Sci Fi & Fantasy / Shadow of Chea'Laern: Chapter 17 and Epilogue (Analysis)

Chapter 17

Broken Promise

The Hall was spacious and clean, rarely used but constantly cared after, and lavishly decorated. Long, intricate tapestries hung at each support pillar, and smaller ones above and between the arches; some sported complex designs meant to please the eye and ease the mind, while others were covered in symbols, runes, and ancient alphabets obtained from the extensive collection of historical tomes in the library. Some of those scribings told stories long ago declared myth or legend, while others preached philosophical insights or words of wisdom. The Hall was ten yards wide and fifty yards long, with walls stretching the width at each end of its length. Covering each wall were murals created during the Hall’s construction. The mural behind the chair reserved for Nimbdell’s leader, currently Headmistress Simyna, portrayed the founder of Nimbdell, an elderly man with a broad forehead, bushy eyebrows and a long thin beard, and eyes to match the intensity of his wisdom. Behind him was a landscape portrait with an eldritch tree, said to mark his hidden gravesite, and on his shoulder sat a fairy.
At the opposite end of the mural, another section of wall depicted miniature sketches of every creature of every known race branded evil. Around the edges of the mural, in the ancient writing of Nimbdell’s founder, was scribed a famous quote, which spawned the foundation of Nimbdell’s justice system:

“Observations inspire thoughts.
Thoughts are the first step toward any action.
Actions betray the secrets of the heart.
The heart is the source of all good and evil.”

Behind the end sections and pillars was a single hallway encompassing the great Hall’s inner room, lined with portraits of the many late leaders of Nimbdell and decorative silver sconce’s holding torches lit only in the event of a meeting.
The meeting table was carved of oak, as were the chairs, and all were as decorated as the rest of the room. Lining the center along the length of the table were candles, also lit only for meetings.
The ceiling seemed interminable, cloaked in shadows so one could only guess at its true height. From the rafters hung decorative draperies of various colors.
Captain Gratulei’s eyes dropped from those draperies to fall upon Headmistress Simyna when her commanding voice filled the Hall, beginning the formalities of the meeting.
“Since we have no new representatives, I’ll start by introducing our guests. I give to you one Captain Gratulei, and one Sir Mordan, of Chea’Laern.”
The captain bowed before the gathering. He didn’t take offense to not being offered a seat, for a mage had informed him prior to the meeting that guests weren’t usually allowed in the Hall. At his side, however, Mordan expressed his discomfort plainly. He had begged Master Keftal to let him speak at the meeting, but the master would only agree if Mordan was willing to take responsibility for Talik’s desertion—which implied conspiracy of secrecy against the caravan’s leader, thus absolving Keftal of fault for negligence of his charges. The master assured Mordan that the Headmistress would not punish him with anything more than words, and explained that the admission was the only way she would allow him to enter the meeting hall at all. The only reason two mages were allowed was because they were at Keftal’s side for most of the journey.
The meeting was called for a simple report, a recounting of the escort journey from Chea’Laern to Nimbdell, but none of the Masters, other than Master Keftal, knew Headmistress Simyna already heard the basics of the events that occurred along the way.
“No graduation quests have been completed since our last meeting, thus we have no further introductions. I will now lead us in the formal recitation.”
The guests listened curiously while every voice merged as one in reciting the founder’s famous quote. They looked to each other and nodded, quite impressed by the philosophy and the performance.
“I turn the floor over to Master Keftal whom, I surmise, has more to tell than a simple recounting of a successful rescue.” Headmistress Simyna bade everyone to be seated as she, too, took her seat.
Only Keftal remained standing. “You are wise and observant, Headmistress,” he began, following with a short pause to organize his thoughts.
“Upon meeting the good captain, who informed us of Secile’s discoveries and subsequent instructions, a civilian by the name of Talik was brought before us for stirring trouble in a local tavern.”
“Please, Master Keftal, we only require relevant details,” interrupted the Headmistress.
“These are relevant, Headmistress, I assure you.”
“My apologies. Do continue.”
Keftal cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he smiled knowingly.
Simyna’s interruption was not for her own doubts, but for all the others. She already knew Talik’s role in it all, and only spoke up because she saw the skeptical, almost bored, expressions on everyone else’s faces.
“Talik had somehow known that the enemy gained control of the castle, though he could only name it as ‘evil,’ and was arrested at the Tavern for trying to rally a mob.”
“He was not!” barked Mordan from the side of the room. By the wide-eyed stares and gasps of disbelief, Mordan knew he should’ve held his tongue.
Headmistress Simyna was the only one authorized to speak in the event of such protocol violations. “You are a guest and thus are immune to punishments for insolence, but now that I have warned you not to speak out of turn or with such animosity, you will lose your rights to speak at all if the loss of control happens again. Please save all your comments, objections, thoughts and feelings for when you have the floor.”
Mordan nodded humbly, wisely holding even his apology for later.
Simyna nodded for Keftal to continue.
After a moment of thought to remember where he left off, Keftal again took the stage. “Talik said he could aid us with our problem. Considering he already knew nearly as much as we did, I thought he might as well. We took him along, and were glad we did. Though we certainly would’ve found the diary in our thorough search, we wouldn’t have evacuated as many people as we did if Talik wasn’t there to find Roanindae’s journal so quickly.”
Simyna noticed a slight scowl on a certain mage’s face that grew darker every time Keftal mentioned Talik. Mordan noticed it, too, but didn’t dismiss it as jealousy like Simyna did, for it was the same suspicious mage who first denied Mordan’s request to scry out Talik. He filed the new information away with that memory, and was determined to catch any more clues to use in his speech when the floor finally belonged to him.
“The entries Talik found painted Roanindae as a traitor, conspiring to hand his kingdom over to the southerners. We know not his motives, nor what he planned to gain…”
All eyes turned to Simyna, who’d stopped the speaking mage with a raised finger, then followed her gaze to the captain.
Gratulei was obviously greatly disturbed, and Simyna’s guess as to why was right on the mark.
“You couldn’t have known, good Captain,” she cooed. “We probably had as much contact with the king as you did, if not more, and we didn’t even know.”
The statement wasn’t entirely true. Simyna suspected something dire lurked in the king’s thoughts for the past year or so, but certainly nothing to take political action for. She knew Captain Gratulei wouldn’t be of use to anyone, himself included, soaked in self-pity, and she truly believed he couldn’t have done anything to change the king’s choices.
Captain Gratulei, shocked and uncomfortable in the spotlight at first, nodded and dipped a quick, grateful bow for the woman’s perceptivity.
Everyone’s attention shifted again to Master Keftal.
“Only a small handful of people chose to stay with their farms. One of them sought us out, but our guest will fill you in on those details later. On the road, an unlikely visitor made an unexpected appearance in our camp.”
After a pause for effect, he spoke the orc king’s name. Several gasps put a smile to his face, enjoying the potential for a small measure of fame. He was truly grateful to Simyna for placing him at the head of the rescue mission. He enjoyed detailing the events from Brocklore’s visit to the point where they reached Nimbdell, for those not part of the caravan hung on his every word. Even Gratulei and Mordan found themselves entertained with the man’s story-telling abilities.
“Thank you, Master Keftal,” concluded the Headmistress. “Now, Mordan, is your chance to add anything you deem important.”
Mordan thought carefully before moving away from the wall, taking a standing position between two occupied chairs. When Keftal recounted the details of the goblin battle, Mordan noticed a worried look on the suspicious mage’s face. He then recalled the man had not acted in the battle at all. Perhaps he simply wasn’t needed? The second-guessing shone a new light on Mordan’s entire approach. He had no significant evidence against the mage, and was surrounded by strangers. Also, he was caught off guard by the professional level at which the meeting played out, and his claims suddenly seemed moot. How many peers did the mage have? How many would be more angry with his accusations against their fellow mage than willing to listen? He decided to save his surprise for Simyna alone.
Mordan was astonished at how intently the Headmistress lingered on his every word as he told them of the conversations he held with Talik leading up to Talik’s “desertion,” and the reasons his friend gave for leaving. He left out the argument Talik had with the mages—to their relief, he noted—and skipped his first request to scry for his friend. He thought himself clever when many heads bobbed at him, nodding their thanks in the guise of attentiveness, and finished his report with a smile.
“I apologize for my ignorant behavior earlier. And I just want to add that Talik was not trying to rally a mob in that tavern. He was trying to warn them. But no one needed to worry, for everyone thinks he’s a madman anyway.”
“Your friend’s intentions were pure, of that I am certain,” smiled Simyna. “But in that situation we needed the people to remain calm, which could only be achieved in their ignorance. If they learned that an evil had completely destroyed the castle, chaos would follow and many, many lives would be lost.
“However,” she continued immediately, “we do not think Talik a madman. We, at least I, think he should be studying here at Nimbdell with those talents of his. In fact, I would like to speak with you later about him, and hopefully one day have the honor of meeting him.”
Mordan beamed.
Headmistress Simyna turned to the entire gathering, then, and said, “If nothing important has been left out, we must now discuss a course of action.” She pointed to the mage on her left, traditionally the one to start the suggestions, or pass, if no ideas were apparent. Each representative had several chances to make a suggestion, for the spotlight would circle the table until there was nothing left to add.
The first three of the twelve—thirteen including Simyna—passed. The fourth broke the chain. His suggestion was obvious but needed to be spoken anyway.
“Scrying the kingdom continuously, of course, to learn more of the southerners,” he said plainly.
“We should search for Talik, too. Perhaps he saved those we left behind,” added the second mage who’d accompanied Keftal to the meeting, a young female of barely twenty winters.
“Send emissaries to the southerners with notions of peace, they could already be planning an attack,” said the sixth.
“We should learn of the village in the valley. Secile has been underground and occupied for a long time, and she should be warned if any changes have occurred on the surface she plans to call sanctuary.”
“Pass,” said the eighth, his suggestion already taken.
The ninth Master’s suggestion addressed an issue closer to home. “Interview the refugees. Perhaps they’ve useful information without even knowing it.”
Several heads bobbed in accord. And the suggestion inspired the next idea, a strong point in the turn-based suggestion tactics.
“Make contact with Brocklore. The orcs might be useful in our conflict with the southerners.”
Many expressions soured instantly, but none would deny the wisdom of keeping an open mind concerning possible allies. They might need all the help they could get.
The next two passed, and the next round produced no new suggestions.
“They are all great ideas,” Simyna began. “I am afraid to take any physical action outside our walls until Secile has succeeded in capturing the dangerous artifact. For now, we will keep watch from a distance. One of you will lead the focus on Brocklore, one on the southerners, and one on the valley in the east. The rest of you will help Captain Gratulei interview the people and inform them of our city’s guidelines to avoid unnecessary conflict and further complications. Any questions or concerns?”
The Hall remained silent.
“By the laws of the Hosttowers of Nimbdell, I hereby swear to the oath of confidentiality,” declaired the Headmistress as she tapped her three middle fingers on the edge of the table three times.
“I swear!” came a similar unified declaration and gesture from the gathering—including both guests once they were prompted to do so.
“Thank you for not convening this day. Meeting adjourned.”
* * * * *
The guard was always nervous at the silence, and hated that the queen sent him alone into the foul, unforgiving bowels of the castle every time.
He cautiously approached the cells, his undershirt pulled up out of his chainmail jerkin enough to cover his nose and mouth. Usually by now he would hear a shuffle or two, perhaps a cough, but not this time. This time there was only eerie silence.
Passing the first cell, the only empty one in the whole dungeon, he mentally reminded himself to keep his gaze forward. He couldn’t tolerate the sight in that cell; a pile of rotting corpses in one corner and a pile of bones in the other.
As usual, a sigh of relief escaped his lips when he reached the second cell. But he was surprised to see the occupant, their dark-haired most recent capture, lying still on the floor with his eyes wide open.
“Hey!” he called nervously.
No response. The prisoner did not move.
The guard spun around, only to find the same scene in the cell across the way. He rushed down the hallway, checking every cell, and each occupant was the same. Fearing some infectious disease had killed them off, he ran to find the key-holder.
“Shouldn’t we just tell the queen, or her lover?” whined the guard as they neared the first cell upon their return.
The key-holder shot him a pitiful glance. “We have to make sure they’re dead! If we reported this and were wrong, we would be joining these wretched pests.”
The guard conceded the point, but still wore a pout.
“They are all like that,” he said when they reached Torvus’ cell.
“Don’t look diseased.”
The guard shrugged. “What else would kill them all so quick?”
The key-holder peered hard at the still form, smirking at his cohort’s ineptitude. The thick, rusty bars prevented a clear picture, and the smell was very distracting, but he thought he saw the slightest breach in the supposed corpse’s tranquility. After tossing a superior grin to the guard, he fumbled with the keys a moment before finally finding the correct one.
The metal, rusted horribly over the years, screeched in protest as the bars swung in. The bars served as a meager perforated barrier against the cell’s stench, but with that gone—and the settled air disturbed—the decayed aroma invaded their nostrils once again, and the guard nearly vomited.
But the moment fleeted away in haste, for they were already mostly accustomed to the rotted smell.
“Can you handle it?” the key-holder said snidely, moving into the cell.
The guard narrowed his eyes dangerously at his cohort’s back for a moment before following.
“Hey, there, worm’s meat. Ya breathing?” said the key-holder as he wound up for a mighty kick.
Torvus knew the game was up. It was his only chance.
As soon as he heard the grunt, indicating the key-holder’s exerted force, Torvus flipped over to his opposite side with his hands cupped and in perfect alignment to catch the fast-flying foot. Ignoring the painful impact to his hands, he held on tight and kicked his feet forward, bending his knees to shorten the radius and increase the speed of his spin. He planted one knee beneath him but continued spinning with his other leg, knocking the single supporting leg out from under the key-holder.
He didn’t stop there. Still holding on tight to the captured foot, Torvus ended his spin with the key-holder’s leg propped over his right shoulder, then planted his tripping foot and hopped as sharp and quick as he could.
The move assisted the key-holder in his fall, hastening his head’s decent to the stone floor. It ended with a sickening crack and spattered blood.
The guard’s jaw dropped, his muscles frozen in terror and awe. The whole thing happened so fast, and yet they seemed to move in slow motion. By the time he realized he was in danger, and that he had been tricked, the guard saw Torvus’ fist closing fast for his face. The starry, black backdrop that followed would’ve reminded him of the night sky if he were still conscious.

Torvus quickly looted the dead key-holder and unlocked all the other cells, then returned to the unconscious guard with everyone in tow.
“What do we do now?” asked the only female of the group.
Everyone shrugged and remained silent, and she couldn’t tell if she felt better because she wasn’t the only one horrified and shaking with anxiety, or worse because no one knew what to do.
“Your plan only involved one guard,” an old farmer said accusingly. “What’re we gonna do with him?”
“Yeah?” piped another for no better reason than to be on the offensive side.
A third was about to join in, but the female cut him off.
“At least we have an option! Better off than we were in those cells,” she scolded.
Those who had been silent through the whole scene agreed with a nod, while the old farmers just grumbled and turned away.
“You could at least help think of something,” she added over the sound of Torvus fumbling with the keys.
“No need,” interjected the dark-haired man. On the key ring were several keys that looked the same, and four that were different from all the rest as well as different from each other. Torvus held the ring by those four keys and headed out of the cell. “Keep an eye on him. If he stirs, secure his arms and legs.”
The men were more than ready to take the job, and the female walked out behind Torvus.
“What’s your name?” She asked him when he turned to regard her.
He took a moment to admire her long red hair and milky white skin, a rose-red set of full lips, her green eyes and youthful smile and, most intriguingly, her toned muscles. She obviously hadn’t led an idle childhood. After checking to make sure someone at least stayed behind to watch the captive, he dipped a quick bow.
“Torvus. How’d you get lured into this mess? You’re still a child.”
Her bright expression clouded over and her eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you know my name before making any assumptions about me?”
Torvus moved to the first cell and tried one of the four keys. “My apologies. I’m not used to talking to ladies, or anyone for that matter.”
The girl blew at her bangs in frustration, realizing she’d have to be blunt and to the point with this one. “I’m Abigail. And I’m twenty winters.”
Torvus paused to regard her for a second, and then tried the next key. “You look younger,” he replied absently.
Suddenly Abigail’s eyes lit up in recognition. “You’re the Ghost of the West!” she said excitedly, a little too excitedly.
Torvus spun on her with a scowl and a finger to his lips. “You’ll get us killed!” he whispered harshly. The third key fit snugly into the keyhole and made a welcoming “click” with each centimeter he turned it, until finally the bars creaked open.
Abigail’s hands shot behind her back, locking in place, and she blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she nearly squeaked.
Torvus strode into the room.
“Why would you want to go in there?” she asked, disgusted by the thought.
“I felt moving air in my cell, in the corner that shares the wall with this one.”
Abigail’s face scrunched up even more and she covered her mouth with a hand, holding her stomach with the other. “Under that pile of…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Torvus just nodded absently. “Not so much different than digging through the dung of a sick horse.”
He didn’t have to dig too deep before he saw the obvious hole in the stone floor, some stones having been methodically removed. But the hole held more corpses, and Torvus began to wonder just how many bodies he would have to move.
“Get the others, and bring the guard. He’s coming with us.”
She turned away before he finished the sentence, more than eager for a change of scenery. By the time she returned with the others, Torvus had the hole cleared and the bodies piled on top of the bones across the room. Luckily there were only a few corpses in the hole.
“How do you know this goes anywhere?” challenged one of the old farmers.
“If it were a dead end, there would be no airflow,” Torvus replied calmly. “If you would rather go up the stairs, you’re more than welcome.”
No one argued any further. They felt the light breeze, and with the bodies gone they could smell the fresh air.
He directed the most capable-looking fighter in first, followed by the two carrying the unconscious guard, and then everyone else.
Abigail waited until Torvus was the only one left before she started down. And before her head disappeared below the floor, she couldn’t help but grin up at him and say, “I know you’re the Ghost. You saved that kid’s life those many years ago, just like everyone says. Just like you’re saving our lives now.”
“We’re not safe yet,” he replied coolly. But he smiled at her despite his reclusive feelings for the moment. He had to admit, she was charming.
He didn’t bother trying to cover their escape, for he surmised the southerners knew about the secret tunnel and would check there first anyway, corpse pile or no. And he couldn’t possibly make the pile even closely resemble what it once was from the underside. Most importantly, they didn’t have the time to try.
Freedom was moments away.
The tunnel was cramped, damp and held a stench to rival the dungeons above. Many were the complaints, though only half-hearted, for they all knew the only solution was to walk on. Half the complaints were mumbled anyway, not traveling further than a short breath, or fell on deaf ears. They carried only one torch, held by the young fighter whom Torvus had chosen for their point position. The two men carrying the unconscious guard struggled to walk inside the torchlight’s perimeter, grumbling at the leader when he selfishly strode too far forward. Everyone else walked with a hand on the shoulder of those ahead, except Torvus—who preferred to keep to himself.
Abigail constantly glanced back, despite the fact her emerald orbs were unable to pierce the darkness enough to see the black-haired man, hoping he would say something to let her know he was there.
Then the line stopped.
“What is it?” Torvus called to the front.
Abigail breathed a sigh of relief.
“He’s stirring!” came the reply.
Torvus shoved his way through the crowd to get to the circle of light. Abigail quickly fell in line behind him, using his wake to navigate the closing tide of curious onlookers.
The guard’s eyes fluttered open, followed by a startled gasp when the first thing he saw was his own knife glittering in the torchlight barely inches away from his face.
“You have two options,” Torvus began ominously. “Death, or walk in silence with us and behave yourself.”
Abigail gently placed her slender hands on Torvus’ weapon arm and slowly pushed it away, giving him a pleading look that said to trust her.
The guard looked at her curiously, and she returned the look with a smile.
“Forgive him,” she begged. “He is angry for having been cooped up for so long.”
She looked hard into the guard’s eyes, and he tilted his head back a few inches in defense, unsure of her motives or intentions.
“What’re ya doin’, girl? This one killed some of our families!” cried someone from beyond the ring of torchlight.
The guard peered around nervously.
“No!” argued Abigail firmly. “He did not. Some of his people, perhaps, but not him.”
The guard relaxed a little, more than intrigued with the young woman’s kindness.
“Are we to blame for the actions of King Roanindae’s soldiers?” she asked the crowd.
The silence lasted only a moment. “But he is a guard. He is like one of Roanindae’s soldiers! We were the people trampled by the soldiers.”
“Ah, but he was once like us. So were General Rahmina and her troupe. You could’ve just as easily become one of those soldiers.”
“I’ll take responsibility for this one,” Abigail proclaimed when no response from the crowd was forthcoming. Then she leaned forward and whispered something into the guard’s ear.
The guard’s expression betrayed his sudden awe. He nodded gravely and seemed afraid to betray her trust.
Torvus could only scratch his head in confusion as she helped the guard rise, and watched them continue on together. The smile and wink she shot over her shoulder at him didn’t help, either. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more: she and the guard walking off together, or the fact that he trusted Abigail and held faith she knew what she was doing.
Trust a woman, mused Torvus with a silent chuckle. That was something he hadn’t done in years.
Their arrival in Tuntiload came swift and without incident, the guard behaving the whole way. When Torvus asked Abigail what she’d said to the guard to make him cooperate, she remained silent. He suspected it was some kind of threat, and hoped it wasn’t a promise. After analyzing his feelings more closely, he felt foolish and confused.
He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.
* * * * *
They approached cautiously. Ahead loomed a faintly glowing hole, a soft beacon at the end of their dark tunnel. The glow obviously was not any torch or flame of any sort. Nor was it sunlight, starlight or moonlight. The glow was unnatural, yet seemed harmless and inviting.
Kaia-mei fought hard to ignore the overwhelming thoughts flowing uncontrollably through her. That voice…
She had seen the same purple glow once before in these caves, but knew it was nowhere near the same area. No, this glow was different. This one emitted great power. She could not help but sense that this was the source of the voice; growing ever louder and stronger every step she took toward the mouth of the cave. She even thought she heard the fluttering of wings, but dismissed it either as an illusion or a passing bat. She had to be strong. She felt like she was starting to lose control, but when the feeling became too much, she need only look at her two best friends ahead to regain her focus.
“A dead end,” Amberley said disappointedly.
The words snapped Kaia-mei from her trance.
Amberley and Caize stood at the edge of a deep chasm. They reached the mouth of the cave, and it was exactly as the image had shown the girls, except a stone bridge did not span the gap to the central platform.
“How peculiar!” Amberley breathed, admiring the single stalagmite holding up the platform, its base disappearing into the blackness below.
“Indeed,” added Caize.
Kaia-mei stood in silence, very afraid. She didn’t know why, or of what. She just felt a heavy sense of dread, more potent and more horrifying than their earlier encounter with the undead.
“What’s that?” Caize asked curiously, squinting to see further in the dull glow beyond Amberley’s torchlight.
The student looked behind her to make sure Kaia-mei wasn’t too close, and then moved the light source behind her peripheral vision on the opposite side, allowing their eyes to adjust a little more.
“A pedestal,” Caize half-asked.
“No, two of them. And they are holding daggers.”
“No way,” Caize breathed in disbelief.
“The artifacts of the legend,” Kaia-mei answered his unspoken question, equally astonished.
Amberley suddenly gasped; she had heard of the sentient artifacts. Caize peered harder, thinking maybe he was seeing things that weren’t really there.
A dark form plucked the daggers from their pillars, sending a resounding “shink” throughout the chasm, and suddenly the purple glow disappeared, replaced by blackness so complete that even Amberley’s torchlight couldn’t radiate more than a few feet.
Kaia-mei’s head reeled. Emotions she’d never felt before exploded through her, the voice pleading for her to act. When she realized she was not going to die, she opened her eyes. And she could see everything. Amberley and Caize were obviously confused, their eyes nearly useless further than their arms reach, and they both backpedaled in fear.
Kaia-mei strode forward, heeding the call of the voice that haunted her dreams for years. She saw no chasm below her. She saw only the two abominations that disturbed the artifacts’ harmony, more clearly than anything else in her vision. And she leapt for them.
“Kaia, no!” screamed Caize in horror when he felt her rush past him.
Amberley was speechless. Even so, she had the presence of mind to reach out and clutch a fistful of Caize’s hair before he could leap out after his friend.
His head jerked back and he dropped to the ground, holding his stinging scalp for only a moment before the realization that Kaia-mei was probably falling to her death drowned out the pain. He flipped to his hands and knees and crawled to the edge.
“Kaia!” he called desperately. He dropped to his belly and stretched his arms out as far as he could, feeling the wall below the ledge in hopes that she had caught hold of something. But he knew the search was futile. He knew she leapt too far out to be hanging from the wall below him. Even if tears hadn’t blurred his vision, he wouldn’t have been able to see that Kaia-mei had not fallen.

From a much higher perch, Alishiscina watched the dramatic scene unfold with her magically enhanced purple eyes. She couldn’t decide whether to inform the torchbearer of the dark-haired girl’s safe landing—so they wouldn’t do anything foolish—or to go to the aid of the foolish one who was about to engage two very dangerous and powerful enemies. Either way she would be breaking Mia’traline’s rules. But that didn’t stop her from getting involved with the young human female the other day. She will already be in trouble with the mother fairy, which would be for nothing if she took no action now. But whom should she go to first?

Kaia-mei touched down lightly on the platform, expiring her levitation with a thought, and ran on to punish the thieves. She was not fully conscious, operating on an instinctual, subconscious level driven by the desperate desires and wills of the sentient twin daggers, and so could not comprehend the trouble she would soon find.
She drew her dagger and lunged for the giant creature that had turned to face her after hearing her threatening growls. Her aim was true. Her dagger reached the creature’s belly unhindered. But she might as well have stabbed a stone wall.
And then she was flying, knocked unconscious and out into the chasm by a single swipe of the creature’s mighty backhand, her dagger dropping to the stone bridge with a clang.
Alishiscina dove for Kaia-mei, hoping the creature would toy with the girl long enough for her to interfere. But she was too late. Before she even made if halfway, the girl was falling into the chasm. Alishiscina didn’t alter her course even an inch. She quickly caught up to the falling girl and, thinking quickly, spit into her hands, rubbed them together briskly and blew between them as she pulled her wetted hands apart. A bubble formed around Kaia-mei just before she plunged into the river at the bottom of the chasm, trapping her in a pocket of air that’s integrity could only be breached by a counteracting energy. Alishiscina could have tried to catch the girl with a web woven by magic, but would’ve only had one chance. If she’d failed, Kaia-mei would’ve died on impact. The bubble was guaranteed safe, though now the fairy had to figure out how to get the girl out of the water.
Besides, she didn’t like the way the creature sneered at the other two humans, apparently seeing them for the first time after swatting Kaia-mei aside.

“Can you get us down there?” Caize pleaded, sobbing at Amberley’s feet.
Tears rimmed the student’s eyes as well, but her mind focused more on trying to figure out what had happened and their best course for survival. “No, Caize. There is no safe way down that would be fast enough. I am sorry. We must leave, before whatever it is comes after us.”
Caize had forgotten about the ominous silhouette. But he couldn’t find the strength to stand, until his mother’s silver dagger clanked to the ground next to him. He allowed himself the hope that Kaia-mei had returned. But a strange, high-pitched voice shattered that hope.
“You must flee!” cried Alishiscina. “They will come after you now!”
Amberley, too stunned and confused to consider the implications of the high-pitched voice, scooped up the dagger and hooked her other arm under Caize’s elbow, hauling him to his feet.
They stumbled at first, but gradually found a harmonic pace. Caize’s mind found a similar state of paralysis as Kaia-mei’s when they escorted her away from the caves after she woke up outside that fateful day, and yet he was oblivious to the coincidence. Amberley watched him closely, more concerned for his mentality than for her own dangerous situation.
Alishiscina followed close behind the whole way out.
* * * * *
“We’re being herded again,” stated Daxe sourly. “And we’ve only enough water left to hydrate us until we’re out under the open air.”
Secile knew they had cause for alarm, but she would not let the panic sink in. She looked down to Brinney for support, the enigmatic girl smiling at her despite their precarious perch on the edge of a battle for their lives.
“What do you see, Brinney? How do you feel about confronting this evil?”
Creole couldn’t believe his ears. He would’ve berated the mage, but Rahmina beat him to it.
“We cannot put the child in danger!” she scolded.
Secile chuckled, taking care to speak her next words calmly and evenly toned. “Look around, my friend. We are surrounded by danger. Would you rather fight everything they have to offer every step of the way, or see where they want us to do and use the extra time to try and find a way out?”
Rahmina frowned, trying hard to think of an alternate option. “What if they’re leading us to a trap? These shepherds might be easier to escape from than whatever they’re routing us to.”
Secile conceded the point. “Well said. However, I think I understand our enemy, and he has no reason to drag us in only to kill us. If he wanted us dead, his minions wouldn’t be herding us. They would be attacking like earlier. Something peaked his interest, and now he wants to meet us.”
Rahmina laughed. “I doubt he wants a conversation during a meal. Whether he wants to meet us or not, his intentions are evil because he is evil.”
“Of course they are, and yes he is. But even evil can play nice to get what it wants. Perhaps we will have an opportunity to exploit his illusion of kindness; turn it against him. We were lucky to find Neeka and escape without much of a fight. If we leave and come back, he will be more prepared. That is, if we even get out, of course.”
“Our lives are quite valuable to wager on assumptions,” Creole said dryly.
Although Brinney’s head hung low during the entire discussion, she listened intently and understood every word. She tugged lightly on her father’s hand, and whispered into his ear as he bent low to investigate her curious expression.
Creole stood up straight with a start, eyeing his daughter in surprise. “You sure, Brin?”
She nodded emphatically.
Creole eyed Secile with a resigned look and nodded. “Alright, then. We’ll go with the foul beasts.”
Secile couldn’t help but smile when she noticed that everyone, especially Creole, felt better about the decision now that they had Brinney’s blessing.
They marched for a long time. To the weary travelers, who’d endured the tight, lightless tunnels in the bowels of the mountain for the better part of a day, this stretch of the hike seemed much longer than their search for Neeka. The jagged rocks surrounding them produced flickering shadows that leered at them, laughed at them and mocked their helplessness. But they trudged on. More than one soldier stumbled—their feet too heavy to navigate the uneven floor. But there was always someone to help them up. Some began to lose hope, complaining that the monsters were leading them in an endless circle to make an easy meal of them, or to make them too tired to fight back when the leader forced them to join his army.
But Brinney remained calm through it all, and so they trudged on. After all, who would consciously reveal their fear when an eight year old girl was smiling and skipping along as if she thought she were prancing through a field of daisies on a warm summer day?
“I hope she knows something we don’t,” whispered one soldier to another. “‘Cause it looks like she’s lost her mind.”
“We’re on our last round of torches,” nodded the other in agreement.
Nearly an hour later, Brinney stopped abruptly, her mood flipping upside down instantly. She started whimpering and mumbling something under her breath.
“What is it, Brinney?” asked Secile, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
Creole leaned in, moving his ear close to her mouth. “No real words that I know of,” he concluded.
Secile squinted her eyes, straining to see down the tunnel beyond the torchlight ahead. If her vision proved correct, the tunnel opened up into a chamber of some sort perhaps fifty yards up. “It’s him, isn’t it, Brinney? He’s waiting for us down there,” she pointed down the tunnel ahead as she finished.
Brinney nodded, leaning into her father’s side for comfort.
Calling Daxe to her side, Secile set her pack down to prepare her components for the confrontation. “Please calm them, and reassure them that we will come out of this alive. I can’t have anyone doing anything rash to disrupt my plan.”
Daxe wanted to mention that he wasn’t sure of her “reassurance” claim himself, but nodded instead and went to spread the word that Secile had a plan that would see them through.
The mage pulled many items from her pack and stuffed some into the pockets of her robes for easier access, then stood and replaced the pack on her back. Daxe’s words were more believable when Secile asked for everyone to line up and take turns standing before her. She sprinkled everyone with the same powder mixture Amberley had used on Kaia-mei and Caize in the village to conceal them from the undead. Then she asked them to form up again, and this time handed each one a pinch of lavender and instructed them to stick it under their tongues. She then moved away from the group and finished the preparations she’d saved for herself, mainly protection from physical attacks since the soldiers could ward off physical attacks easily enough with their swords. But the most important one was a charm given to her by Headmistress Simyna when Secile had completed her fifth year of studies. She took a deep breath, double checking her work and going over her plan again—both mental preparations in themselves.
“We are ready,” she stated after turning back to the waiting force.
“When we spread out into the open, I want you to find a place to hide off to the side, Brin.” Creole pleaded with all his heart.
Brinney nodded, clinging to her father tightly as they headed off down the tunnel.
The cavern was small and empty. Ever-burning torches lined the walls, and a few handfuls of gold lay scattered about the floor, glittering in the firelight. Some boulders, big enough for Brinney to hide behind, rest near the walls in increments along the cavern’s perimeter. The skittish girl didn’t hesitate to dive behind the nearest one.
“This is, or was, the treasure room,” Secile whispered after cautiously searching for their dangerous quarry.
The still silence was very disturbing.
“I see no other exits,” observed Creole nervously, continuously glancing in Brinney’s direction.
“If there is one, it is hidden or blocked,” agreed Rahmina. She felt the heavy staleness in the air, like a bubble trapped for centuries under a rock in the ocean, waiting for something to move it so it might rise to the surface.
Secile could feel the evil, though, thick as black oil.
“We’re wasting our time,” added Daxe anxiously.
“And your lives,” bellowed a spine-chilling voice from above.
Secile mentally berated herself for being so careless. She above all the others should’ve searched the ceiling first upon entering the cavern. As one, the group closed in and moved harmoniously into a defensive formation, turning their eyes upward.
Burkae dropped like a spear toward the ground; head first. At the last second he flipped in the air, righting himself, and touched down lightly as though he’d simply stepped onto a landing from the bottom stair.
“Do not attack unless he forces us,” Secile whispered to Rahmina, who passed the command along to the others.
Then the mage boldly stepped forward. “As a representative of the Hosttowers of Nimbdell, I must first offer you the chance to prevent bloodshed. Give us the artifact, and you may leave in peace.”
Burkae cackled gleefully. “Politics,” he snorted derisively. “Ever a weakness with you humans. I offer you the choice to die and become my generals, or die and become my slaves.”
“Very well then,” Secile said calmly, without hesitation. “Allow all of them to leave, and we will continue this alone. Just you and I.”
Burkae grinned suspicioiusly. Vaulinquelitaya implored him to accept the offer, for he could always catch the others after defeating the mage. But prideful Burkae wanted to see why the artifact was so concerned with the girl hiding behind the rocks. And he wanted to show his creator how easily he could destroy the pitiful band of humans.
“How about they stay, and they watch you and I continue this?” he sneered, his wicked eyes glowing with desire for blood.
Secile expected the answer, and had already begun preparing her attack before he spoke. Luckily she’d eaten her last energizing biscuit just outside the cavern; else her weariness and hand wounds would’ve prevented her from being useful in this battle. She still wasn’t completely confident, however, for she doubted Vaulinquelitaya’s direct offspring would share a bane with the lesser undead. But she hoped the act would reveal some information or the leader’s weakness, if not at least slow or distract him.
The blast of water struck Burkae and knocked him back into the wall, holding him there for a moment. But when it ended, he stood there laughing, completely unharmed.
“Oh foolish human,” he chided. “You caught me off guard. Be assured it won’t happen again.”
“Now!” Secile called to Rahmina behind her.
The soldiers courageously swarmed forward, parting around Secile like a river around a rock.
Secile’s dagger sailed through the air, leading the charge. She knew it wouldn’t even get close to hitting the target, but only meant it to be a distraction anyway. She hoped it would give the men at the head of the charge a preemptive strike.
Her hopes died in the blink of an eye, along with the first few soldiers.
Burkae had leapt high into the air, Secile’s dagger clanging against the wall far below him, which caused the men to halt their charge and look up. One soldier had the presence of mind to throw a knife at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest and fell to the ground. They watched, gawking and amazed, as Burkae reversed momentum instantly and landed between the leading two soldiers before they realized what had happened. Their minds screamed that the laws of physics shouldn’t have allowed him to halt his ascent and increase the speed of his descent on a whim. But Burkae was not alive, and thus was beyond any and all laws known to the living.
The two men in front screamed in agony as Burkae’s dirty claw-like nails dug into their chests and pierced their hearts.
Secile tried several spells in the next couple minutes, all acts of desperation. Using Symina’s charm—intended to banish negative energy—she tried to neutralize Burkae by binding him, but Vaulinquelitaya blocked it with ease. When that failed she then tried to hold him in a web, then to confuse him or disrupt his focus with a mental attack. None worked, for they were all designed to tap into the energy or the mind of a living target. She was frustrated, scared, and for the first time in decades felt inept. She hadn’t known failure for a long time, but felt it keenly now. Every time a soldier screamed in pain, her heart bled with guilt.
Rahmina led the second group’s charge.
“No!” Screamed Secile. “Call them back! We must retreat!”
The men were more than eager to heed Secile’s suggestion, for seven of their companions lay dying or dead at the monster’s feet.
Burkae cackled again, dripping with the blood of his victims.
But even the slaughter they just faced paled next to Burkae’s next trick.
The soldiers were already more afraid then they ever thought possible, but nothing could prepare them for the sight of watching their fallen companions rise from the ground, still bleeding from their fatal wounds, an eerie light in their hungry evil eyes.
Then the undead charged.
Secile blasted them with water, the last of what was left in her water skin. And then she fell to her knees, exhausted from using so much energy.
Burkae growled, still menacing even though the water had washed away all the blood.
But Secile knew the blood would never wash away, not the blood unnecessarily spilled because she was unprepared.
“You all may leave alive,” Burkae began ominously. “If you leave the little one with me.”
“Never!” growled Creole, running to Brinney’s side. He knelt down next to her and peered deep into her eyes. “Please, Brin, leave this place. We will stay here and distract him long enough for you to get out.” He knew the plan was desperate and wouldn’t likely work. But he also knew they had no other options.
Brinney watched in horror as Burkae casually strolled up to the kneeling mage.
“See-see?” she whimpered.
“Brinney, go now! That’s an order!”
Normally her father’s booming commands had her obeying instantly. But as she watched Burkae grab Secile by the hair and yank her head back, all she could do was listen to the song within her, screaming to be let out. As she watched Burkae’s hand, now clutching a jeweled dagger, reach back for a killing blow to Secile’s heart, she no longer heard her father’s angry voice. She didn’t even feel him swat her hard on the rump.
She only heard the song, then felt the song. She released the bindings that caged the song.
And then she became the song.
Burkae’s hand swung down, arcing to pierce Secile’s heart with his creator, to make her his queen. But a sudden flash of silvery light stole his vision and stayed his hand momentarily. He was more curious than alarmed, for the light did not hurt him.
But the wail that followed did hurt.
He fell to his knees, dropping the artifact and clutching at his ears as tight as he could to try and keep the sound from biting at his soul. He soon discovered, though, that there was no escape. His undead ears received no sound. His decomposing brain was not the interpreter any longer. He gave up that life. This sound was aimed for the swirling darkness within him, the seed planted in the recesses of his spiritual being. The screech was keener than a banshee’s wail.
But to those of flesh and blood—to everyone else in the room—the sound was a single sweet note of harmony, barely audible. So inaudible that they would think it came from within their own heads.
The sound, though, was insignificant, practically non-existent, compared to what they witnessed with their eyes.
Brinney had transformed, morphed into a creature that none of them had ever seen or even heard of. Her features were smooth and beautifully proportionate. Her entire body was covered in a purplish fur-like coat, though still holding the general shape of a bipedal human. The fur was thicker and longer on her head where her hair once was, her eyes a pool of deep blackness. And she shone like the moon at night. Creole, hardly coherent from all the confusion and adrenaline, looked curiously to the lump of cooling melted metal that was Brinney’s new pendant.
Burkae saw a flash of purple and felt himself flying backward. Even then he couldn’t focus on anything but the soul-shattering wail. He slammed into the wall, crushing one of the sconces and dropping its ever-burning torch, and crumpled to the floor, not physically hurt but unable, or unwilling, to stand.
Then Vaulinquelitaya intervened. The wail dissipated to a tolerable level, replaced by the urges of his creator. Burkae stood, growling through the pain and locking his evil glare onto the creature flying circles near the ceiling. He noted her flight patterns and leapt high to intercept her.
But she was ready. Purposely flying at less than maximum speed to deceive him, she sped up when he neared his peak to get behind him. He compensated admirably, turning too quick for her to slam into his back, and prepared to sink his claws in and hold on for the ride.
Again, she was ready. Seemingly anticipating his every move, she dove with impossible agility and another boost of speed, down between his legs and up behind him. Before he could complete another spin, she circled gracefully up and backwards as if she were doing a back-dive into a body of water, and slammed into his back at a downward angle.
Burkae crashed down, throwing rubble into the air and digging a shallow hole in the rock floor. He need not worry about broken bones, since they’d practically rotted away anyway, but the fall hurt his confidence more than a little. For the first time in his new life, Burkae felt fear.
And Vaulinquelitaya abandoned him. He was no longer worthy, for one with fear could not lead the artifact’s conquest.
The wail returned to its normal strength, again paralyzing him. He sensed the creature above him seconds before he felt the heat, and knew his crusade had come to an end. The blue flames engulfed him and he immediately caught fire. But the fire alone wouldn’t stop him. Shortly after the creature’s flame ceased, though the fire still licked at his body, she produced a rain cloud above his head with the moisture in her breath, which then opened up and drenched him with water. And the flames, stubbornly clinging to his dried out corporeal form, grew brighter. The fire crept into his open orifices, and the water sank into his pores.
Together they destroyed the seed Vaulinquelitaya had planted in his soul, and Burkae’s empty corpse dropped to the ground, never to rise again.
While everyone’s attention rest on Burkae, afraid he would jump up and resume the fight, Brinney crashed to the ground and reverted to her human body, her energy exhausted. Few realized that the creature Brinney had become uncontrollably attacked some of the soldiers as well, knocking them unconscious or burning their skin. Creole was the first to act when moments passed without any movement from Burkae, immediately searching for his daughter. He found her next to one of the boulders on the far side of the room, lying naked and unconscious on the ground. After checking her pulse to make sure she still drew breath, tears of joy poured from his eyes. At first he thought Burkae turned her into an evil monster, but then he heard the strange ringing in his head. And then she attacked the real monster. His fear of losing her remained, though, when he realized she was no longer human and seemingly out of control. But she saved all their lives, and possibly the entire region. Looking at her now, lying unconscious as though she had been asleep the whole time, he knew she would always be his daughter, whether she was human or not.
Secile managed to crawl over to them before Rahmina and Daxe, followed by the others, helped her stand.
“Will someone please explain to me what just happened?” Randal asked when he realized no one else was going to speak.
Everything seemed so surreal to all of them. They half expected to wake up at any moment.
“We should…get out of here…first,” Secile said weekly. “Then I will…explain.”
Creole looked at the mage with concern. “I don’t need an explanation. She is my daughter. She saved our lives. That’s good enough for me.”
Secile nodded understandingly. She couldn’t imagine what Creole felt, what changes he would soon face. And no one else felt they had the right to speak after Creole’s statement.
Rahmina had the presence of mind to gather the ever-burning torch, freed from its prison in the battle. Others gathered the scattered gold.
An awkward silence followed them all the way back to the village.

Epilogue

The sun peeked over the eastern horizon, sending a blazing stream of light into Sholee’s bedroom window, illuminating the area around Caize—fast asleep in a chair at his mother’s bedside—and reflecting light in a dazzling display off the silver dagger he stubbornly clutched to his chest. Amberley lay asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. The evening before, they arrived in the village just before sundown to find the undead sentries back at rest; a ring of corpses surrounding Caize’s cabin. His father arrived two hours later, carrying a naked Brinney in his arms. He only offered a quick explanation to tie Caize over until they’d all recuperated from the trials in the caves, which suited Caize well enough. He wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his father that he let Kaia-mei fall to her death anyway.
He jumped in the chair, startled awake from a nightmare he feared he would repeat every night until he found Kaia-mei’s body. He was surprised to see his mother looking at him, smiling. At first he feared she had died, her expression frozen in the moment her spirit left her corporeal form. But then she blinked.
She blinked!
He sat up straight and rubbed his eyes, partly to see if he was still dreaming and partly to check if what he saw was an illusion. Neither was true, for she held her hand out to him.
“Me son,” she croaked weakly.
Amberley stirred, sitting up quickly when she heard the dry, crackly voice.
Caize couldn’t find the words. His mouth hung open, forming half a smile, and his eyes widened in disbelief as he took her hand, still holding the dagger to his chest.
“Fa…father!” he finally cried in glee. “Father come in here!”
“Where’s Kaia?” Sholee asked with concern when she noticed her silver dagger in her son’s possession.
Caize’s face clouded over.
“We’re not sure, exactly,” interjected Amberley. “But we will find her.”
Sholee looked from the young female to her son and could barely raise her eyebrow inquisitively.
“This is Amberley, a student of Nimbdell,” he answered her unspoken question.
“Pleased to meet you, Lady Duunlare. And glad I am that you are feeling better!”
Sholee managed a small smile, and meant to return the kind words, but the door flew open and in strode Creole.
“My love!” he cried happily, rushing to her side and burying his head in her shoulder, careful not to injure her with his hug.
She just gazed into his eyes with a smile that reminded Creole of the first day they met.
“I thought you…”
Sholee stopped Creole’s words with a finger and her shaking head, knowing what he was about to say and not wanting him to finish the sentence. Instead, she reached her hand out to Caize again, this time pointing to the dagger.
He handed it over.
Her voice was hoarse, but understandable. “I dreamt o’ th’ day me uncle gave this t’ me. I was but a child, barely five win’ers.” She trailed off, seemingly swallowed by the memories.
“Hun, will ye please fetch th’ box out o’ me draw’s?” she asked Caize.
He did, and she opened it immediately.
“I’ve never seen you open that,” smiled Creole.
“Should I leave?” asked Amberley, sensing a special family moment approaching.
“Nay, ‘tis a’right, hun.”
Sholee pulled a dusty old parchment out of the box and gave it to Creole, indicating that he should read it.
He studied it for a moment, making certain he could read the whole thing before beginning, and then looked at his wife curiously as he cleared his throat. “My dearest brother’s daughter. As our blood is passed down, so, too, is this dagger. It will keep you well, but only if you keep it with you always.”
“Forgo’ all abou’ th’ note, ‘ntil th’ dream I jus’ woke from.”
Amberley secretly entered her meditative state, and activated her analytical energies. The dagger radiated powerfully.
“What does it mean, mother?”
Sholee shrugged.
“It means the dagger is keeping you alive,” Amberley confirmed for her.
Sholee was more shocked than Caize and Creole.
So Creole decided to tell her what Secile told him. “The mage said there is an incurable illness inside you. She couldn’t do anything to help.”
“But that dagger contains a combination of energies I’ve never seen before,” Amberley added, her voice dripping with wonderment. “If I had to guess, I’d say it—or someone—has entombed your illness, created a sort of cage around it, and anchored it to the energies in the dagger. It is very powerful, and clever. If you wouldn’t mind, when you’re well enough to travel of course, the Masters at Nimbdell would love to study it.”
“The mage also said Brinney might want to study there, to learn to control her gift.”
Sholee’s eyebrows furrowed curiously. She sensed that Creole had come to terms with their daughter’s strange behaviors, perhaps even embraced them. She wondered what else she had missed.
“Perhaps we could all go?” suggested Creole hesitantly. “Even Neeka, if she ever awakens.”
Caize looked away to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. “Not without Kaia,” he stated with finality.
Creole looked to him, concerned, wondering if they would ever find a piece of the normalcy they once had.
The old woodsman wondered when he would have the courage to tell Sholee what happened with Brinney in the caves. He left Caize with his mother, then, and returned to watch over their daughter.
But Brinney was gone.

Rahmina and the forty soldiers who agreed to stay in the valley organized the layout plans for their new homes; set on both sides of the original cabins and near the mouths of the valley, partly as protection for the inner village and part to be respectful of the villagers’ home. Randal wasn’t too pleased with having to abandon the kingdom, and nor was Rahmina, but Kainis loved the idea. He’d always been a lover of nature and hiking through mountains. Now

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