The River Part 1 – Velania – 11/05/2022
Aug 10, 2022 12:19:50 GMT
stephena, Andy D, and 2 more like this
Post by Velania Kalugina on Aug 10, 2022 12:19:50 GMT
Continues after Thunder Road (Marto, Sorrel, Zola)
Part of the Heralds of Blades and Ash plotline
With eternal thanks to Lykksie for the incredible journey
[Content Note: graphic combat violence, grief, heartbreak, trauma, terror, PvP]
(Prologue)
Why does the mind prod at old wounds?
All these years later, I have grown in strength, in wisdom, and more than anything, in faith in myself. Yet in some ways I remain like that young woman. She who did not believe in herself. Who could not.
That time in the Dawnlands was an exquisite burst of intensity for me. Yet even that would become eclipsed by the rest of my life. The many, many world-shattering experiences since. Far greater, more wonderful and more devastating experiences.
So why do I return to the past?
The truth comes to me in a silent rush. I am turning it over because, even now, I am still healing.
I have faced failures and prevailed for many years since I was first in the Dawnlands. But I still ache from that early heartbreak, the sadness, the loss – not just mine, but that of my friends. I cannot hold my love back – and why would I? So when I picture their faces, I relive their pain, their anguish. I well up with sadness and I weep for everything they endured.
We fought the Heralds of Blade and Ash as it was foretold. We fought the evils of hell to rescue a holy man. We fought for the words of a prophecy we knew. We fought for the deeds of an angel we did not know.
More than anything, we fought ourselves.
And though we triumphed, it did not taste like victory. Not for a long, long time.
Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim
“You have two days,” Jackal ordered. “Rest. Get supplies. Say goodbye to whoever the fuck you need to. Then you’re going into hell and bringing back Rholor.”
Say goodbye to him? It was no longer even safe for me to visit Coll. In my chambers, I twisted to examine the tattoo on my back. Rahmiël. The leader of the Heralds. She had put a mark on us in our shared dream. Was it to track us? Monitor us? Control us? I shuddered to think what this mark would do. All I knew is that I had to keep away from Coll. His location was top secret, and the tattoo could compromise everything. I could not risk him. I would not.
Those two days were the longest I can recall.
I became numb. Went through the motions. Every sense was muffled, like I was underwater. The sunlight barely reached Daring Heights. I was cold. Dull. Slow-moving. My stomach was knotted with dread. My limbs ached with tiredness.
I dragged myself through my duties, helping those hurt in the temple riot. Thank the Lady there were no serious physical injuries. But the wounds ran deeper than that. Family members had turned on one another in paranoid, violent frenzy. How must it have felt to be attacked by your own child in a blind rage? Your grandparent? Their terror was unimaginable. And the guilt… the guilt would hang over them all for a long time.
People opened up to me. They wept. They pounded their fists, striking their own breast, begging for forgiveness. I listened like a statue, unable to draw any softness or kindness to the surface. My prayers were empty words. I went back to my chambers and sagged to the floor, aware of nothing but my breath for hours upon hours.
I kept myself small. I had to. Every confession I heard – every name I was told – made me think of my empty promise to Faust, of my false words to Aurelia. And… oh gods, my lie that I would protect Coll. I should have been by his side. I should have been helping him. Instead, I remained alone, and very, very small.
I wanted to stay that way forever.
The gates of Hell were opening. A million voices screaming.
I could not see him to say goodbye.
The day came.
Phlegethos was calling.
Melissa approached me in the temple. Her face pale.
Standing in front of me, she seemed somehow small, frail. I’d always seen her as the easygoing counterpart to Rholor’s sobriety, but her eyes were red-rimmed, her face heavy with grief.
“It’s time. You are to go to Aurelia’s house.”
“It… it’s time?” I said lamely. “Me?” Ice spread through my chest.
She nodded. “… I’m not going,” she said. “It would be foolish to insist on going simply out of a sense of pride. I think it’s best I stay here…”
“I think, maybe… you’re wise,” I replied gently. “Melissa…” I set my hands on hers. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s what they do. Remember that… It. Wasn’t. You.”
She nodded, but it collapsed into a pained expression. “He’s a good man, Velania. Please. Get him back.” Her powerful hands enveloped mine. She was trembling. “I know he’s… not everyone likes him. But he’s a good man. He’s a good man.”
A lump formed in my throat. “He’s only guilty of one thing, and that’s taking himself a little too seriously, that’s all. And Lady knows, there’s a lot of that around here.” We both laughed in a sob. “And you’re right. He’s a good man.” I blinked hard. My eyes got blurry. “I miss him.”
“I miss him too.”
“And I’ll bring him back. I’ll do my best.”
“Get him back,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Then she mouthed it again, with no more power in her voice. Get him back. Get him back.
And mercifully, something released. I was no longer underwater. I was no longer numb.
I could feel again… but the feeling was fear.
We convened at Aurelia Archselon’s home. Everyone was muted. Nobody looked well rested. The air was thick and heavy with tension, a storm refusing to burst.
Marto and Zola stood close together, their eyes raw and their faces numb. Marto had seemed the more conflicted two days ago. Now the shadow lay across Zola too. The more I looked, the more I saw an irreparable wedge driven between them – whether they knew it themselves or not. My heart plummeted – what had Zola done? What had she done? I felt a pang of dread: self-destruction was poised to claim them both, in one form or another.
I met Silvia for the first time. There was a quiet determination within her. Her flowing red hair more beautiful than even Rahmiël’s. She handed us all bowls of stew. I let the warmth flood into my hands and ate without small-talk. I studied Sorrel’s expression as she took her bowl from Silvia. I saw the love in their body language, but the fondness in Sorrel’s eyes was marked with fear. Their silence meant: words had been spoken. And Sorrel had not got her way.
I wished I could approach our fate like Kavel. Big-hearted, nonchalant, unbroken. I felt glad to see his kind face. He had already slain the Herald Adhyël once. He looked relaxed but his jaw was set. Ready for another round. His smile made a part of me feel safe.
Sorrel cleared her throat and said, “I’m not good at speeches…”
It wasn’t true, and we all stood there as Sorrel brought us to the verge of tears. My sister presented each of us with a potion in turn. She thanked us all fiercely.
Her passion drew me back to Jackal’s words the first time I’d met him: “She will need you before this is all over.” Right after he had punched his flaming sword into me. His eyes had glazed over, gleaming like those of a seer – no, more than a seer. There was a disturbing power in his voice. It cut a path through fate itself.
I had been close to blacking out. And every time I thought about those words, I shuddered and felt the pain all over again.
It hurt too much. But he had called. She needed me. Heaven knows, I did not want to be here. But I would not have chosen to be anywhere else.
At Sorrel’s side to the end.
The moment Jackal arrived, Aurelia Archselon’s doors opened. We were summoned inside. We filed silently through to her living room – a refined, austere place of calm, with ornate white ironwork and carvings set against a sky-blue backdrop.
She gestured for as many of us to sit as could. I noticed Kháos had slipped in behind us at some point. Their uncanny talent for slinking about still unnerved me. I had no desire for them to sift through my mind again. I tried to keep my thoughts small.
An unseen servant brought us tea. I had no appetite, but I accepted a cup, more to have something to do with my hands.
Today, despite the unbearable tension in the room, Aurelia’s expression was calm, her voice steady. “You all know why you’re here. I’m grateful.” She was tall and strikingly beautiful, very regal with high cheekbones. As a fellow Aasimar, I’d always sensed the energy of her celestial heritage. I felt a comfort in it. A sense of connection. Somehow my gaze was drawn from her to Jackal. He felt me looking and frowned at me to pay attention. I hurriedly looked away. I studied my tea.
She acknowledged each of us with her watchful gaze. “You’re going to need every bit of strength you have. Rholor is not only a valued member of the council but also a close friend. I’d like to thank you.”
Aurelia sat on the council of Daring Heights… alongside Rholor and alongside Coll. They were both close friends of hers, and I could see the weight of grief and worry in her face. She bore it resolutely. In comparison, I must have seemed like a silly child to her. But she had shown me such compassion in recent weeks. Accommodating my pleas to see Coll. She must have felt hurt and anger at my carelessness, but she had never shown it to me. She was good, she was wise, but above all, she was kind.
I would not let her down.
Aurelia continued. “As you know, there was a strange happening a few days ago outside the Temple of Selûne. We think it may have something to do with this…”
She opened a chest on the table and produced a strange device, a contraption of wires and gems, crystals and baubles. The device was well and truly broken – smashed beyond repair.
“When activated, this device made people enter a dream-like state. They knew they were awake, but acted as if they were dreaming. They believed people around them were their enemies. Be warned: should the Heralds find a way to enter your heads, then the same thing may happen to you, but a solid blow should bring you back to your senses.”
I felt a pang of fear. I had seen the effects of the riot on people afterward. If I were to ever hurt one of my friends…
“We’re sending you to Phlegethos, the fourth layer of hell. Make no mistake: it is a horrible place. We hope you won’t have to stay there very long…”
Aurelia’s voice faltered. She hesitated. I saw the dread in her eyes.
Jackal sensed it too and his blunt voice filled the silence. “I can get you in. But I can’t go in with you. So your only way out is Rholor. We think he’s still alive. If not, or if you can’t get to him, then you’re fucked,” he said. His inimitable directness. “So: get to Rholor. Get him lucid. He gets me in. I get you home.”
I frowned. There was more to this, but Jackal was holding back. Something he wasn’t telling us about this plan. Something of great importance. A thread of my memory trailed back into the past… to knowledge I couldn’t place. Perhaps a whisper my guardian angel had once told me? But the details evaded me. Jackal’s face was a blank slate. I glanced from him to Kháos to Aurelia, but they were all unreadable.
“You know the most recent prophecy, which mentions the banks of the Azellah, a giant, fiery river in Phlegethos. I’m going to drop you as close to the mouth as possible. When you arrive, get to high ground. Look for the giant, fiery river. Follow it from the mouth, and you’ll get to them.” Jackal looked each of us in the eye with a piercing certainty. “Any questions?”
The room was silent.
Uncomfortably silent.
“I have a question,” Kavel said thoughtfully.
Several heads turned his way.
“Is it true that if you kill a fiend in hell, they stay dead? And there’s no coming back from that –they are permanently dead?”
Jackal grinned savagely. “That’s right,” he barked. His eyes glinted at Kavel.
Kavel nodded. I watched the tide of emotions buffeting Zola and Marto. They fought to keep their faces straight.
Jackal set his cup down with vigour. “Are you packed? Let’s go.”
Without waiting for a response, he was striding to the door.
The citizens of Daring Heights are used to seeing mercenaries, heroes and adventurers in their midst. Strange and powerful people pass through this city every day. Some townsfolk ignored us and carried about their business. But a portentous procession we were, marching out of Aurelia’s house into the busy Portal Plaza. Several people glanced our way as we climbed the steps to the central flagstones of the square.
Marto, the Halfling knight, wreathed in smoking armour, armed with his beloved enchanted axe. Zola, the Drow sword-dancer with the crystal crown, wielding but one of The Twins. Both of them downcast and entangled in their own thoughts. Kavel, the calm and fearless, the newly tattooed Goliath, flexing his massive fists casually as we walked. Sorrel, the stealth archer, her face covered, her mercenary’s eyes darting across the street warily as we approached the portal. Silvia, the powerful shadow warrior, quiet and thoughtful, defiant at the suggestion Sorrel would leave her behind. Khàos, the silent shapeshifter, the mind-gazer, guiding our path at Jackal’s behest. I had not seen Kháos walking with us, but as soon as I thought of them, they seemed to be beside us too.
I followed my companions out, ready to bear witness to their task, and do my best to look out for them. Unlike them, I was no warrior. A servant of the Moonmaiden, leaving the safety of the temple. Woefully out of my depth. I felt it in the pit of my stomach.
Coll, I whispered to myself. I wish I were with you right now…
My eyes blurred with tears and I breathed raggedly. I wrapped my fingers around the amulet Khàos had given me, gripping it tight, and blinked up at the skies. Selûne, you have sent me here to do this task for Jackal, to aid my sister Sorrel, to find Rholor, and so be it. I accept. I accept without question. And I always will. And I never ask for anything myself. But please… just this one thing: let me return to him. I never… I clenched the amulet tighter, so tight that my knuckles shook … I never even said goodbye…
Please, let me see Coll again.
I stepped onto the portal platform, my nerves jangling with tension and fear, and took my place with the others.
Here we all stood: on the knife edge of fate. Each of us holy and broken through our own acts of love. The Heralds of Blade and Ash awaited us. They knew we were on our way.
The time of blades and ash is come.
Aurelia started a Plane Shift incantation, and the portal glyphs thrummed in response.
Zola whispered an Elvish prayer. Marto clutched her hand. Silvia seized Sorrel’s. Kavel clenched his fists. Kháos nodded once to Jackal.
“Right. On three.” Jackal raised his sword to trigger the teleportation circle.
“One…”
I turned to Jackal, feeling morbid and sarcastic. “Great talking as ever, Ja–”
The sword slammed down. The glyphs surged.
The rest of my breath was sucked from my body.
There was no up. No down. No light. No sound.
Just a tsunami of nothing.
The walls of my room are closing in
A surge of heat slammed into me. I reeled back, but it blasted me from every direction. There was no escape.
The air stank of burnt iron. Choking, cloying dust in the air. I felt dizzy and sick. I shook my head and took shallow breaths. I broke out in an uncomfortable sweat. The heat was relentless. I heard the others recovering from the shock.
We stood in a desolate valley. Wreathed in billowing sulphuric smog. No plants, no animals. Gloomy mountain ranges towered in every direction. Some were active volcanoes, belching out magma, crumbling ash and cinder. The sky was a dusty deep crimson, with no clear light source. Everywhere was dark and heavy, with a sinister orange-red glow.
So this was Phlegethos. The evil of this place bore through me.
There was no sign of the Azellah.
Marto and Zola agreed on a nearby vantage point, less than half an hour away. They led our uphill hike. The ground was a burned scab of volcanic rock. It felt ironlike, brittle, heavy. Echoes of our footsteps skittered up the sides of the valley and rang in the air. We were loud – too loud. If anything else dwelled here, it would surely find us.
The hill had seemed close. But Phlegethos took its toll on me. Whether it was the heat, the ferrous dust, or the sheer evil of the place, the energy was leeched from my body. It was a hard battle of trudging uphill for a couple of hours. Far longer than we had expected.
Zola rode her antlered hart, the beautiful, silver-white Cor’Vandor. I stayed close by and felt some relief from her presence. Eventually we reached the summit, dehydrated, breathing hard, limbs heavy as lead.
We slumped to the ground and pulled out canteens and drank heavily. Silvia looked as sick and drained as me; the others seemed to have resisted the worst of it.
Sorrel peered through the roiling dust clouds at the horizon. Some hours ahead, a strip of burning orange slithered across the bleak landscape. The Azellah river. It flowed fast and spewed out into a large molten sea of flame. Miles inland, beside the river, a pale silver glow rose from a dip in the hills.
Kavel pointed at the glow. “Do you think that’s where they are?”
“Jackal said to head for the mouth of the river, then follow it inland,” I replied wearily. “It’s a good landmark. What if we lose our bearings in these hills? Shouldn’t we follow his directions?”
“The glowing dip looks more likely, though, doesn’t it?”
I shrugged. He had a point. The scenic route would take many extra hours, and I was already exhausted after just two. And there was something about that glow.
“Why don’t we head to the dip, and send a familiar to the mouth?” he said.
“A familiar would be too far away for that to be useful.” Silvia sounded as tired as me.
“Let’s find out!” Kavel declared. “Comrades, who here has their familiar?”
We looked at him in stunned silence.
Kavel frowned at the two of us. “You magic users all have familiars, right? Everyone has a familiar.”
“… I don’t,” Silvia replied.
“… me neither,” I added, feeling like I’d just failed a test.
“An adventuring team… in unhospitable terrain… without a familiar.” Kavel looked crestfallen. “… Huh.”
Marto stood up and gathered his gear. “The mouth of the river will take too long. He gestured at me and Silvia with a concerned frown. “We’re already struggling as it is. I say we head to the dip.”
“He’s right,” Khàos said pointedly, looking at me. “The river mouth was only to get our bearings. You will not make it that far.”
Marto and Khàos were correct. Jackal’s instructions had been clear, but I was already slowing us down. We had to improvise. We would cut across the hills towards the dip.
I stood reluctantly and pulled my backpack on. As we left, I glanced back behind us. The shadow of a fortress loomed in the distance. A terrifying black mass of crenellations, turrets and spikes. I shuddered. Whatever dark place that is, thank the Maiden we’re walking away from it.
We descended into the next valley and trudged on.
Uphill. Downhill. Smoke. Ash. Neverending heat.
It got worse over the hours. My limbs ached. I could barely breathe. My lungs were lined with metallic-tasting dust. I felt sick and dizzy from the foul air. Silvia and I started lagging behind. Marto too. I felt wretched. I was too tired to be irritable.
Our progress ground to a halt. We had to rest again. We stopped in the middle of an open valley – in clear view. I sipped water and ate as well as my nausea could bear.
“Hm,” someone grunted. I looked up.
Sorrel was gesturing to the sky. A large shadow crept and swirled through the sky ahead of us. A black murmuration of birds. “First sign of life in this place.”
We watched the flock swoop and soar on a thermal. Twisting and turning as they flew overhead. Their shadow grew.
“They’re coming this way. They’ve seen us,” muttered Zola.
“That can’t be good.” Sorrel glanced around, taking stock of our position.
There was no cover. We were hopelessly exposed.
The birds were approaching. They swarmed through the air with unnatural speed. They clustered above us. I could hear the flock now. Raven-like in appearance, but a sinister, voiceless mass of fluttering wings. The air grew dark.
The skin on my back prickled. I arched with shock. Rahmiël’s tattoo! My heart began thundering. This cursed flock was the Heralds’ doing. Rahmiël’s mocking laughter echoed in my head.
I started chanting in Celestial. A strong protective incantation. Selûne, protect us. Rahmiël, you shall have no power here.
My friends drew weapons. Kavel brandished axes. Zola her blades. Silvia, a five-pronged spear of green flame. Sorrel nocked an arrow and took aim. Marto skidded to my side and yanked me down under the cover of his shield.
“They’re diving!”
“Brace yourselves!”
We stood our ground. Dread crept over me. I kept chanting. My voice grew louder.
Rahmiël’s words twisted through my mind. The threat she had spat at us in the dream: I will BATHE the Dawnlands in BLOOD and FIRE! Her voice rose in a crescendo in my brain and became a scream of white-hot hatred.
My ears rang. My skin turned to ice. I fought desperately to shut her out. My prayer rose to a defiant Celestial shout. We shall not be overcome. Not here, not anywhere. Selûne is with us. SELÛNE IS WITH US!
As one, the birds plummeted.
The sky turned black.
There’s a war outside still raging
Marto kept me safe, imbuing his shield with an incantation, protecting the two of us. Sorrel whispered fey magic into her arrow and loosed it. It exploded into a cloud of thorns among the flock. Kavel scythed through countless birds. Zola spun her blades through the shadows. Silvia span and jabbed and whirled.
They struck a hundred birds, but a hundred more crashed into us. Each creature they hit exploded into a trail of smoke. A hail of darkness bombarded us. The air grew thick with tendrils of noxious dust.
The barrage ended. The ink-black clouds spilled over us. We fell to our knees, gasping for breath. At the same time, the tattoo on my back flared into stabbing pain. It felt like a red-hot whip-chain was gouging my skin, ripping itself though my flesh. I spasmed and gasped. Shot through with agony. Searing heat.
I heard the others crying out with pain.
Wake up! rang in my head. The voice was compelling. Do not trust the others! They seek to betray you.
It was a false voice. A charm. I shook my head, battling the magic. No, Rahmiël, yours is the dream. Selûne is with us. She spurns you, I choked weakly. Then with firmness and fury: and we are coming for you.
I cast her out of me. The mark on my back ached painfully. Rahmiël’s mocking laughter faded. I felt my divine connection reaching for the others. I prayed they might resist the charm magic too.
Dizzy, I pushed myself up from my hands and knees and shook my head. I was nauseated from the thick poisonous dust. My lungs were dry and raw.
We choked and gagged for cleaner air.
A hot valley breeze blew through and eventually, the poison clouds drifted away.
Coughing and trembling, I crawled from underneath Marto’s shield to my feet. I felt the soft glow of Autumn’s Warmth, my fey necklace, purging my body of poison. That precious gift from the Fey Court had helped me more times than I could count.
I glanced at my friends. Zola was shaking her head, wincing like she had narrowly won the same mental battle as me. Kavel, Silvia and Khàos seemed unaffected. Thank goodness.
Silvia spoke a single word: “Sorrel?”
I glanced at Sorrel. She stood glaring at the rest of us with distrust. Her eyes were black as pitch. Rahmiël had got inside her head.
Before I could act, Marto stepped in front of me, blocking my way. His eyes were also black. Darkness bled from his eyes into the air. His face alight with anger and suspicion.
I jolted with horror. He had been protecting me; now his expression was murderous. By instinct, I placed my hand on his arm. Marto? Come back to us. I whispered an incantation to bring him to his senses. It didn’t work. He shrugged me off angrily and squared off in front of me.
Kavel and Silvia lunged to subdue Sorrel before she could do anything terrible. She was fast… but there were two of them. They scrabbled in a deadly fight to restrain her.
At the same time, Zola strode to Marto and swung a backhand to wake him up… but Marto held his shield incantation aloft and deflected it.
He whirled back to me, outraged I had cast magic on him. He raised his axe, wreathed in light. He snarled with pure hatred, blackness seeping from his eyes.
Icy terror clutched at my heart.
He swung at me hard.
I didn’t feel the pain at first. Only the grating of metal on bone and the numbing impact as I was driven to my hands and knees in the gravel. Then pain split my side open, and my mouth flooded with the coppery taste of blood. I gasped. I was wreathed in crackling energy. If I moved, it would explode around me. I held myself still, trembling with pain. The air around me smelled of ozone.
Dazed, I watched as Marto raised his axe to strike me dead.
He was going to kill me.
“Marto!” Zola leapt on him, swords spinning. Marto whirled to face her, deflecting her blows and readying to strike her down too. He glared at her with bitter hurt and hatred.
Bile entered my throat. Sorrel was bucking away from Kavel’s grip, kicking and lashing out, determined to gut Silvia. Zola and Marto were at each other’s throats. My head was swimming.
Everything was falling apart.
Zola feinted and swung Castor, and the flat-side of the holy blade belted Marto’s temple with a resounding clunk. “Snap out of it!” she yelled.
Marto staggered, clutching his head. He glared at Zola and me with vengeance and seeping black anger. Then he spasmed, writhing with a familiar agony centred on his back, finally repelling the charm.
Sorrel writhed in Kavel’s powerful wrestling hold. She fell limp, stunned by the aftershock of the charm leaving her. Somehow, Silvia had brought her back. Kavel released her, and Sorrel collapsed into Silvia’s embrace. They locked in a loving kiss, tearful and tender.
I heard Marto gasping heavily nearby. “Velania, I’m so sorry…” he rasped, blinking tears away.
I flinched at his voice. I looked up at him wordlessly. He was staring at the ground, unable to look me in the eye. He turned away.
“Marto…” Zola began, stepping towards the knight.
“Don’t!” Marto roared, recoiling from her outstretched hand. “Don’t come near me! I could have killed you! I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here.” His voice was thick with pain and self-loathing. He turned to stride away from us.
Wait, came Kháos’s voice in our heads. The force of it made Marto pause, still cautious. You are exactly where you are meant to be.
They approached the halfling. Marto, you are yourself again. I wish to open your armour to check the mark on your back.
Still bristling with anger, Marto regarded the shapechanger warily, but consented.
Kháos peeled his armour plates aside, pulled his shirt up, and looked at his back. The mark is gone.
We blinked in surprise.
They proceeded to inspect Sorrel’s back and then came to me and I rolled up the back of my mail hauberk. Then they checked Zola.
You are all clear of the brand. It is gone.
“That’s good. That’s good,” Zola said. But the rawness in her voice said she was lying. She frowned at the ground and kicked the gravel. Losing the tattoo had severed something for her. The reality of what she was about to be put through was hitting her. The nearer we got to Ophanim, the greater the distance between them. Her face was a maelstrom of loss and despair.
Kháos studied her thoughtfully. I understand how it feels to want something, yet be reluctant when it happens. You are you.
Kháos turned their thoughts to the rest of us. You have overcome it. You are the right team.
There were confusing layers to that observation. It sounded like a conversation we had not been party to. Again I tried to recall what it was Jackal had made me think of. But he was shrouded in mystery. A mystery I could not unveil.
We sank to the ground in nervous exhaustion.
Zola nestled into Cor’Vandor. The hart’s shimmering silver-white coat seemed muted in this hellish place. Zola played her lute and sang. The song was beautiful, ethereal, but her voice was edged with melancholy. Unbearable loss. She glanced at Marto pointedly as she played. He faced away from her.
Sorrel sat close to Silvia, as quiet as the whisper of death. Her expression was pure devastation. She had just attacked her love and fought her family. Sorrel kept the awful secrets of her past close to her chest, but even so, I could see a lifetime of pain rocketing through her eyes. Silvia sat quietly with her, wearily holding her tight. Even Kavel looked sombre.
I wanted to hold them too. But I sat on my own, dressing and healing my wound. I wished I could tell them everything would be alright. But I could not make that promise. I dared not.
The adrenaline leeched from my body. I felt weak and drained. Visions of almost dying hit me in relentless surges. The heat exhaustion returned with a vengeance. I was dripping with sweat, but my face was cold and numb with shock.
I had saved one potion for facing the Heralds. It brought fresh energy into my blood, and helped with treating my injury. My tiredness slipped off like an old skin. Underneath, I was raw and shaken, but at least I was not sick with exhaustion any more. I studied my friends, guilty that I could not provide the same aid for them, in particular for Silvia or for…
Marto had moved further away from the group. He sat with his back to us. Staring at the ground, wrestling to keep his emotions in check. A surge of sadness hit me, and my eyes filled with hot tears.
I was still afraid. My urge to hug him was strong – my urge to shy away from him was stronger. But I swallowed back my fear. He needed forgiveness right now. Forgiveness and acceptance. Not only for hurting me, but for fighting his beloved Zola with fury and desperation, like he’d wanted to kill her.
He was broken-hearted. His faith was shaken. He was wounded. He needed us. He needed someone.
It wasn’t your fault, Marto, I longed to say to him. It wasn’t you. It’s them. It's all them. It’s this godforsaken place. But I had no power to find his heart with my words. And he was so far from me. From us all. I could not reach him. My chest ached with grief.
I picked up a stone and weighed it in one hand. A coarse lump of volcanic basalt. I imbued it with light – the undulating pale silver and moonlight blue of Selûne. I pushed away my hurt and anger. I wiped my tears away. I filled the stone with love.
We need you back, Marto, I whispered to myself. We need you.
I cast it towards him. It rang as it hit the ground and skittered over the volcanic rock, stopping in front of him.
He picked it up in surprise, and recognized my signature light cantrip. He turned to meet my look. We shared a tearful glance. Moonlight cast a glow over his sad face and glimmered in his eyes.
He inclined his head in acceptance, then turned away, unable to hold my gaze any longer. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks.
You say it ain’t ours anymore to win
We set off again. The heat raged on. I had cured my injuries and staved off exhaustion, but my throat hurt. It was painful to breathe. The air still stank of burnt iron. A dehydration headache slammed upon my temples. I was almost blinded by my own sweat. The evil of Phlegethos filled our lungs with dust and our limbs with lead.
Impatient for knowledge, Kháos scouted ahead. The silver glow on the horizon drew closer. An hour more of hell. Climbing. Stumbling. It lasted an eternity. We kept a slow and sullen pace.
As we trudged on, a chime of hope rang in my head. Free. I was FREE. Rahmiël’s tattoo was gone.
When I had found it there after the dream, I had wept my heart out all day. It had been keeping me from visiting Coll. I could never have forgiven myself if I’d been to see him and given his location to the Heralds. But if we return… My pulse quickened. If we return…
I dared to hope. One way or another, I would leave this foul place and I would see him again. I would no longer be kept from Coll.
I wasn’t a survivor like Sorrel. I wasn’t powerful like Silvia. I didn’t have Marto’s toughness, or Zola’s grace, or Kavel’s strength, or Khàos’s stealth.
But I had what I needed.
A word I was keeping safe.
I would return home.
I would see him again.
I dared to hope.
At long last. The end to our journey came. As we trudged up a steep incline, Kháos’s voice spoke into our minds. They are here. They are waiting for you. They have him. Come now.
The silence deepened between us. My stomach knotted tighter.
We topped the hill. The dip was a minute ahead. Its insistent silver glow defied the deep red inferno of darkness swirling in the sky.
Kháos appeared beside us. I would say it was unexpected. I no longer had the energy to expect anything of anyone. If you have any preparations you wish to make, now is the time.
We stopped to do so. Potions, prayers, incantations. I had never felt less ready. I wished for another of Sorrel’s speeches, but we were muted and on edge.
My hands twitched with numbness. Blood pounded in my ears. My body felt cold.
As one, we turned and walked over the peak of the hill.
The first thing we saw was the bright orange glow of the Azellah, snaking across the valley.
Beyond it stood a raised obsidian altar lit by braziers. High Diviner Rholor Vuzhek lay on the altar, shrouded in white and glowing with a comforting silver moonlight. On a nearby platform sat a bright white orb, tethered to him by a fine, silver-white thread. His power and his connection to Selûne had illuminated the valley and led us here. Yet he was unmoving. Suspended between life and death.
An’Ahkrim stood over him. The immense, incredibly muscular fiend, bare-chested with a powerful, sexual presence. His eyes found me. He stared at me intently. Eerie fascination and something like… need? Like I was a curiosity to desire, or… I had come to help?
No, that made no sense. What did that even mean? I could not read the full book of emotions in his face. Uncertainty? Doubt? Guilt? Or was I merely naming my own fears?
I remembered threads of our conversation in the shared dream. His strange, disturbing confessions. Acts of murder. Torture. Evils I dared not name. Within that whirl of memories and voices, I sensed some ancient tale on the edges of my mind. It made no sense. I shuddered and broke away from his gaze. I felt his eyes glint at me.
Nearby, Rahmiël and Ophanim sat in a stone pavilion. The red-haired Tiefling who had set that tattoo upon us, with the Drow swordsman. They drank from goblets, seated in a dark caricature of a fey-designed gazebo.
Rahmiël looked up at us casually, disdainfully. Disappointed with the wait. Disappointed with our arrival.
I felt Zola’s sharp intake of breath as she saw Ophanim.
In front of the pavilion, the fiend Adhyël stepped forward expectantly. Bare-chested, athletic, his armour an asymmetrical spray of chitinous spurs. His glowing red eyes met Marto’s. The two of them locked gazes.
Marto summoned his radiant axe into his hand. Adhyël tilted his head in an arrogant sneer. In mockery of Marto’s grim determination.
A chill spread through me. The last time I had seen Adhyël, he and Marto had been naked in the throes of passion. Now, murder was writ across their faces. Would Marto be thinking clearly? Would he make a rash decision in the heat of the moment?
My fear wasn’t about him attacking me again. I feared his guilt driving him to an act of desperation.
Self-destruction.
Burbling laughter rang ominously from our flank. In the gloom of that cursed valley, the terrifying shadow of Zah’Ranin loomed, atop a ridge, overlooking us. Silhouetted against the crimson, volcanic sky.
Their wordless chittering echoed across the valley as they slowly unfolded their dark, leathery wings. They spread their arms impossibly wide, and flexed their vicious claws.
By instinct, I stepped back. Horror seized me by the back of the neck and jarred my spine.
The demon glared at us maliciously. They opened their mouth and the smile split grotesquely across their face, revealing rows of fangs and a flickering, reptilian tongue.
Languidly, Ophanim stood and walked to the edge of the pavilion. He brushed his flowing white hair aside and drew a shining sword. The blade that matched Zola’s.
The Twins will cross
The sisters will dance once more
On the banks of the Azellah
“It’s going to be beautiful,” he spoke out to her. Amused. Playful.
Sitting astride Cor’Vandor, Zola breathed raggedly. She drew Castor, pointed the blade at him, then pressed the hilt to her heart. “This is what you want. Then who am I to deny it to you?” she said loudly, defiantly. Tearfully.
Delighted, Ophanim’s eyes flashed at her. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Zola and her hart braced to charge. Towards Ophanim and towards reckless destruction.
Marto glowered at Adhyël, set on his own path of annihilation.
Kavel flexed his huge, tattooed arms and nodded resolutely to Sorrel.
Silvia summoned her flaming trident, took a stance, and readied for attack.
Kháos clenched their jaw and prepared to sprint, unreadable, all-seeing.
I glanced at Sorrel: her gaze was fixed on Rholor. Her eyes flashed with the focus of a hunter. Supreme, beautiful, deadly. Aware of the rest of the players on the battlefield. Yet undeterred. She had her quarry. This was her task. She knew her job. She was ready. Seeing her determination gave me strength.
I exhaled nervously. Trembling. Jackal’s words echoed from my heart. The prophecy that still haunted me. She will need you before this is all over.
Whatever she needed. I would be there.
At Sorrel’s side to the end.
Section titles are lyrics from “No Surrender” (Bruce Springsteen)
Continues in The River Part 2 (work in progress)
Part of the Heralds of Blades and Ash plotline
With eternal thanks to Lykksie for the incredible journey
[Content Note: graphic combat violence, grief, heartbreak, trauma, terror, PvP]
(Prologue)
Why does the mind prod at old wounds?
All these years later, I have grown in strength, in wisdom, and more than anything, in faith in myself. Yet in some ways I remain like that young woman. She who did not believe in herself. Who could not.
That time in the Dawnlands was an exquisite burst of intensity for me. Yet even that would become eclipsed by the rest of my life. The many, many world-shattering experiences since. Far greater, more wonderful and more devastating experiences.
So why do I return to the past?
The truth comes to me in a silent rush. I am turning it over because, even now, I am still healing.
I have faced failures and prevailed for many years since I was first in the Dawnlands. But I still ache from that early heartbreak, the sadness, the loss – not just mine, but that of my friends. I cannot hold my love back – and why would I? So when I picture their faces, I relive their pain, their anguish. I well up with sadness and I weep for everything they endured.
We fought the Heralds of Blade and Ash as it was foretold. We fought the evils of hell to rescue a holy man. We fought for the words of a prophecy we knew. We fought for the deeds of an angel we did not know.
More than anything, we fought ourselves.
And though we triumphed, it did not taste like victory. Not for a long, long time.
Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim
“You have two days,” Jackal ordered. “Rest. Get supplies. Say goodbye to whoever the fuck you need to. Then you’re going into hell and bringing back Rholor.”
Say goodbye to him? It was no longer even safe for me to visit Coll. In my chambers, I twisted to examine the tattoo on my back. Rahmiël. The leader of the Heralds. She had put a mark on us in our shared dream. Was it to track us? Monitor us? Control us? I shuddered to think what this mark would do. All I knew is that I had to keep away from Coll. His location was top secret, and the tattoo could compromise everything. I could not risk him. I would not.
Those two days were the longest I can recall.
I became numb. Went through the motions. Every sense was muffled, like I was underwater. The sunlight barely reached Daring Heights. I was cold. Dull. Slow-moving. My stomach was knotted with dread. My limbs ached with tiredness.
I dragged myself through my duties, helping those hurt in the temple riot. Thank the Lady there were no serious physical injuries. But the wounds ran deeper than that. Family members had turned on one another in paranoid, violent frenzy. How must it have felt to be attacked by your own child in a blind rage? Your grandparent? Their terror was unimaginable. And the guilt… the guilt would hang over them all for a long time.
People opened up to me. They wept. They pounded their fists, striking their own breast, begging for forgiveness. I listened like a statue, unable to draw any softness or kindness to the surface. My prayers were empty words. I went back to my chambers and sagged to the floor, aware of nothing but my breath for hours upon hours.
I kept myself small. I had to. Every confession I heard – every name I was told – made me think of my empty promise to Faust, of my false words to Aurelia. And… oh gods, my lie that I would protect Coll. I should have been by his side. I should have been helping him. Instead, I remained alone, and very, very small.
I wanted to stay that way forever.
The gates of Hell were opening. A million voices screaming.
I could not see him to say goodbye.
* * *
Phlegethos was calling.
Melissa approached me in the temple. Her face pale.
Standing in front of me, she seemed somehow small, frail. I’d always seen her as the easygoing counterpart to Rholor’s sobriety, but her eyes were red-rimmed, her face heavy with grief.
“It’s time. You are to go to Aurelia’s house.”
“It… it’s time?” I said lamely. “Me?” Ice spread through my chest.
She nodded. “… I’m not going,” she said. “It would be foolish to insist on going simply out of a sense of pride. I think it’s best I stay here…”
“I think, maybe… you’re wise,” I replied gently. “Melissa…” I set my hands on hers. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s what they do. Remember that… It. Wasn’t. You.”
She nodded, but it collapsed into a pained expression. “He’s a good man, Velania. Please. Get him back.” Her powerful hands enveloped mine. She was trembling. “I know he’s… not everyone likes him. But he’s a good man. He’s a good man.”
A lump formed in my throat. “He’s only guilty of one thing, and that’s taking himself a little too seriously, that’s all. And Lady knows, there’s a lot of that around here.” We both laughed in a sob. “And you’re right. He’s a good man.” I blinked hard. My eyes got blurry. “I miss him.”
“I miss him too.”
“And I’ll bring him back. I’ll do my best.”
“Get him back,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Then she mouthed it again, with no more power in her voice. Get him back. Get him back.
And mercifully, something released. I was no longer underwater. I was no longer numb.
I could feel again… but the feeling was fear.
* * *
Marto and Zola stood close together, their eyes raw and their faces numb. Marto had seemed the more conflicted two days ago. Now the shadow lay across Zola too. The more I looked, the more I saw an irreparable wedge driven between them – whether they knew it themselves or not. My heart plummeted – what had Zola done? What had she done? I felt a pang of dread: self-destruction was poised to claim them both, in one form or another.
I met Silvia for the first time. There was a quiet determination within her. Her flowing red hair more beautiful than even Rahmiël’s. She handed us all bowls of stew. I let the warmth flood into my hands and ate without small-talk. I studied Sorrel’s expression as she took her bowl from Silvia. I saw the love in their body language, but the fondness in Sorrel’s eyes was marked with fear. Their silence meant: words had been spoken. And Sorrel had not got her way.
I wished I could approach our fate like Kavel. Big-hearted, nonchalant, unbroken. I felt glad to see his kind face. He had already slain the Herald Adhyël once. He looked relaxed but his jaw was set. Ready for another round. His smile made a part of me feel safe.
Sorrel cleared her throat and said, “I’m not good at speeches…”
It wasn’t true, and we all stood there as Sorrel brought us to the verge of tears. My sister presented each of us with a potion in turn. She thanked us all fiercely.
Her passion drew me back to Jackal’s words the first time I’d met him: “She will need you before this is all over.” Right after he had punched his flaming sword into me. His eyes had glazed over, gleaming like those of a seer – no, more than a seer. There was a disturbing power in his voice. It cut a path through fate itself.
I had been close to blacking out. And every time I thought about those words, I shuddered and felt the pain all over again.
It hurt too much. But he had called. She needed me. Heaven knows, I did not want to be here. But I would not have chosen to be anywhere else.
At Sorrel’s side to the end.
* * *
She gestured for as many of us to sit as could. I noticed Kháos had slipped in behind us at some point. Their uncanny talent for slinking about still unnerved me. I had no desire for them to sift through my mind again. I tried to keep my thoughts small.
An unseen servant brought us tea. I had no appetite, but I accepted a cup, more to have something to do with my hands.
Today, despite the unbearable tension in the room, Aurelia’s expression was calm, her voice steady. “You all know why you’re here. I’m grateful.” She was tall and strikingly beautiful, very regal with high cheekbones. As a fellow Aasimar, I’d always sensed the energy of her celestial heritage. I felt a comfort in it. A sense of connection. Somehow my gaze was drawn from her to Jackal. He felt me looking and frowned at me to pay attention. I hurriedly looked away. I studied my tea.
She acknowledged each of us with her watchful gaze. “You’re going to need every bit of strength you have. Rholor is not only a valued member of the council but also a close friend. I’d like to thank you.”
Aurelia sat on the council of Daring Heights… alongside Rholor and alongside Coll. They were both close friends of hers, and I could see the weight of grief and worry in her face. She bore it resolutely. In comparison, I must have seemed like a silly child to her. But she had shown me such compassion in recent weeks. Accommodating my pleas to see Coll. She must have felt hurt and anger at my carelessness, but she had never shown it to me. She was good, she was wise, but above all, she was kind.
I would not let her down.
Aurelia continued. “As you know, there was a strange happening a few days ago outside the Temple of Selûne. We think it may have something to do with this…”
She opened a chest on the table and produced a strange device, a contraption of wires and gems, crystals and baubles. The device was well and truly broken – smashed beyond repair.
“When activated, this device made people enter a dream-like state. They knew they were awake, but acted as if they were dreaming. They believed people around them were their enemies. Be warned: should the Heralds find a way to enter your heads, then the same thing may happen to you, but a solid blow should bring you back to your senses.”
I felt a pang of fear. I had seen the effects of the riot on people afterward. If I were to ever hurt one of my friends…
“We’re sending you to Phlegethos, the fourth layer of hell. Make no mistake: it is a horrible place. We hope you won’t have to stay there very long…”
Aurelia’s voice faltered. She hesitated. I saw the dread in her eyes.
Jackal sensed it too and his blunt voice filled the silence. “I can get you in. But I can’t go in with you. So your only way out is Rholor. We think he’s still alive. If not, or if you can’t get to him, then you’re fucked,” he said. His inimitable directness. “So: get to Rholor. Get him lucid. He gets me in. I get you home.”
I frowned. There was more to this, but Jackal was holding back. Something he wasn’t telling us about this plan. Something of great importance. A thread of my memory trailed back into the past… to knowledge I couldn’t place. Perhaps a whisper my guardian angel had once told me? But the details evaded me. Jackal’s face was a blank slate. I glanced from him to Kháos to Aurelia, but they were all unreadable.
“You know the most recent prophecy, which mentions the banks of the Azellah, a giant, fiery river in Phlegethos. I’m going to drop you as close to the mouth as possible. When you arrive, get to high ground. Look for the giant, fiery river. Follow it from the mouth, and you’ll get to them.” Jackal looked each of us in the eye with a piercing certainty. “Any questions?”
The room was silent.
Uncomfortably silent.
“I have a question,” Kavel said thoughtfully.
Several heads turned his way.
“Is it true that if you kill a fiend in hell, they stay dead? And there’s no coming back from that –they are permanently dead?”
Jackal grinned savagely. “That’s right,” he barked. His eyes glinted at Kavel.
Kavel nodded. I watched the tide of emotions buffeting Zola and Marto. They fought to keep their faces straight.
Jackal set his cup down with vigour. “Are you packed? Let’s go.”
Without waiting for a response, he was striding to the door.
* * *
Marto, the Halfling knight, wreathed in smoking armour, armed with his beloved enchanted axe. Zola, the Drow sword-dancer with the crystal crown, wielding but one of The Twins. Both of them downcast and entangled in their own thoughts. Kavel, the calm and fearless, the newly tattooed Goliath, flexing his massive fists casually as we walked. Sorrel, the stealth archer, her face covered, her mercenary’s eyes darting across the street warily as we approached the portal. Silvia, the powerful shadow warrior, quiet and thoughtful, defiant at the suggestion Sorrel would leave her behind. Khàos, the silent shapeshifter, the mind-gazer, guiding our path at Jackal’s behest. I had not seen Kháos walking with us, but as soon as I thought of them, they seemed to be beside us too.
I followed my companions out, ready to bear witness to their task, and do my best to look out for them. Unlike them, I was no warrior. A servant of the Moonmaiden, leaving the safety of the temple. Woefully out of my depth. I felt it in the pit of my stomach.
Coll, I whispered to myself. I wish I were with you right now…
My eyes blurred with tears and I breathed raggedly. I wrapped my fingers around the amulet Khàos had given me, gripping it tight, and blinked up at the skies. Selûne, you have sent me here to do this task for Jackal, to aid my sister Sorrel, to find Rholor, and so be it. I accept. I accept without question. And I always will. And I never ask for anything myself. But please… just this one thing: let me return to him. I never… I clenched the amulet tighter, so tight that my knuckles shook … I never even said goodbye…
Please, let me see Coll again.
I stepped onto the portal platform, my nerves jangling with tension and fear, and took my place with the others.
Here we all stood: on the knife edge of fate. Each of us holy and broken through our own acts of love. The Heralds of Blade and Ash awaited us. They knew we were on our way.
The time of blades and ash is come.
Aurelia started a Plane Shift incantation, and the portal glyphs thrummed in response.
Zola whispered an Elvish prayer. Marto clutched her hand. Silvia seized Sorrel’s. Kavel clenched his fists. Kháos nodded once to Jackal.
“Right. On three.” Jackal raised his sword to trigger the teleportation circle.
“One…”
I turned to Jackal, feeling morbid and sarcastic. “Great talking as ever, Ja–”
The sword slammed down. The glyphs surged.
The rest of my breath was sucked from my body.
There was no up. No down. No light. No sound.
Just a tsunami of nothing.
The walls of my room are closing in
A surge of heat slammed into me. I reeled back, but it blasted me from every direction. There was no escape.
The air stank of burnt iron. Choking, cloying dust in the air. I felt dizzy and sick. I shook my head and took shallow breaths. I broke out in an uncomfortable sweat. The heat was relentless. I heard the others recovering from the shock.
We stood in a desolate valley. Wreathed in billowing sulphuric smog. No plants, no animals. Gloomy mountain ranges towered in every direction. Some were active volcanoes, belching out magma, crumbling ash and cinder. The sky was a dusty deep crimson, with no clear light source. Everywhere was dark and heavy, with a sinister orange-red glow.
So this was Phlegethos. The evil of this place bore through me.
There was no sign of the Azellah.
Marto and Zola agreed on a nearby vantage point, less than half an hour away. They led our uphill hike. The ground was a burned scab of volcanic rock. It felt ironlike, brittle, heavy. Echoes of our footsteps skittered up the sides of the valley and rang in the air. We were loud – too loud. If anything else dwelled here, it would surely find us.
The hill had seemed close. But Phlegethos took its toll on me. Whether it was the heat, the ferrous dust, or the sheer evil of the place, the energy was leeched from my body. It was a hard battle of trudging uphill for a couple of hours. Far longer than we had expected.
Zola rode her antlered hart, the beautiful, silver-white Cor’Vandor. I stayed close by and felt some relief from her presence. Eventually we reached the summit, dehydrated, breathing hard, limbs heavy as lead.
We slumped to the ground and pulled out canteens and drank heavily. Silvia looked as sick and drained as me; the others seemed to have resisted the worst of it.
Sorrel peered through the roiling dust clouds at the horizon. Some hours ahead, a strip of burning orange slithered across the bleak landscape. The Azellah river. It flowed fast and spewed out into a large molten sea of flame. Miles inland, beside the river, a pale silver glow rose from a dip in the hills.
Kavel pointed at the glow. “Do you think that’s where they are?”
“Jackal said to head for the mouth of the river, then follow it inland,” I replied wearily. “It’s a good landmark. What if we lose our bearings in these hills? Shouldn’t we follow his directions?”
“The glowing dip looks more likely, though, doesn’t it?”
I shrugged. He had a point. The scenic route would take many extra hours, and I was already exhausted after just two. And there was something about that glow.
“Why don’t we head to the dip, and send a familiar to the mouth?” he said.
“A familiar would be too far away for that to be useful.” Silvia sounded as tired as me.
“Let’s find out!” Kavel declared. “Comrades, who here has their familiar?”
We looked at him in stunned silence.
Kavel frowned at the two of us. “You magic users all have familiars, right? Everyone has a familiar.”
“… I don’t,” Silvia replied.
“… me neither,” I added, feeling like I’d just failed a test.
“An adventuring team… in unhospitable terrain… without a familiar.” Kavel looked crestfallen. “… Huh.”
Marto stood up and gathered his gear. “The mouth of the river will take too long. He gestured at me and Silvia with a concerned frown. “We’re already struggling as it is. I say we head to the dip.”
“He’s right,” Khàos said pointedly, looking at me. “The river mouth was only to get our bearings. You will not make it that far.”
Marto and Khàos were correct. Jackal’s instructions had been clear, but I was already slowing us down. We had to improvise. We would cut across the hills towards the dip.
I stood reluctantly and pulled my backpack on. As we left, I glanced back behind us. The shadow of a fortress loomed in the distance. A terrifying black mass of crenellations, turrets and spikes. I shuddered. Whatever dark place that is, thank the Maiden we’re walking away from it.
We descended into the next valley and trudged on.
Uphill. Downhill. Smoke. Ash. Neverending heat.
It got worse over the hours. My limbs ached. I could barely breathe. My lungs were lined with metallic-tasting dust. I felt sick and dizzy from the foul air. Silvia and I started lagging behind. Marto too. I felt wretched. I was too tired to be irritable.
Our progress ground to a halt. We had to rest again. We stopped in the middle of an open valley – in clear view. I sipped water and ate as well as my nausea could bear.
“Hm,” someone grunted. I looked up.
Sorrel was gesturing to the sky. A large shadow crept and swirled through the sky ahead of us. A black murmuration of birds. “First sign of life in this place.”
We watched the flock swoop and soar on a thermal. Twisting and turning as they flew overhead. Their shadow grew.
“They’re coming this way. They’ve seen us,” muttered Zola.
“That can’t be good.” Sorrel glanced around, taking stock of our position.
There was no cover. We were hopelessly exposed.
The birds were approaching. They swarmed through the air with unnatural speed. They clustered above us. I could hear the flock now. Raven-like in appearance, but a sinister, voiceless mass of fluttering wings. The air grew dark.
The skin on my back prickled. I arched with shock. Rahmiël’s tattoo! My heart began thundering. This cursed flock was the Heralds’ doing. Rahmiël’s mocking laughter echoed in my head.
I started chanting in Celestial. A strong protective incantation. Selûne, protect us. Rahmiël, you shall have no power here.
My friends drew weapons. Kavel brandished axes. Zola her blades. Silvia, a five-pronged spear of green flame. Sorrel nocked an arrow and took aim. Marto skidded to my side and yanked me down under the cover of his shield.
“They’re diving!”
“Brace yourselves!”
We stood our ground. Dread crept over me. I kept chanting. My voice grew louder.
Rahmiël’s words twisted through my mind. The threat she had spat at us in the dream: I will BATHE the Dawnlands in BLOOD and FIRE! Her voice rose in a crescendo in my brain and became a scream of white-hot hatred.
My ears rang. My skin turned to ice. I fought desperately to shut her out. My prayer rose to a defiant Celestial shout. We shall not be overcome. Not here, not anywhere. Selûne is with us. SELÛNE IS WITH US!
As one, the birds plummeted.
The sky turned black.
There’s a war outside still raging
Marto kept me safe, imbuing his shield with an incantation, protecting the two of us. Sorrel whispered fey magic into her arrow and loosed it. It exploded into a cloud of thorns among the flock. Kavel scythed through countless birds. Zola spun her blades through the shadows. Silvia span and jabbed and whirled.
They struck a hundred birds, but a hundred more crashed into us. Each creature they hit exploded into a trail of smoke. A hail of darkness bombarded us. The air grew thick with tendrils of noxious dust.
The barrage ended. The ink-black clouds spilled over us. We fell to our knees, gasping for breath. At the same time, the tattoo on my back flared into stabbing pain. It felt like a red-hot whip-chain was gouging my skin, ripping itself though my flesh. I spasmed and gasped. Shot through with agony. Searing heat.
I heard the others crying out with pain.
Wake up! rang in my head. The voice was compelling. Do not trust the others! They seek to betray you.
It was a false voice. A charm. I shook my head, battling the magic. No, Rahmiël, yours is the dream. Selûne is with us. She spurns you, I choked weakly. Then with firmness and fury: and we are coming for you.
I cast her out of me. The mark on my back ached painfully. Rahmiël’s mocking laughter faded. I felt my divine connection reaching for the others. I prayed they might resist the charm magic too.
Dizzy, I pushed myself up from my hands and knees and shook my head. I was nauseated from the thick poisonous dust. My lungs were dry and raw.
We choked and gagged for cleaner air.
A hot valley breeze blew through and eventually, the poison clouds drifted away.
Coughing and trembling, I crawled from underneath Marto’s shield to my feet. I felt the soft glow of Autumn’s Warmth, my fey necklace, purging my body of poison. That precious gift from the Fey Court had helped me more times than I could count.
I glanced at my friends. Zola was shaking her head, wincing like she had narrowly won the same mental battle as me. Kavel, Silvia and Khàos seemed unaffected. Thank goodness.
Silvia spoke a single word: “Sorrel?”
I glanced at Sorrel. She stood glaring at the rest of us with distrust. Her eyes were black as pitch. Rahmiël had got inside her head.
Before I could act, Marto stepped in front of me, blocking my way. His eyes were also black. Darkness bled from his eyes into the air. His face alight with anger and suspicion.
I jolted with horror. He had been protecting me; now his expression was murderous. By instinct, I placed my hand on his arm. Marto? Come back to us. I whispered an incantation to bring him to his senses. It didn’t work. He shrugged me off angrily and squared off in front of me.
Kavel and Silvia lunged to subdue Sorrel before she could do anything terrible. She was fast… but there were two of them. They scrabbled in a deadly fight to restrain her.
At the same time, Zola strode to Marto and swung a backhand to wake him up… but Marto held his shield incantation aloft and deflected it.
He whirled back to me, outraged I had cast magic on him. He raised his axe, wreathed in light. He snarled with pure hatred, blackness seeping from his eyes.
Icy terror clutched at my heart.
He swung at me hard.
I didn’t feel the pain at first. Only the grating of metal on bone and the numbing impact as I was driven to my hands and knees in the gravel. Then pain split my side open, and my mouth flooded with the coppery taste of blood. I gasped. I was wreathed in crackling energy. If I moved, it would explode around me. I held myself still, trembling with pain. The air around me smelled of ozone.
Dazed, I watched as Marto raised his axe to strike me dead.
He was going to kill me.
“Marto!” Zola leapt on him, swords spinning. Marto whirled to face her, deflecting her blows and readying to strike her down too. He glared at her with bitter hurt and hatred.
Bile entered my throat. Sorrel was bucking away from Kavel’s grip, kicking and lashing out, determined to gut Silvia. Zola and Marto were at each other’s throats. My head was swimming.
Everything was falling apart.
* * *
Marto staggered, clutching his head. He glared at Zola and me with vengeance and seeping black anger. Then he spasmed, writhing with a familiar agony centred on his back, finally repelling the charm.
Sorrel writhed in Kavel’s powerful wrestling hold. She fell limp, stunned by the aftershock of the charm leaving her. Somehow, Silvia had brought her back. Kavel released her, and Sorrel collapsed into Silvia’s embrace. They locked in a loving kiss, tearful and tender.
I heard Marto gasping heavily nearby. “Velania, I’m so sorry…” he rasped, blinking tears away.
I flinched at his voice. I looked up at him wordlessly. He was staring at the ground, unable to look me in the eye. He turned away.
“Marto…” Zola began, stepping towards the knight.
“Don’t!” Marto roared, recoiling from her outstretched hand. “Don’t come near me! I could have killed you! I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here.” His voice was thick with pain and self-loathing. He turned to stride away from us.
Wait, came Kháos’s voice in our heads. The force of it made Marto pause, still cautious. You are exactly where you are meant to be.
They approached the halfling. Marto, you are yourself again. I wish to open your armour to check the mark on your back.
Still bristling with anger, Marto regarded the shapechanger warily, but consented.
Kháos peeled his armour plates aside, pulled his shirt up, and looked at his back. The mark is gone.
We blinked in surprise.
They proceeded to inspect Sorrel’s back and then came to me and I rolled up the back of my mail hauberk. Then they checked Zola.
You are all clear of the brand. It is gone.
“That’s good. That’s good,” Zola said. But the rawness in her voice said she was lying. She frowned at the ground and kicked the gravel. Losing the tattoo had severed something for her. The reality of what she was about to be put through was hitting her. The nearer we got to Ophanim, the greater the distance between them. Her face was a maelstrom of loss and despair.
Kháos studied her thoughtfully. I understand how it feels to want something, yet be reluctant when it happens. You are you.
Kháos turned their thoughts to the rest of us. You have overcome it. You are the right team.
There were confusing layers to that observation. It sounded like a conversation we had not been party to. Again I tried to recall what it was Jackal had made me think of. But he was shrouded in mystery. A mystery I could not unveil.
* * *
Zola nestled into Cor’Vandor. The hart’s shimmering silver-white coat seemed muted in this hellish place. Zola played her lute and sang. The song was beautiful, ethereal, but her voice was edged with melancholy. Unbearable loss. She glanced at Marto pointedly as she played. He faced away from her.
Sorrel sat close to Silvia, as quiet as the whisper of death. Her expression was pure devastation. She had just attacked her love and fought her family. Sorrel kept the awful secrets of her past close to her chest, but even so, I could see a lifetime of pain rocketing through her eyes. Silvia sat quietly with her, wearily holding her tight. Even Kavel looked sombre.
I wanted to hold them too. But I sat on my own, dressing and healing my wound. I wished I could tell them everything would be alright. But I could not make that promise. I dared not.
The adrenaline leeched from my body. I felt weak and drained. Visions of almost dying hit me in relentless surges. The heat exhaustion returned with a vengeance. I was dripping with sweat, but my face was cold and numb with shock.
I had saved one potion for facing the Heralds. It brought fresh energy into my blood, and helped with treating my injury. My tiredness slipped off like an old skin. Underneath, I was raw and shaken, but at least I was not sick with exhaustion any more. I studied my friends, guilty that I could not provide the same aid for them, in particular for Silvia or for…
Marto had moved further away from the group. He sat with his back to us. Staring at the ground, wrestling to keep his emotions in check. A surge of sadness hit me, and my eyes filled with hot tears.
I was still afraid. My urge to hug him was strong – my urge to shy away from him was stronger. But I swallowed back my fear. He needed forgiveness right now. Forgiveness and acceptance. Not only for hurting me, but for fighting his beloved Zola with fury and desperation, like he’d wanted to kill her.
He was broken-hearted. His faith was shaken. He was wounded. He needed us. He needed someone.
It wasn’t your fault, Marto, I longed to say to him. It wasn’t you. It’s them. It's all them. It’s this godforsaken place. But I had no power to find his heart with my words. And he was so far from me. From us all. I could not reach him. My chest ached with grief.
I picked up a stone and weighed it in one hand. A coarse lump of volcanic basalt. I imbued it with light – the undulating pale silver and moonlight blue of Selûne. I pushed away my hurt and anger. I wiped my tears away. I filled the stone with love.
We need you back, Marto, I whispered to myself. We need you.
I cast it towards him. It rang as it hit the ground and skittered over the volcanic rock, stopping in front of him.
He picked it up in surprise, and recognized my signature light cantrip. He turned to meet my look. We shared a tearful glance. Moonlight cast a glow over his sad face and glimmered in his eyes.
He inclined his head in acceptance, then turned away, unable to hold my gaze any longer. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks.
You say it ain’t ours anymore to win
We set off again. The heat raged on. I had cured my injuries and staved off exhaustion, but my throat hurt. It was painful to breathe. The air still stank of burnt iron. A dehydration headache slammed upon my temples. I was almost blinded by my own sweat. The evil of Phlegethos filled our lungs with dust and our limbs with lead.
Impatient for knowledge, Kháos scouted ahead. The silver glow on the horizon drew closer. An hour more of hell. Climbing. Stumbling. It lasted an eternity. We kept a slow and sullen pace.
As we trudged on, a chime of hope rang in my head. Free. I was FREE. Rahmiël’s tattoo was gone.
When I had found it there after the dream, I had wept my heart out all day. It had been keeping me from visiting Coll. I could never have forgiven myself if I’d been to see him and given his location to the Heralds. But if we return… My pulse quickened. If we return…
I dared to hope. One way or another, I would leave this foul place and I would see him again. I would no longer be kept from Coll.
I wasn’t a survivor like Sorrel. I wasn’t powerful like Silvia. I didn’t have Marto’s toughness, or Zola’s grace, or Kavel’s strength, or Khàos’s stealth.
But I had what I needed.
A word I was keeping safe.
I would return home.
I would see him again.
I dared to hope.
* * *
The silence deepened between us. My stomach knotted tighter.
We topped the hill. The dip was a minute ahead. Its insistent silver glow defied the deep red inferno of darkness swirling in the sky.
Kháos appeared beside us. I would say it was unexpected. I no longer had the energy to expect anything of anyone. If you have any preparations you wish to make, now is the time.
We stopped to do so. Potions, prayers, incantations. I had never felt less ready. I wished for another of Sorrel’s speeches, but we were muted and on edge.
My hands twitched with numbness. Blood pounded in my ears. My body felt cold.
As one, we turned and walked over the peak of the hill.
The first thing we saw was the bright orange glow of the Azellah, snaking across the valley.
Beyond it stood a raised obsidian altar lit by braziers. High Diviner Rholor Vuzhek lay on the altar, shrouded in white and glowing with a comforting silver moonlight. On a nearby platform sat a bright white orb, tethered to him by a fine, silver-white thread. His power and his connection to Selûne had illuminated the valley and led us here. Yet he was unmoving. Suspended between life and death.
An’Ahkrim stood over him. The immense, incredibly muscular fiend, bare-chested with a powerful, sexual presence. His eyes found me. He stared at me intently. Eerie fascination and something like… need? Like I was a curiosity to desire, or… I had come to help?
No, that made no sense. What did that even mean? I could not read the full book of emotions in his face. Uncertainty? Doubt? Guilt? Or was I merely naming my own fears?
I remembered threads of our conversation in the shared dream. His strange, disturbing confessions. Acts of murder. Torture. Evils I dared not name. Within that whirl of memories and voices, I sensed some ancient tale on the edges of my mind. It made no sense. I shuddered and broke away from his gaze. I felt his eyes glint at me.
Nearby, Rahmiël and Ophanim sat in a stone pavilion. The red-haired Tiefling who had set that tattoo upon us, with the Drow swordsman. They drank from goblets, seated in a dark caricature of a fey-designed gazebo.
Rahmiël looked up at us casually, disdainfully. Disappointed with the wait. Disappointed with our arrival.
I felt Zola’s sharp intake of breath as she saw Ophanim.
In front of the pavilion, the fiend Adhyël stepped forward expectantly. Bare-chested, athletic, his armour an asymmetrical spray of chitinous spurs. His glowing red eyes met Marto’s. The two of them locked gazes.
Marto summoned his radiant axe into his hand. Adhyël tilted his head in an arrogant sneer. In mockery of Marto’s grim determination.
A chill spread through me. The last time I had seen Adhyël, he and Marto had been naked in the throes of passion. Now, murder was writ across their faces. Would Marto be thinking clearly? Would he make a rash decision in the heat of the moment?
My fear wasn’t about him attacking me again. I feared his guilt driving him to an act of desperation.
Self-destruction.
Burbling laughter rang ominously from our flank. In the gloom of that cursed valley, the terrifying shadow of Zah’Ranin loomed, atop a ridge, overlooking us. Silhouetted against the crimson, volcanic sky.
Their wordless chittering echoed across the valley as they slowly unfolded their dark, leathery wings. They spread their arms impossibly wide, and flexed their vicious claws.
By instinct, I stepped back. Horror seized me by the back of the neck and jarred my spine.
The demon glared at us maliciously. They opened their mouth and the smile split grotesquely across their face, revealing rows of fangs and a flickering, reptilian tongue.
Languidly, Ophanim stood and walked to the edge of the pavilion. He brushed his flowing white hair aside and drew a shining sword. The blade that matched Zola’s.
The Twins will cross
The sisters will dance once more
On the banks of the Azellah
“It’s going to be beautiful,” he spoke out to her. Amused. Playful.
Sitting astride Cor’Vandor, Zola breathed raggedly. She drew Castor, pointed the blade at him, then pressed the hilt to her heart. “This is what you want. Then who am I to deny it to you?” she said loudly, defiantly. Tearfully.
Delighted, Ophanim’s eyes flashed at her. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Zola and her hart braced to charge. Towards Ophanim and towards reckless destruction.
Marto glowered at Adhyël, set on his own path of annihilation.
Kavel flexed his huge, tattooed arms and nodded resolutely to Sorrel.
Silvia summoned her flaming trident, took a stance, and readied for attack.
Kháos clenched their jaw and prepared to sprint, unreadable, all-seeing.
I glanced at Sorrel: her gaze was fixed on Rholor. Her eyes flashed with the focus of a hunter. Supreme, beautiful, deadly. Aware of the rest of the players on the battlefield. Yet undeterred. She had her quarry. This was her task. She knew her job. She was ready. Seeing her determination gave me strength.
I exhaled nervously. Trembling. Jackal’s words echoed from my heart. The prophecy that still haunted me. She will need you before this is all over.
Whatever she needed. I would be there.
At Sorrel’s side to the end.
Section titles are lyrics from “No Surrender” (Bruce Springsteen)
Continues in The River Part 2 (work in progress)
