Chapter 19
The Steward
You can’t protect everyone!
Then die like one.
You can’t protect anyone if you’re dead!
The voices chastising him, whipping at his choices and crumbling them into nothing were all that was left in Terrill’s head. His body felt so broken, unable to do much but listen to the rushing water as he flowed down the tube of light. He only had a vague idea where he was going from the snippets of conversation on the sinking boat. They were all irrelevant.
He had lost. Badly.
He hadn’t protected a single thing on his own, not without breaking himself in the process. Everything he’d done up to that point felt useless.
How can I call myself a Guardian…when I can’t even save myself…? Floyd’s harsh words held too much truth, and Terrill wished to shut down. He had spent too much time scolding Floyd for his recklessness, when he was the most reckless of all. Now, he was paying for it, his body in such agony he just wanted it to end. There was no way to recover from this. There was no way to face them after that failure.
The rushing water disappeared, and the sound of something else, something earthen, replaced it. Like rocks falling in an avalanche down a mountainside, Terrill dared to open his eyes for as long as he could (which, in his current state, wasn’t that long at all). The light at the end of this corridor they were traveling grew brighter, their destination waiting beyond. He tried to move his arm to grasp for it, but the burn from the shadow that infested his wounds made him cry out with pain.
That cry lasted until the journey ended, and it echoed through the space they all found themselves in.
Terrill’s body hit dirt, and lay there, still in the silence. He attempted to move his body, but still could not. The trip had done nothing to remove the shadow, and yet, he had to hope that there was something here to save him.
Because the truth of it was, he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want anyone to die, and now, faced with his own mortality, it wasn’t something he was willing to sacrifice. It wouldn’t help anybody. Floyd was right.
“Is everyone alive?” That was Floyd, and Terrill felt two strong arms lifting his limp body from the ground. It was Walter and Floyd, had to be, a fact confirmed when the older man called out.
“Is this it, then?” Torry said in awe. “Is this where the Lifeblood of Light is?”
“I tried my best,” Krysta followed up. She sounded on the verge of tears, but whether they were sadness, anger or some other consuming feeling, Terrill couldn’t tell with his eyes closed. Despite the strain on his body, Terrill tried to open them instead, and got his first look at where they had crash landed in their flight from Invaria.
It was a forest, sparsely populated by trees, and set on a small island at sea, rough waves that prevented any conventional access surrounding the rock. A crashing sound resulted behind them, and Terrill guessed it to be the damaged mast, toppling into the woods. The two carrying him hitched him up on their shoulders, beginning to drag him forward.
“Well, if it is here, let’s find it,” Floyd said, his voice right next to Terrill’s ear. Terrill tried to keep his eyes open, but every second longer was a second more that his body ached. His mind was pleading for them to find a way out of this soon; the darkness inside his wounds was itching to eat away at him. “There’s gotta be some shelter somewhere on this rock.”
“How about that building?” Walter’s suggestion was heeded, as the two turned with Terrill and headed in an altered direction. There didn’t appear to be much ground to cover, as they soon stopped short, and Terrill felt it necessary to open his eyes again.
“I…know…you…” Terrill groaned, the first and only words that he could let spill from his mouth. He wasn’t sure what made him say them, except for the first sight to enter his eyes.
It wasn’t the building behind; no, that came later. Instead, the first thing Terrill could see was an old man, dressed in a simple white robe. His beard was long, and his hair even longer. He gleamed with pure light, and in his hand was a long staff that he used more like a walking stick. Only after the others took in this man that Terrill remembered hallucinating, did the details of their surroundings fill in, such as the building made of the most beautiful white marble that Terrill had ever seen. It put even Palace Invaria to shame, its wooden doors wide open. Parts of it had experienced the ravages of time, no doubt, but to Terrill, it was a beacon of salvation.
“So, you all rode the corridors of the Lifebloods, did you?” the man asked, his voice rather throaty and as elderly as he looked. The group was unable to formulate an immediate response.
“Who…who are you?” Torry asked. Terrill could feel her body heat, the girl coming closer to Floyd. “And where are we?”
“You are at the ancient library of Priscus, and I am Alexander, its caretaker.”
“Priscus…” Krysta breathed out. Had Terrill’s eyes not shut once more, he might not have heard it with his ears, but she sounded upset at having to be there in the first place.
“If you’re a caretaker, will you let us in? We need to heal this man,” Walter said, moving Terrill’s body as indication. The Guardian didn’t need the eyes on him to know that this Alexander was surveying him with clear intent.
“It would seem his soul has been infected with another’s, no?”
“Who cares? We need to get him in here to heal him!” Floyd protested. He was prepared to drag Terrill on his own, and Terrill found himself grateful for the boy.
“There is only one way to heal-” Alexander cut himself off, sensing something in the air. Terrill could feel it, too. His body cried out, every part that had been wounded by one of the Fiends screaming in pain. It knew. He knew.
Atrum had come with them.
The sudden screech emanated from the forest, and Terrill felt the pull from within his body. It was utter agony, as though that shadow inside him was yearning to break free and rejoin its master, hoping to rip his body apart in the process. The ground shook, and trees fell, a sign that whatever monster existed, whatever Atrum had done, it was coming closer.
“Inside the library. Now. We can talk once there. No dallying!” This time, Floyd and Walter weren’t afraid to listen. They picked Terrill’s feet off the ground and tore off for the interior of the ancient library. Torry and Krysta were right behind them, covering their backs as they crossed over the threshold.
“Old man, stop interfering!” The shout from Atrum caused the duo supporting Terrill to turn around once inside. Terrill kept his eyes open long enough to witness what was happening. Atrum came flying from the trees, his sword drawn with a deep stain of darkness surrounding it. He spun through the air, aiming for Alexander.
The old man had no words for Atrum. He only lifted his staff, and tapped it upon the ground. Terrill’s eyes widened as far as they could, and the soft gasps from the ones holding him confirmed what they saw. From where Alexander tapped, a great shield was formed, greater than anything even Krysta had produced. It spread vertically and horizontally both, wrapping its way around the library in a protective cocoon. Atrum slammed against it, sliding down its surface.
Satisfied with his defensive measures, Alexander turned around and crossed back over the threshold until the doors slammed shut. It left all of them in the void of sound that was this library of Priscus.
With that, Floyd and Walter seemed to relax, and Terrill allowed his eyes to shut, hoping to conserve what little energy he had. Soon as he had, his body seized up, a cough of pain rising from his lips. His hands twitched, yearning to reach inside of him and pull whatever was there out of him. He could no longer stand the pain.
“His body is rebelling,” Alexander said, drawing Terrill’s auditory senses to focus fully on him. “There is something foreign inside, and it is corroding him from within, is it not?”
“Maybe…” Floyd said. He let go of Terrill now, lowering him to something surprisingly soft. It didn’t stop the searing pain, but was enough to give his hands something to sink into. He stopped once he heard the scrape of Floyd’s dagger, and extension of Walter’s spear. “But how would you know any of that? Who are you, really, and where’s the Lifeblood of Light?”
“Answer now. We don’t have much patience left,” Walter concurred. Terrill had to guess from the other sounds, that Torry and Krysta were backing them up. The library shuddered, and Terrill’s soul could feel the anger coursing through Atrum just outside in a desperate attempt to break in.
“I have told you who I am,” Alexander said, his staff tapping against the stone floor. It did nothing to Terrill’s compatriots but display Alexander’s disdain for their mistrust. “As for the Lifeblood of Light, there was no need to come here.”
“Are you saying it’s not here?” Torry asked, but it wasn’t the voice of an inquisitive little girl, but someone tired of losing their last chances. “Did we make a wrong turn, or was it never here to begin with?”
“If the Lifeblood of Light is the object of your search to heal Terrill Jacobs, then you needn’t worry, my friends,” Alexander said. Terrill’s eyes shot open, realizing that he was laying on a couch amidst scattered tables and tomes of books. It was hard to get a grasp on his surroundings, especially when another tremor sent more books falling to the floor. “I can remove the darkness from within. It should be a simple process. It would be far more complicated if it was one of you.”
“Hold on just a second, friend,” Walter said. His voice was icy, and his spear was pointedly held at Alexander’s throat. The man didn’t take offense or threat from it, but his cool, blue eyes stared into Walter’s waiting for him to finish. Through his delirium, Terrill could tell that this old man was testing them, seeing if they were willing to take the time that could sacrifice him. He couldn’t rustle up enough voice to tell them to let it go; they could question him after. “How is it you know Terrill’s name when we just met? Are you in concert with these Fiends? This Atrum? Speak!”
“Mmhmm! Mmhmm!” Floyd and Torry agreed. Floyd’s daggers were held the same direction as Walter’s were, and Torry’s fingers crackled with magical energy that threatened to spill forth.
“There is no time for this,” Alexander said with a sigh, “but very well. I am Alexander, Steward of the Flow, and the last surviving Priscan.”
“So, this is Priscus, then?” Krysta said, her voice low. She had moved over while the others were threatening the old man, seating herself next to Terrill on the couch in protection of him. He choked a bit, the library shaking, and his eyes saw the shadows straining to get out. “That’s an ancient legend.”
“It is what is left of Priscus, dead many thousands of years,” Alexander explained. “It is here that I rest, reading the world’s flow of souls, researching, ever-aware of the wider world, but never joining it.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“And what’s your connection to Atrum?” Floyd pressed. “He called you an old man. Looked like he knew you.”
“Mm, how very perceptive of you, Mr. Margrove.” Without batting an eye, the elder pushed aside Floyd’s blade and then did the same to Walter. “I hold the answer to many things the Shadow King seeks, not the least of which, I’m sure, is the prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” Walter’s question came.
“You know what it says, then?” was Floyd’s alternative.
Alexander answered neither, for he approached the couch, Terrill sensing his presence. The shadow inside flared, and Terrill’s hands tightened on the fabric. “I can answer all of your questions in time. However, Mr. Jacobs is dying. His wounds can be sewn up, but the shadow will corrode him from within unless we remove it.”
“You know how to do that? We hoped to use the Lifeblood, but-”
“This requires a more delicate matter,” Alexander said, cutting Torry off before furthering her explanation. “This requires dealing with souls. That child’s soul, I would imagine.”
“Now, hold on!” Floyd shouted. The library shook once again, and far back, Terrill thought he could hear a bookshelf fall, crashing its contents upon the ground. “What do you plan on doing with Terrill?”
“Just a simple process of extraction, or soul sealing, really.” Alexander leaned upon his staff, and Terrill saw his face swim on the edge of his vision. His face was wrinkled with age, and his full white beard obscured much of those wrinkles, giving him the appearance of a kind, elderly man. His sharp, piercing eyes told the story of a pragmatic one. “The boy connects with his Fiends through a single soul, all bound together, tied to the same fate. It is like a sharing of the soul, though not by choice. He bends them to his will. Thus, they are in concert with him, and through them his strings are spread, an endless tapestry that weaves across the world. It is a far harder thing to accomplish in Dimidia, and were any of you Adversans to be struck by that, I’m afraid the souls would comingle, become indistinguishable.
“As it stands, Mr. Jacobs is not. He is from Dimidia, and his soul is his incontrovertibly. It cannot be subsumed by another’s soul via string, not unless it is tied to the darkness from which it is birthed. That shadow that binds the boy, or rather Atrum’s fate is within his bones, eating away at his life. But, so long as it can be sealed, it can be extracted, and the string cut. With light, my dear.”
Terrill was slipping back out again, the shadow burning at his insides. He began to realize how it was reacting to Atrum’s insane desire to get inside and attack this place. Attack him. Or convince him of something else.
Alexander, however, was looking directly at Krysta.
She was less convinced, eyeing the old man with scrutiny. The others were less willing to have it happen, each wanting to find an alternate method. Terrill knew that’s what they wanted, and perhaps it was the easiest, least painful route, but Terrill didn’t care. He wanted this out of him. His hand shakily rose, grabbing Krysta’s and squeezing it with what strength he had left in him. She cast him a look of sympathy. “Will it hurt him?”
“Yes.” The blunt answer gave all but Terrill pause. However, Krysta’s pause did not last long, and she squeezed back. “The shadow of Atrum’s soul will resist. It will want its vessel, and to return to its other vessel. No doubt it will burn through his body to keep itself intact, but if Mr. Jacobs can fight it and survive the process…”
“We’ll do it.” Krysta stood, but continued holding to his hand. “Terrill will survive it.”
“Very well. Let us not waste time. If you can defend the entrance,” Alexander said, sweeping his arm out towards the door. The other three, helpless in such a situation, weren’t ready to listen, but a nod from Krysta convinced them to. Alexander leaned his staff against a nearby table and brought his hand to hover over Terrill’s chest, his long nails white as bone. “I cannot guarantee my barrier will keep our Shadow King out while I do this, so we must work fast. It will be painful. Let us begin.”
Alexander’s hand plunged towards Terrill’s chest, planting itself as a bright light shined out.
For a moment, Terrill felt nothing. Nothing but the man’s cold, clammy hands.
That moment vanished in a wisp.
“AHH!” Terrill’s scream ripped from his throat. The shadow burned, and Terrill suddenly heard screaming in his head. He thrashed about on the couch while Alexander held him steady and Krysta clasped tight to his hands.
His vision went black, and the shadow rose inside, its gleaming red eyes raging as a storm inside him. Terrill continued to scream, unable to control the pain. His chest, his shoulders, his legs, everything screeched and clawed and sunk its very teeth inside him. Terrill’s head felt like it was going to split open, and he lost his tether to reality, his mind sinking into the abyss of despair that was the shadow. Atrum’s shadow.
You cannot protect anything… Its insidious whispers surrounded him, a force that wanted to choke the life out of him. This body is too weak. This mind too foolish.
“Weak…” Terrill gasped out. His body was on fire, he could feel it, the shadow emerging from his mouth only to be pulled back in by Alexander’s magic. The shadow continued to confront him, dragging on Terrill’s limbs, attempting to pull him deeper into the abyss.
You’re a fool for trying. Humanity will simply repeat its mistakes. You can give yourself, body and soul, but it will mean nothing.
Emphasizing the point, the shadow lashed against Terrill’s chest in that underworld, and the scar that Winifred had given him burst with the darkness, enveloping him. He felt himself being swallowed, his limbs unable to move.
But if we work together, Terrill, we can break those chains! You can protect all! We can be a united force! Just let my soul inside you a little longer!
“No… I don’t want…”
You cannot protect them without me!
“STOP IT!” Terrill screamed. Every limb burned; the shadow was being pulled away. It fought for every last breath, hoping to scar him and leave his body broken. Terrill almost let it, too, knowing that it was speaking the truth. How he had let himself break for nothing. How he was weak. How he-
“Terrill.” Her voice shined through, and Terrill opened his eyes. Instead of an abyss of black, there was a blank canvas of white that the shadow was painted against. And there was her. Not a ghostly apparition like in the desert, but a genuine flesh and blood version of her, grasping his hand, and squeezing it tight. “We’re here for you. It’s okay. We’re not going anywhere. You can keep fighting.”
No! There is only one way to fight, and that is under your own power! Your own strength!
“Terrill. Keep going.” Her voice was soft, calming, and in that moment, Terrill could feel her lean over and press her lips to his forehead. It was an action that no words needed, and Terrill nodded, his green eyes meeting the shadow’s red.
“No. I don’t want you here, Atrum. I don’t need you.” He breathed out. “I only need them.”
The shadow erupted into screams, unable to control its form any longer. The storm increased and Terrill could feel his body crying out in pain, bending at an angle he knew that it shouldn’t until, mercifully, the storm ceased, and the shadow was pulled back. It was ripped away from him, and a blinding light flashed out, severing the strings.
The final, curdling scream died inside Terrill’s head. With it, the shadow was gone.
Terrill’s body went limp, his breath ragged, and all he saw was white; nothing but. It was soothing, and serene, something he never thought he’d experience again. This time, when he opened his eyes, he saw the stone ceiling of the library and felt his fingers against Krysta’s. The pain in his chest and shoulder was gone. He breathed out, savoring the taste of an air that didn’t make his lungs burn. When he turned his head, he could see that which had invaded him: a small sphere of darkness chained by light.
“H-how?” It was the only thing his mouth, parched and raspy, could first manage. His strength was only slowly returning.
“Soul Seal. A gift granted me by the goddess, in a manner of speaking,” Alexander said in answer. Terrill grunted, his bones groaning, but otherwise fine. He was feeling fully fit compared to a few minutes before. His next action of sitting up was met with an immediate response, and before he could move further, he found Floyd and Torry flinging themselves around him.
“You’re okay!”
“I almost thought we’d lose you!”
“I’m…I’m okay,” Terrill said. His chest still burned a little, though this he realized was from the scar left upon it than anything inside him. A reminder. His head hung, offering a respectful bow to all of them. “Thank you. All of you. And you as well, er…Alexander, right?”
“I take it you were fully conscious through most of the ordeal. A credit to your fortitude,” Alexander said. The library shuddered again, this time worse than before, and a closer crash said that even more bookshelves in this ancient place had fallen. Terrill wondered how many tomes had been lost from that alone. “That said, I believed I had no choice but to save you. You are Dimidian after all.”
“And now that Terrill is fine, how do you know that?” Walter turned his weapon upon the old man again. Terrill didn’t think to chastise him. He, too, was curious.
“As I said, I am the Steward of the Flow. I read the flow of this world’s souls. The transference of energy between Dimidia and Adversa, and the path it leads things on. Not unlike your healer here.” Alexander stood once more, gripping his staff in order to address them all better. “I have watched over the passages for many years now, longer than any of you have been alive, and kept a close watch particularly on the Lifebloods. Recently, of course, they’ve begun to have quite the change.”
“And why is that?” Torry asked. Alexander raised his hand, and with his sharp nail, pointed to Terrill. He wished he could have been surprised at that.
“Because I’m a physical being in a world of souls. Is that it?”
“A tad more complicated, I’m afraid,” Alexander said, chuckling as he did so. The man leaned back against his table, some of the chairs having fallen over during either Terrill’s thrashing or the rumblings that grew more frequent from the outside. His staff raised, its point glowing as Alexander drew a diagram in midair of two circles with ties between them. “Dimidia and Adversa are mirrors of each other. Once existing as a singular world, the goddess tore it apart to stop the endless pollution of magic by man. The physical side, Dimidia, was disallowed the use of magic. Meanwhile, Adversa, the place made solely of souls, was a magic haven, but bound by the rules of Dimidia.”
“So, wait, you’re saying there’s two of us? A Floyd in Dimidia and me, here in Adversa?” Floyd said, jumping to his feet. He looked to be puzzling it out with Torry, the two defaulting to their research in light of these revelations.
“Precisely. And under normal circumstances, you’d likely be back home.”
“Under normal circumstances? I take it these aren’t.”
“It’s because Terrill’s Blessed,” Krysta said, answering Walter’s query for him. She let go of Terrill’s hands, standing as she did so and clasping to her shoulder while her feet paced back and forth. “Isn’t it?”
“As you say, miss…?”
“Krysta.”
“A lovely name.” Krysta didn’t appear to think so, her glower telling Alexander to get on with his explanation. Terrill agreed, as they appeared to be running out of time, dust shaking down from the ceiling. “Yes. Mr. Jacobs is Blessed, which in this case is a Lifeblood sending his Adversan soul to join with that of his counterpart in Dimidia, as accorded by the world’s flow of souls. It is rare, usually in the face of a cataclysmic event given what damage it can cause, but often a Lifeblood will deem it necessary to…balance the scales.”
“The Lifebloods are the ones keeping things intact between the two worlds!” Torry and Floyd uttered together, their hands raising in a high five at what they’d figured out. Terrill was glad they had, the concept confusing enough, but made simpler by their words.
It led to a different conclusion in his mind, however. “The Lifeblood returned my Adversan soul…which means… I don’t exist here.” He chuckled, remembering the words Winifred had once said to him at Point Harbor. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“And thus, we get to the crux of the plan.” Alexander lowered his hand, staring out across the vast tomes that were scattered. A horrendous sound could be heard outside, like glass shattering, but all eyes were on this elderly steward. “Atrum has used your traipsing around Adversa to cause dissonance and havoc between the two worlds. They can no longer be considered reflections of one another, and I would imagine the Lifebloods are having a hard time keeping up. It is no doubt he’s taking advantage of that, and that is not something I wish to see happen. The Lifebloods cannot fade. Not now, before the appointed time.”
“The prophecy, is it?” Terrill blew out as Alexander confirmed that notion of his. He shook his head. “If that’s the case, why would you save me? I’m a blight on Adversa, aren’t I? I’m messing up the prophecy.”
“The prophecy is merely one’s interpretation of the cycle of souls. Perhaps you play a role in one version, or perhaps you are irrelevant in another. Regardless, Atrum has used this to cultivate his war and his shadow with the despair that will rise. The world will be thrown off. And this leaves you with a singular choice, Terrill Jacobs.”
Terrill tilted his head, waiting for the hammer to drop, as did they all.
“You can either return home to Dimidia, and let the war play out here. Or you can stay in Adversa to avert the war and possibly cause further destruction as you do so. Choose.”
It was about as horrific a choice as he could have expected. Either road was the road that led to people dying, and he would be unable to protect them. The events at Invaria had taught him that; he couldn’t throw himself in front of a shooting arrow every time. Yet returning home would leave Atrum free to do what he wanted without remorse and bring that same hellish shadow to every soul that existed. They wouldn’t be so simple to free.
Still, it was a choice Alexander and all the others expected him to make.
“How about a third option?!” The cold voice rang, and there was a sudden wrenching sound. Terrill whipped towards the front of the library, reaching for the sword that wasn’t on his back. Before he could find where it went, cracks traveled along the stone, and with a great crash, boulders were flown out and peppered the library. A dark shape emerged through the dust that resulted. “How about I kill every soul here, and drag the prophecy out of you, old man?”
The dust cleared, and as it did, the shadow that was bound in chains broke free, flying through the air to rejoin with the one standing atop the black shape. Atrum strode forth, the piece of his soul sinking back inside him as the strings grew taut. The haze cleared, all four of Terrill’s friends looking in the direction of the boy and his beast.
For indeed, it was a beast with the claws of a crab, and giant black trees formed upon its back. Its pincer swung out, cutting through the stone walls as if they were paper, and it let out a bellow that shook the very foundations of the room they were in. Atrum smirked, and one last time held his hand out.
“Then, Terrill, you and I go home together. Free from the cycle, at last.”