“You do keep strange company,” said the High Priestess of Resh’ketu, eyes balefully trained on Lyria.
The pale moon shining over High-Crag Pass, shrouded by clouds, did very little to hinder the sight for all those who gathered in the small clearing.
“She is my wife,” I said, feeling the familiar comforting hold of Lyria on my shoulders.
“Actually, we plan to marry once this ordeal is settled,” corrected Lyria.
For a brief fleeting moment, it appeared as if the High Priestess was about to utter something belligerent but the hard squinting suddenly marring Lyria’s beautiful visage made her swallow those stinging words.
Liberating herself free of her yoking pride, the High Priestess finally said, “I suppose, it makes sense that only a goddess would be fit for her.”
Both, Lyria and I exchanged a brief stolen glance that lovers often exchanged with each other. Only sheer marvel danced in silvery grey eyes.
“There are those who worship you and I don’t mean it in a figurative sense,” said the High Priestess. “I have spent my whole life in the service of my goddess and I know when I see another, who receive the prayers.”
Lyria gave a smile laced with infinite pain. “If I were a goddess, a crumbling keep would hardly be my abode. Besides, prayers are not strength, they are weaknesses. Demands from the followers to shackle the gods.”
“True,” nodded the High Priestess, old bones creaking ominously, “That is why the venerable never encouraged followers.”
“Let me remind you, this is not a seminar for religious sorts to argue on the nature of divinity.” My words cut through the obscure silence. “State your intentions.”
“The sacred relic of my goddess must be protected, preserved,” said the High Priestess, knuckles blanching in a vice grip and she peered deep into my eyes.
“You fear for the safety of a relic whose location is not known, and which, according to legends, none shall possess for possession will bring the wrath of the goddess of vengeance upon them.” Despite my best efforts, the mockery still seeped into my voice. “And most importantly, by my daughter who could hardly wield any weapon. What is the relic of your goddess, a quill and a parchment?”
The High Priestess tapped the rocky ground with furious rage at my indignation. A small crack leached from the spot where her foot met the ground. “This withered form still carries enough power to defend the honour of my Lady.” Every word uttered with deliberate pause, accentuated the threat she posed.
Only the ephemeral hand of restraint, born of Lyria’s presence, prevented her from lashing out at me.
“But your daughter is not alone,” said the High Priestess, “the Venerable One is with her.”
“The Venerable One?” I raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Lord Altonarrak,” said the High Priestess, “though in our ranks we avoid referring to the Venerable One by name. The Venerable One changes laws.”
“Venerable One, huh?” I uttered, throwing a stone-melting scowl in the direction of the warrior women in red. Only the comforting vice grip Lyria, calming and forceful at the same time, prevented me from lashing out.
“Rils, your father is with your daughter, while our allies are not with us.” Her voice dipped a bit lower at the words 'our allies' and her grip tightened a bit, highlighting the subtle and low-lying threat.
Altonarrak attacked Urganza. Our Ally. Now he had twisted his way into my daughter’s confidence. First, our allies and now my daughter!
Delyn might be the most intelligent being in the world but Altonarrak had aeons to hone his skills. It was frustrating to know that I am still dark about his schemes, his goals and his mysterious creed as an ascendant.
“Your father had a long-standing and somewhat complicated relationship with Vangere,” continued Lyria, “And Vangere forced him on multiple occasions to withdraw.”
Lyria’s message was clear. Altonarrak knows about Delyn, her abilities, and her heritage and he is a step ahead of us. All of these consolidated to a single unavoidable conclusion. I cannot ignore the High Priestess. Yet, her motives are misguided at best and dubious at worst. I cannot ally with her.
“Why do you presume Delyn would covet the relic?” I asked, a million questions surging inside.
With a snap of her fingers, she beckoned one of her warrior maiden in red. “Kindle the fire, this would take a while.” Then her attention darted towards us and she gazed at Lyria with an unreadable expression.
“I have taken the liberty to instruct Gwain the innkeeper to bring some ale and dried meat. He should be arriving any time soon,” uttered Lyria.
True to Lyria’s words and as if waiting for her command, Gwain appeared carrying much-needed ale, dried meat and some cheese. Soon, all were seated around the cheap drink and plates filled with meat and cheese was passed around.
The brilliant orange from the flaring campfire danced vividly in the High Priestess's eyes. She cleared her throat and silence fell over her.
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“This is from a time when the fey was still young when they danced curiously over the unforgiving land. When Lyvonomirgon explored the nascent realms, betraying Vaennyiel, the paragon general of the celestial host, dooming him to a fate worse than death.”
The old dark elf paused and only Gwain who stood mesmerized asked, “Who are Lyvonomirgon and Vaennyiel?”
Lyria hissed, sharply, eyes darkened at the mention of names. “You would be wise enough not to mention that name in the open and not in my presence” She darted a look at Gwain. Her gaze held the searing edge of a hot blade. ”He is more commonly referred by his other moniker, A circle prince!”
Ignoring Lyria, the High Priestess continued with her telling.
“This was before the time when the hot blood of the Vajravirahi soaked the lands in voluminous rivulets from the open wound and the orcs were yet to rise. Before a time when Vhanghera, the mystic swore and bound the samsaran wheel to right a wrong."
The High Priestess beckoned for a tankard of ale and took a sip to wet her dry throat.
“This was a time when the High Elves were not high, nor were we dark. When the wood elves, abandoned all the glory and the sea elves scoured the oceans for the lost secrets, to drive powerful chariots pulled by mystical horses, to wander between exploding stars.”
She set her tankard down and pushed the rebellious strands of white hair behind her eyes.
“It was a time when we did not bicker as great houses, but eked out a living as wandering tribes, seeking a place to call home. Nomads slammed by a diaspora was what we were. And we were hunted -- by the colossal beasts that stalked the land, by the demons for sport, by the angels for our defiance, by the thousand beastkin for territory. “
A hint of moisture glistened in her eyes with pride as she continued further.
“Among the thousand tribes, one tribe thrived for they were defended by the valiant warrioress. With her trusty spear and shield, she slew all who posed a threat. Soon, many an elven tribeswoman would flock to her and they became her spearsisters. And yet, eventually, she dropped her spear and hung her shield. Exchanging her prowess with war for another new challenge, Motherhood.”
A sorrowful mirth contorted around her eyes as her eyes fixated on me.
“It might be fate, but it should come as no surprise, trouble was her constant companion and soon, she lost her husband. Not to demons, or the titanic beast, but to Rakshasas from Narraka. A warband of every able-bodied male and a thousand of her spearsisters, accompanied her husband and none survived before the brutality wielded by the Asura general.”
Only the crackling of fire answered her intermediate silence and she peered deep into my face, searching for any sign of emotions. None showed. She then continued.
“With most of the able males killed and her spearsisters, violated and slaughtered, her own love, despite his valour and unrelenting heart, shredded, skinned and torn alive, my goddess collected a handful of young maidens. Strapping her infant son under her shield, she rushed, swearing an oath to deliver retribution on Narraka.”
“When the task was completed, my goddess had fulfilled her oath. She then let her divine essence disperse to permeate all that we are.”
“Nice tale. If this were my court, I would have rewarded you.” Ignoring Lyria’s subtle protest, I continued, “I might even be tempted to embrace your religion officially. A lone woman and a single mother, trying to right a wrong has its merit.”
“There is no need to embrace the truth. You were already embraced by the truth,” said the High Priestess with a smile that grandparents reserved for children, “When my goddess’s son returned from fracturing Narraka, the Venerable One earned the title that became his name, Altonarrak, the sunderer of Narraka!”
As far as absurdity goes, her tale was immeasurable. “You are old and you have lost your wits. I wish you to leave my Pass now.” Turning to her maidens in red, I addressed, “And a word of advice. Go your separate ways from her. Old age dementia has claimed her.”
Only silence resounded in the dark and the High Priestess’s mad cackle slammed against the fragile pane of silence.
“Before you call me senile, are you even aware of your status as the consort of a demon sovereign? Do you even know the one who holds a claim on your soul?” taunted the High Priestess.
Like blood-starved vipers slithering, her eyes narrowed on Lyria. “How much did she hide from you? Did she seduce you with a tale of a downtrodden and abandoned demon-blooded wench, trying to make an honest living while surviving at the fringe of society?”
“I will not allow you to harass my wife,” I said with a sibilant hiss making my threat clear. “Besides, your attitude of going after her to get back at me is pathetic.”
She stared at Lyria even more. A pregnant silence, born of an interminable fragile moments, permeated the space, but eventually, she spoke. “Does she even know how incomplete she is? She is only a mere shadow cast by another.”
Lyria’s arms snaked around mine, begging me to take her, eyes moist in the pale moonlight.
“Does the shadow even know that she is just a projection? A mere ripple.” Composing herself, the High Priestess flicked her wrist, issuing a silent order to her warriors in red. “It was my mistake in presuming that the blood of my goddess flowing in you would have instilled wisdom. But the stupidity of Oryllndra flows even deeper.”
“Leave,” I roared, “And pray that this would be the last time, we would ever meet on civil terms.”
“Then, know this Scarlet Masquerade and Daughter of the Venerable One.” Her words, clear and piercing, echoed through the night. “I have come seeking your aid and you have slandered my goddess. We will protect the relic of our goddess. Your daughter’s fate is the culmination of your own foolish deeds.”
Only Lyria’s timely intervention and the iron grip of her wrist on my arms, saved the High Priestess’s life as Adjuration uncoiled, tightening around the High Priestess’s neck, choking her fragile life to ebb away.
Her ancient grey eyes bulged in their sockets, as Adjuration enacted my soaring rage. My urumi pleaded, to let loose all inhibitions, to deliver my retaliation against the one who dared, insolently, to harm Delyn.
“Rils, let her go. Can’t you see? You are killing her.”
“Precisely,” I replied, a host of emotion, dark and depraved stirring within.
Hefting her massive warhammer in her other hand, she flipped the grip with a simple flick of her wrist and rammed the blunt end of the handle into my belly, knocking the wind out.
As I lay on the ground, curled in a fetal position, groaning in pain, Lyria knelt, hand still on the handle of her warhammer. With a cautious nudge, she pushed Adjuration away from me with the broad side of her weapon.
But it was not Lyria’s voice that I first heard but the uncomfortable grating laugh of the High Priestess.
“You are indeed your father’s daughter. The Venerable One denied the weapon of his mother for his Wraith. What you wield might even rival the spear and shield of my own goddess.”
“I am not Altonarrak,” I screamed over the pain washing over me in waves. With trembling limbs, I pushed myself up, ignoring Lyria’s offered arms.
The tense moment was cut short by the arrival of Finn. Drenched in sweat, despite the cold weather, he panted heavily. “A host of vampires have attacked Maapu and his company. Merowyn believes the full horde will arrive by the first light of the day.”