Chapter 3
The Prophecy
Upon his return to Dimidia, Terrill had decided to bring the war to Golbrucht and his Fiends. In all of this, he hadn’t expected one of them to show up within moments of his arrival. But if it had to be anyone in the country of Sayn, he was not surprised at it being Clay. The same could not be said for the ministers and representatives. The king and his older son were the only ones to care little, more concerned for the unconscious Leopold, and providing no reaction to the presence of Clay in the room.
The Archbishop’s reaction more than made up for them, his typically calm and even voice raising a couple octaves, screeching and echoing off of the stone walls. “Heathen! Blasphemer! Who are you, and why do you dare take the face of the original Chosen One?!”
Clay settled upon his axe, the stone floor where it was embedded cracking underneath its weight. A smirk twisted the beard on his face, still making him no less recognizable. “Come now, archbishop. If the King of the Dark can be reincarnated again and again, what makes you think that I could not, as Chosen One?”
“You dare to take his name.”
“Dare?” Clay’s foot shuddered forward, the entirety of parliament and the archbishop thrown back from the resultant tremoring. Terrill and his companions maintained their balance, the chains rattling. At this threat, the soldiers all closed ranks, their quivering clanking indicating their fear at the sight of the violent man who wore the face of their hero. Terrill might have been the same as them a few months ago. “Why should I dare to take the name of one you simply made a nameless symbol? Even Golbrucht, himself, fashioned a name to serve as the symbol prophecy made him to be. A prophecy you so diligently enforced, never understanding the truth of the way fate worked.
“But you understand it, don’t you, Terrill Jacobs?”
For that moment, Terrill wished he didn’t. His time diving through the Shadow had elucidated much of the concept of fate to him, though. With Clay beginning to spell it out to the gawkers and people in power, he was beginning to grasp the truth of the prophecy that had been there from the very beginning. The unfortunate truth that they had all known so little, from the Fiends down to the common man, about all the little souls and the cycle between them that created what was called “fate”.
Clay appreciated his silent response and glare, letting a deep-throated chuckle escape his lips while he straightened. The movement of his axe sent another quake about the room, but Terrill could see it failing to deter the king, who was shaking his youngest son awake. The Fiend’s lips twisted at the sight, taking another step forward, his robe sliding across the stone. He stopped short near Lumen, the boy recoiling. The action caused the king to look up.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Are you in league with the traitors?” the elder prince asked, bowling over his father. His hand was reaching for a sword that a soldier held, and in this, Clay found mirth. He roared with a sudden peal of laughter that sent chills down the spines of those there.
“Ah, the love of a father. The love of a man who has promised his life to country and people. Beautiful…yet so very twisted.” Clay ripped his axe from the floor, and Lumen found himself at the end of it. Charles lunged, but unlike Terrill, found himself still stuck to the stand, immobilized and unable to help his charge. The king jerked, and for the first time, Terrill saw the doubt and worry for his nephew creep in; one that surpassed Lumen’s supposed “duty”. “Tell me, Your Majesty, do you consider yourself a good king?”
“Do I…?” The king tilted his head at the words, eyeing the axe with trepidation, but Clay did not dare to remove it. “I have only ever served this country to lead it to prosperity. I have stood against the tide of Golbrucht to defend Sayn and see it brought to that future of freedom.”
“Freedom? Ha!” An aura appeared around Clay, and Terrill felt his bones itching for action. The Fiend had grown unpredictable, and it could spell doom for any person in that room, something Terrill refused to allow happen. He shook a bit, removing the cracked shackles from his wrists. “You will win no freedom! By sending boy after boy to die, you shackle yourselves to the confines of fate!”
“It is all to lead to that which is spoken of in the scriptures and prophecies,” the archbishop countered. He waved his hand out, and on that order, the soldiers acted, their weapons held out and pointed at Clay. Sighing, the Fiend shook his head, all as his axe remained steady where it hovered.
“And who do you think left that reading of the prophecy for you? I never intended for you to take my sacrifice and turn countless others into martyrs!” The axe was ripped away, sent flying for the archbishop with coldhearted hatred. Or perhaps it was hot-blooded. The Fiends were always so wild in their mannerisms, Terrill could never tell what was done for Golbrucht or of their own personal agendas. His actions were all that was under his control, and with the magic pooling at his feet, Terrill broke free of his chains, a plinth of stone sending him rocketing for the axe. It turned into a lucky break that his foot hit the handle, the weapon careening off before dispersing in a whirl of stones. “Ah, look who decided to join us!”
“What…what did he do?”
“Unearthly power!”
“Terrill…” Charles groaned, the admonishment sounding similar to before they had ever clashed with Golbrucht.
“They wrap you in chains, Terrill, and still you defend them.”
“They’re still people! Which is more than I could say for you,” Terrill’s scowl took over his entire face, and the representatives near him scrambled away, looking at him like he was cursed. A weapon was nowhere on his figure, his sword down below, where Leopold was starting to stir with hacking and spluttering. “But…you were once, weren’t you? Human?”
“Ha!” Clay’s melancholic mirth echoed, and his axe reappeared in his hand, Lumen falling away. The chains held him fast, but no one was paying attention to the boy. Clay was the only one who demanded that. “Ahahahaha! You’re beginning to figure it all out! So close to the truth!”
“What are you soldiers doing?!” Leopold suddenly roared, awoken from his state. He cared little for Clay’s taunts, or the tales that were about to unravel the very foundation of Sayn. Terrill, likewise, knew that he stood no chance. “Dispose of this interloper!”
“That’s no way to speak to the man upon whom this country thrives!” The palpable aura around his figure increased, like a well of gravity that started to suck them in closer. Terrill planted his feet, arm out to protect the archbishop from whatever attack Clay would muster. Said older man cared little for his own safety, latching to Terrill’s arm in order to yell at the very man that was shaking his faith.
“You devil! You fiend! You’re not a Chosen One, just a harbinger of doom! Leave this sacred place and do not dare sully the scriptures that speak of the salvation of Sayn!”
“Salvation? There is no such thing. Not for you. Not for me. Not for the world.” Another step, another shudder. “Allow me to elucidate you on the workings of fate and prophecy, my dear archbishop. You have a reading set down in scripture, but it is just that. A reading. Taken from another part of the flow, one may find another reading, a different one. From the front end, all can be seen, and from the back end, all can be known. In other words, allow me to rephrase that which you use to send children to the slaughter!”
Terrill found his breath hitching, dreading the words that were soon to come. Not because he feared what they said, but because he knew that Clay, for all his failings, was right. He was unable to read the flow of souls the way Krysta could, but to Terrill, he had felt it all inside the Shadow, of the different choices for a future…and how it was all to lead to one ending. An ending of total darkness, subsumed by nothingness.
With that in mind, Clay began to recite familiar words…with very different meaning.
“Born to the land of royal gold, a boy who shall be brave and bold. A hero to fight the king of shadows, a hero whose fight shall split and shatter. A King and hero, fated to clash. In their clash, they create strife. At the end of strife, prosperity. And in prosperity, a unification. Gather, gather, the marshalling of souls. As a king rises, and heroes fall. Gather, gather, the marshalling of souls. Till humanity perish, and the world grow cold.”
Each word was a lash upon those in the room. For some, it drew confusion (such as Lumen), while others felt the heavy sting of the whip. The archbishop tumbled over into his seat, no longer able to be supported by his legs. He was shaking his head, not wishing to believe a single word spoken, but knowing the truth. Terrill, too, believed it. The words were similar but with a slight alteration that explained everything: Winifred’s search for a hero, the establishment of Atrum as the Shadow King. Golbrucht had tried to subvert the very notion of fate, yet there were so many interpretations, he was marching into its arms.
“So that’s why…” Terrill said. Clay, however, was not done, and the soldiers around the room were finally recovering from their own shock.
“Do you see? You interpreted an absolute, that killing your Chosen Ones would lead to prosperity, but there were far too many paths before you!” Clay crowed, rejoicing in the despair they were feeling. Terrill wondered if Golbrucht was the one tugging on his strings, delivering this message, but there appeared to be nothing to that effect. No, this was Clay fanning the flames for some unknown reason, drawing all fire upon himself. “But all of them lead to the same ending: death. You cannot defy fate. To do so is the makings of a monster.”
“Then we’ll kill the monster in our halls. Skewer him!” Leopold’s rage was felt, and the soldiers acted on that rage. Charles surged forward with what strength he had, managing to topple his podium over and reach Lumen just in time to push him to the ground. Neither were free of their chains, and in the moment, it mattered little.
“Get down!” Terrill shouted. His shout was meant for no one, but everyone in the vicinity heeded it, including the typically stoic Malus, bending over. Before the soldiers could strike, Terrill stomped his foot, a wall of stone emerging between the main floor of the chamber and the benches seating the parliament. He dashed, vaulting for the edge, and as he did, the soldiers ran in, spears and swords bared against the mighty Fiend.
From up high, a glint caught Terrill’s eye, and he saw some archers positioned, now given the order to shoot, and they fired upon Clay. Terrill wheeled himself backwards, just as an arrow whizzed past him. As they all struck, Clay raised his axe, slamming it to the ground and creating a cyclone of dust around him. It was as unnatural to the onlookers as Terrill’s magic had been, engendering a different sort of thought for the young Guardian. He began to think Clay wasn’t here alone after all.
The arrows continued to fly, and the spears ran in. Leopold stood, brushing away his father and brother to grasp Terrill’s sword. Appearing to be the warmonger of the family, he took great pride in approaching where Clay stood, hoping to hold the previous Chosen One’s head over all. He began to say as much. “So, you claim this prophecy is changed? Well, either way, a Chosen One’s death leads to prosperity, and as you call yourself one, then your head shall suffice in giving this country peace! We shall have your head, fiend!”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“No, Leopold, don’t be a fool!” Lumen shouted. The magic in his hands bloomed into light, snapping the chains away from Lumen as the royal ran forward to tackle his cousin. Terrill seized the opportunity, lunging forward into a roll that allowed him to swipe his blade from the floor and spring up, facing Clay. “That man is no match for you.”
“Do not get in my way, cousin!” Leopold kicked at Lumen’s chest, not even managing to drive him off as the dust began to clear, specks of it lingering on the air with tattered fabric, a signal to what Clay had done. Terrill spat on the ground amidst renewed murmurs.
“He’s not a man, Lumen. You know that.”
“How true a statement, Terrill, and one you would know quite well.” He wished he didn’t, but the abject fear that cast a pallor over the courtroom, and rendered everyone mute but himself and his companions, proved he understood what Clay had done far too well. His voice echoing like a legion of bones, the swirling dust parted, revealing the soldiers that had run Clay through…or wished they had. “I am a Fiend, a rejection of fate. Now, crumble.”
The axe swung in a wide arc, and Terrill could not move fast enough. The sharp edge collided with the first soldier, creating a gash that bled to the floor while he was knocked into his fellow soldiers. They all crashed into the walls, putting a halt to the prince’s step. Other soldiers attempted to disengage, but Clay’s command created pillars of red earth beneath them, throwing them off and into the benches lining the hall behind him. His strike cleaved the air, dispersing the last of the dust and showing the Fiend for what he really was.
A skeleton existed in place of the previously flesh and blood man, wearing the old, worn cloak. Where he had been pierced with the weapons, all of them clattered to the floor, ineffective. Another archer fired a loose arrow, perhaps out of fright, and Terrill saw it collide with Clay’s skeletal head. It did nothing but fall to Leopold’s feet, the prince trembling where he stood. They all were, frozen in place by the sight of this wicked man who had turned the truth of their entire history upon its head.
“What…what are you?” Leopold hissed, his family unable to get the words out, themselves. Clay turned, pointing a finger at the newest object of his loathing and flicking it. A razor thin spear of stone flew for him, and this time, Terrill managed to intercept. Traitor or not, he was still a Guardian.
“He’s a Fiend.”
“Ah, but what is a Fiend? Have you come to the conclusion yet, Terrill?” Clay now swung upwards, his body moving impossibly fast. To protect the belligerent prince, Terrill had no choice but to swing his own blade, clashing with the axe that resounded. Their magical energies distorted the ground, cracking the very foundation of the castle upon which they stood. “Surely you can feel the difference in our magic. We, who share a common connection to the Lifeblood! Didn’t your dive into the darkness teach you something?!”
The more Clay spoke, the more enigmatic he was becoming to Terrill. The more pressure he put on his axe, the more Terrill felt he was trying to impart something very important, pulling back the veil of the Fiends he had so desperately tried to hide before.
Or had he? Only as Terrill’s foot was pushed back did he realize that both Clay and Winifred had been slowly laying the breadcrumbs all along, and he recalled the moment in Sheeris when he wondered if Winifred was trying to help him. His mouth couldn’t form the words, and he could no longer hold Clay on his own, the blade closer to his chest than ever. Terrill acted. He stomped his sliding foot.
“Lumen! Charles! Could use some help!” The earth split open, creating spires the cracked through their chains and the podiums entirely. It was no surprise that Charles was the faster one, diving behind Terrill to tackle Leopold and shove him against his family. The royals now safe, Lumen lunged forward and grabbed a fallen soldier’s sword, the blade brimming with light. He jabbed, and Clay whirled around, breaking off to clash with the light.
“Terrill, he doesn’t have the same thing as that woman did!”
“Yeah, I could tell…because we’re in Dimidia…and because you’re not in despair. Clay, what’s driving your actions?” Terrill swiped his sword down with the ringing statement and his foe craned his neck, now facing two opponents instead of one. There was a banging outside the courtroom, but only a few hopeful representatives actually thought anything of it.
“There is only one common thread that ties us together.”
“Golbrucht’s string?” Terrill saw Lumen tense, ready to make another attack. He waited for Clay to answer, as did Charles, whose own combative energy could be felt behind the Guardian.
“A thread far greater, but close.” Clay swiped again, this time spikes being formed in a circle. One aimed to impale Terrill and he jumped, placing a hand at the spike’s base and breaking it apart before he slid into the circle to strike against Clay. Like the soldiers, his weapon did little, and Terrill knew of the only thing that could harm him. The spikes continued on, but Charles kicked out, breaking them apart with a foot laced in shadows. The royals found it unsettling, but Terrill had bigger issues. Already, Clay’s weapon was screaming through the air, and Terrill crossed his blade against it, knocked to the side. “If the Blessed are those who are living according to the fate intended for them, then the Fiends are those who rejected it before that blessing could be conferred upon them.”
“Are you saying you’re those who tried to go against fate’s flow? Against the flow of souls?” Lumen asked. His question distracted Clay long enough for the young royal to dash in, the blade of luminescence slicing along one of the bones in his body. The Fiend cried out, showing pain for the first time, and Lumen joined Terrill, gripping his arm before he could fall into the rocks. Up above, Terrill caught a glimpse of the archbishop finally starting to flee, and the banging at the door increased. “How is something so abstract possible?”
“How indeed? You have all the pieces. The duality of souls and bodies, the vessels which they inhabit. However, put simply, Fiends are those whom the world has rejected. Why else would we wish to break the shackles of this world, and destroy those who gave us those very roles?!” His statement was punctuated with another surge of earth, the spikes growing larger than ever, breaking through Terrill’s established shield to pierce the royals and archbishop. Charles broke one of them off, taking a pair of blades from the collapsed soldiers near the wall, while the archbishop squeaked and dove out of the way. His anger occupying him, Terrill kicked forward, his fist brimming with stones as he clocked it against Clay’s face. The force was enough to send him careening with a groan, and at the same moment, the doors to the courtroom were busted wide open.
“Your Majesty!” Captain Godfrey’s call interrupted the battle, and Clay’s skull rattled, either from humor or annoyance at the newest intrusion. The captain pulled up short, he and his men trembling at the sight of the wicked Fiend, but soon regaining their bearings.
“At last, captain,” the king spoke, drawing to his height. He didn’t dare to thank Charles, and his words proved he never had any intention to be grateful for his safety as his court was disgraced. “These men are all traitors to the crown, especially Guardian Archovy, whose magic seems to match that of Golbrucht’s.”
“Hardly. I can create no monsters.”
“Monster? There’s a monster right there!” Leopold snarled.
“Oh, I’m no monster! I’m merely a man that your predecessors made use of and continue to use to this day. Humanity is the monster!” A line of spikes, greater than the last, made their way for the gathered royals. Without thought, Terrill flipped forward, his hand slapping to the earth and breaking it apart. What was left of it was cleaved in two by Charles, the man’s blades turning black before he turned to the king.
“I know much of my monstruous humanity,” Charles said, his words dull, the zest of life lost. Terrill flinched as Clay stood down, his bones clacking while he waited for something that could challenge his views. “Made a puppet by country and King, I slaughtered and allowed that dark part to move me. I gave in to my own fate as a devil. But not all humans are monsters, and I can but prove it.
“Your Majesty, if you truly consider me as a traitor, then spare your nephew and take my head as the end to the long conflict Sayn has held. I was a pawn of the King we so detest, so let it be my life that ends it.”
“Charles, don’t you dare!” Lumen’s shout came in tandem with Terrill’s, but it was Terrill who continued on, debating on whether to place himself between Clay and Charles, or the royals that wanted them all beheaded. “We don’t do that! We don’t throw away our lives! I thought you learned that in the Shadow!”
“And if there is no other course? Terrill, we cannot falter to our feelings of saving everyone. You know this. How else do you intend to defeat Golbrucht? He is using your friend’s body, Lumen’s soul, and he stole mine from me all the same!” Charles’s weapons lowered, giving himself over to what fate was chosen for him by the king. “We cannot win this war without sacrifice, and if my life is to be the sacrifice, then for atonement, it shall be.”
“Charles!” Terrill made his decision, rushing for his fellow Guardian, only to be slammed in the back by a new pillar of earth. Winded, he crashed into the ground and rolled along it before springing into a crouch. A quick check made sure nothing had broken from the attack, but Clay had never intended it. In fact, his body had lost its rough edge altogether. He was…content.
“Then we are out of time,” the Fiend muttered. Lumen quirked his head at such a statement. He then remembered who he was facing and slashed out, only for Clay to disappear in a whirl of stones. The courtroom was once more sent into disarray, Godfrey rubbing his eyes to assure he had not imagined things. Lumen spun wildly, and his hand was caught by another, bonier one, as Clay reappeared in between the royal and Terrill. “The Guardian is right. Golbrucht holds your soul, and at some point you will need to decide: who lives, and who dies.”
Terrill pushed from the ground, concentrating his magical energies for one strike that could wound the Fiend. The royals had been rendered speechless again, but Lumen had not. “I will live, and so will Atrum. We will see an end to Golbrucht, as I have always promised.”
“Then you accept death and all that was fated.”
“No, I do not! My family may wish me gone, but I made a promise to live. If it is for them, those who helped me, I will live and find a way to save Atrum. I will help Terrill bring him home, and I will save the country I love, whether I am hated or not. You can count on that, uncle!”
The king was taken aback, and so was Terrill. Lumen had become a young man fully grown and defiant of his role in this game. It was a statement Clay seemed to appreciate.
“Yes, Terrill. The cog that spun off the machine of Golbrucht’s plan, and the reason I am here. To see how far you all are willing to go. The revenge and shock were a nice bonus, but I’m afraid I don’t have time for both work and play.” Clay’s grip tightened, and with his inhuman strength, he threw Lumen. The young royal crashed into Terrill, who likewise was bowled over into Charles. The three tumbled to the floor. Leopold and his brother jumped out of their way, looking confused, frightened and a myriad of emotions that meant nothing to the Fiend. “We are done playing a game with Adversa. It has served its purpose. But so long as it remains, we all remain tied to that one, inexorable destiny. Golbrucht knows this, and so do you; it is the reason he used the distortions you all caused to destroy that realm of souls, and he will not stop until he sees the flow sundered entirely. For once it begins, it will not end.”
“We will stop it!” Terrill said, throwing Lumen off of him to stand and point his sword in Clay’s direction. Neither reacted more to the threat. “I made a promise to stop it and bring Atrum home. I’ll fight you Fiends, this country and Golbrucht himself to do it. Prophecy and fate be damned!”
“Be sure that it is, Terrill. Continue trying to spin fate off its wheels.” Terrill lunged forward, witnessing Clay’s skeletal structure forming a smirk of sorts, despite its improbability. The earth began to crack and groan, creating fangs that snapped upwards to devour the Fiend.
Yet a gale intercepted, and Terrill once more felt the familiar feeling of being winded, a kick landing on his chest and driving him back. When he looked up upon recovering, there stood Winifred, silent and grave. He attempted to stand and fight back, though his body dropped. The blow had smarted more than he thought it would. She gave nothing, nothing but a glance to Clay, who nodded.
“Captain, it’s her! The woman from the bandit reports!”
“Yes, I’m aware. Men, move in carefully.”
Careful wasn’t fast enough, but Winifred wasn’t there for them or any of the royals. She was here for the heroes, and with a twitch of her lips, she flew through the air to grab all three of them.
Terrill attempted to twist his sword around to land his own blow, but found he could not, his arm pinned as he felt claws digging in. His last sight as a tunnel of wind suddenly expanded around him, squeezing his body, was Clay, saluting him. “Very well, Terrill. The war you’ve prepared for is here. Good luck.”
Good luck for what? Terrill screamed in his mind, never managing to form them into words. He felt his very breath stolen away, forced through a semblance of the portal he and the others had passed through mere hours ago. And then his mind was occupied by the whisper on the wind, words that could only have been spoken by Winifred.
“Find Priscus, the city lost to time.”
They passed as soon as they were spoken, and once gone, the wind stopped howling. The air stilled, and Terrill’s body decompressed, falling onto soft earth and a bed of dead leaves. The courtroom was gone, Clay and Winifred gone with it, but the declarations made there lingered.
In an unknown place, Terrill’s mind raced: the battle against the Fiends was on.