmost state that stretched east and west. “One is in Og’Kuuma. The capital fortress is located on this island, Thenil,” he explained. Then pointing to a massive eastern state, he said, “The other is in Kussuum at the capital fortress, Oleris.” “I thought there were three?” Azal’el inquired. The seer pointed to a large southern coast state. “The necromancers in Dema were recently killed. Some of our human and troll kin have retaken the capital fortress of Kitz, but there’s no telling if they can hold it. Its location is troublesome at best for reinforcements,” he explained solemnly.

  Azal’el nodded. “We’ll grab a few helping hands in Om’Borla, then head to Kitz,” he declared. “A few helping hands?” Genri questioned. “I thought we needed an army?” “They need an army here, too,” Azal’el replied. “Ours will be in Dema.”

  “That’s a straight trip through De’gra,” the acolyte remarked timidly. “ The necromancer from Dema is dead, so De’gra is like a walking graveyard.” Azal’el smirked. “Outstanding.” The old seer chuckled, stating, “Getting an army of thunder trolls to follow a leader is one thing but to impress a handful of heroes among their ranks? I hope this traveler can deliver.”

  Azal’el put his arm around Genri’s shoulders. “This man has raised a warrior king,” he replied with a calm smile, “handpicked by Sheth-rel.” The seer bowed. “I suggest you begin your passage soon. I will make arrangements for a vessel to Om’Borla,” he said humbly. “I can tell you have the heart of a true son. People tend to forget how important that is.” Genri shook the seer’s hand, noticing a second of a sensation as the seer took his own sort of glimpse into Genri’s history.

  “Perhaps it was best that you left, Genri,” the seer remarked. “Remember that the past can always be forgiven but that it shouldn’t necessarily be forgotten.” Genri looked at the old seer somewhat curiously but, regardless, appreciated his words. As the angel and troll exited the temple, the guard outside called after Genri, “You.” The guard embraced Genri like a friend, handing him a redesigned emblem of their people. “Welcome home,” he said sincerely.

  Sahja and Fia had taken shelter in a cave amid the expanse of the nebula hills, lying with each other as they watched another rainfall outside. Their little camp had proven peaceful for a while, even as battles came and went in the great expanse to their north. “How did you know about the azure soil?” Sahja asked. “My dad told me bedtime stories about a rich, magical land,” Fiaria replied; “unicorns that ran like lightning, kicking up blue dirt as they did. History was always important to him, but those stories always sounded so flowery the way he told them,” she laughed.

  She straddled the bloodlion beneath the blankets. Both shared a lover’s smile and stare. Just as they began to
kiss, they were interrupted by a very tall and lanky figure that stumbled into the cave. The figure dropped a heavy sack of ore, letting off a heavy sigh as he leaned against the entrance. The figure popped the cork from a bottle of rum, not noticing the other occupants of the cave. Sahja cleared his throat, startling the being enough to make him leap to his feet. However, it was immediately clear that this person was not a threat.

  “Who? Who be der?” the being exclaimed. “I’m not a soldier. Take what ya need. Just leave me bottle.” The two humans sat up about as confused as their guest. “We’re not going to hurt you,” Fia remarked curiously. Sahja shared her lack of desire for combat but just the same had his hand on the hilt of the demonic sword.

  The lanky troll eased his way towards the couple. “Did you fight in Dema? Asheya?” he asked. “Do you know how dangerous it be out here, especially for children?” “Children?” Sahja repeated plainly. “She became a mother recently, yah?” the troll asked. Sahja was surprised at the question. “Relatively recently, yes,” he replied looking at Fia. “I appreciate your concern, but there aren’t any children here,” Fia said quietly. “I’m not exactly sure if I want to know how you knew that,” she added.

  The lanky troll recognized the good nature of the two humans, sitting some feet away as he continued to sip his rum, quite relieved to find friendlies in such a place. “What’re you doing out here?” Fia inquired, “if it’s so dangerous?” “Dis be Asheya,” the troll replied, “da azurite ore here be one of a kind. I volunteer for da gig cuz I have no family and da pay be good, even by wartime standards.”

  “You asked about Dema?” Sahja inquired. “Is that where you’re from?” The troll shook his head, but then shrugged, as if he rethought the situation. “I be a refugee. Dema be recently taken back by some of our folk. You not be from around here, eh?” he asked. Sahja and Fia looked at each other not sure how anyone would actually take their story.