Before the dawn, a final stand
Can stone be slain by single hand?
On the dais, Sirannor strained to prise Cimmeran out of the Angel's death grip, cursing the servant for his lack of willpower. He had feared that this might happen, that if the Presence should target their weakest member he would not have the strength to resist its manipulations. Yet, there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, save offering Cimmeran the kind of reassurance and hope that Sirannor simply could not give. Aari's death still burned too painfully inside him.
He found himself wishing bitterly that he had killed the man when he'd had the chance.
Cimmeran had screamed his voice out, and was now sobbing weakly against the corpse's chest. Despite her frail and decimated appearance, the Angel would not release her prize, seeming almost to have fused herself to the servant's body. Sirannor could not touch her directly, his hands simply went through her; she was a ghost. Instead, he had wrapped his arms around Cimmeran's waist and was pulling back with all his weight.
The Angel rolled back her head and laughed. You fear us! White light sprung from her dead eyes and a sickly dark grey mist coiled from her body, reaching out like tentacles to wrap around Sirannor's strong, muscled arms.
The Freeroamer ignored her, clenching his jaw tighter, concentrating on his efforts.
"It's no… use, Captain!" Hawk panted, having just sprinted back onto the dais, doubled over with the effort to breathe. He shook his head helplessly, his scruffy hair flicking about, lank with sweat. "It's… just too strong!"
Sirannor pulled away from Cimmeran, breathing heavily from his own futile exertion. He swiped angrily at the dark mist, which was creeping into his nostrils and mouth, and looked up at the monster. It was advancing slowly, but it was so huge that it would not need many strides to reach the dais. Sirannor's sharp grey eyes scanned its anatomy rapidly, searching for weaknesses.
There were no obvious ones that he could see. "You tried the leg joints and the gaps between the armour?" he inquired of Hawk.
His companion nodded. "I tried every damn thing I could think of! There are no eyes, and not even a head that I could find. The underbelly is just as impenetrable as the rest of the thing. It's all solid rock! It's like trying to attack a great big ugly walking fortress!" He was waving his arms about emphatically as he spoke, clearly becoming edgy and nervous.
"Calm down," Sirannor told him, even though his own chest was tight with apprehension. "Every enemy can be defeated. If we cannot stop it directly, we must find a way to do so through Cimmeran." Even as he said the words, he eyed the sword in Hawk's hand.
Hawk didn't notice the dark look in the Captain's eyes. "Can't we knock him out?" he suggested hopefully.
Sirannor shook his head at once. "No. That will likely make things much worse. The Presence has the ability to infiltrate our deepest thoughts, even while we are awake. Unconscious, we would be completely at the mercy of our subconscious mind, unable to distinguish at all between delusion and reality. It would literally have free rein of Cimmeran's head."
"It would manifest his nightmares?"
"Exactly. While awake, he still has at least partial awareness of his surroundings. He can hear us and see us. We may be able to influence his thinking."
The monster had almost reached them, a craggy wall of threatening stone filling their entire field of vision. Its shadow enveloped them, blocking out the moon, so deep they could barely see each other in the gloom. The ground rumbled. Heavy stone rasped on heavy stone, a sound that promised crushing death with every movement.
"How do we do that?" Hawk asked quickly, backing away, his sword raised again, more out of instinct than a useful defence.
"By making him believe in himself, or the very least, in us. MOVE!"
They both flung themselves to one side as the three massive tails slammed into the dais.
Rolling into the relatively clear space between two of the tails, they lifted their arms to shield themselves, chunks of stone raining down upon them. Hawk's armour protected him somewhat, but Sirannor wore nothing but his long coat, pants and boots. Great slabs and small projectiles slammed into his back and limbs with stinging brutality, knocking the wind from his lungs. Dozens more blooms of pain added to the re-inflamed ache in his shoulder.
"Ah, hell!" Hawk yelled over the groan of rock. "I'm having trouble believing in us!"
Sirannor was glad the pain excused him from a reply. He knew exactly what needed to be done, known it before he had forced Cimmeran into this confrontation. He realised now that he had known hours earlier, from the moment that he had encountered the heartbreaking apparition of poor Aari, when he had first entered this place. He had known what it would take, but had buried the truth inside him, denying it, because it was devastating.
How could he commit such a betrayal? It cut against everything he had ever taught himself.
His hands clenched into fists. I vowed that I would never give it to him!
He looked up, purposely avoiding Hawk's gaze, struggling violently with his emotions. Hawk had dropped his sword. It lay a few feet in front of him, glinting dully in a chink of moonlight, chipped and dented from the young soldier's useless assault on the stone behemoth.
There lay the other alternative; the one Sirannor hadn't yet voiced.
The easier one.
The blood in his veins seemed suddenly to heat up, and pound with more force. I also vowed that I would not kill him, but now a decision must be made… A strange darkness closed his vision into a tunnel, tinged with a livid red mist.
Aari's death must be avenged!
With an animal snarl, he sprang to his feet. Before Hawk had time to react, he snatched up the sword. Ignoring his friend's horrified cry – not even aware of it – Sirannor bounded on to the tail as it began to lift from the deep furrow it had created in the platform.
He leapt the final six feet and landed in a crouch by Cimmeran and the Angel corpse. The tails lifted high over his head, plunging him into a rippling band of shadow.
He straightened, and his eyes were chips of ice in the darkness. "I gave you a second chance, servant," he hissed, "and it was far more than you deserved. This ends now!"
Hesitation and mercy cast aside, he strode purposefully forward, and swung the sword…
Hawk slammed into him from the side. Despite the young man's momentum and armour giving him an advantage, Sirannor kept his balance. He elbowed Hawk viciously in the face, sending him reeling into the furrow.
Enraged at the interference, Sirannor spun and jumped down to where the soldier lay dazed in the rubble.
"DO NOT GET IN MY WAY!" he screamed, eyes blazing. "THIS DECISION IS MINE ALONE TO MAKE!"
Then he advanced on Hawk, spinning the sword in his hand to point downwards like a dagger.
His eyes going wide, Hawk slid hurriedly backwards, scrabbling on the loose rock. "What… what the hell are you doing?!" he cried. "Captain Sirannor, I'm not the enemy!"
Hawk's frantic pleas were mere thumps of sound in the haze of Sirannor's bloodlust. He stabbed the sword downward, frighteningly fast.
Hawk lashed out desperately with one leg, catching the flat of the blade with his leg guard, knocking it out of the Captain's grip. Then he was on his feet, launching himself at Sirannor, seeking to throw him to the ground.
Sirannor shifted to one side, caught Hawk by the arm and flipped him, and had him in a crushing headlock in the blink of an eye.
Hawk gasped, and clawed at the arm that was cutting off his air supply, but his steel gauntlets were too thick to gain any purchase. "Captain… please!" he choked. "I'm… your friend!"
Sirannor tightened his grip. He grabbed Hawk's head with his free hand, preparing to snap his neck.
"Stop!" Hawk tried to scream. "Sirannor… no!" He was sobbing with panic, now. "You… gave me… your… blessing!" Sirannor could feel the young man's heart crashing around like a deranged captive animal, even through the breastplate.
He hesitated, shreds of memory slipping through the haze like glitters of glass in a crimson sea.
His blessing?
Carmine.
He… he had given his heart to their union. His daughter was Hawk's soulmate.
Hawk. Hawk was his friend…
The mist dissipated. Abruptly, Sirannor released him, starting in shock.
Hawk doubled over, coughing and wheezing. For a long moment, neither of them could speak.
"I… I'm sorry…" Sirannor apologised finally, blinking to clear his vision. "I… do not know…what happened…" He stared down at his friend, who was checking gingerly that his bloody nose was not broken.
I nearly killed him, Sirannor thought. Sweat beaded on his forehead. A cold wave of nausea washed through him. "Please forgive me, Hawk," he whispered. "I would never hurt you."
To his wonder and astonishment, the young man smiled, albeit weakly. "Just… warn me, the next time… you're feeling homicidal," he quavered.
Sirannor found that he was shaking as well. How had the Presence manage to slip past his defences so easily? He had been certain that it could no longer reach him, that he had conquered his weaknesses…
The mist. When he had touched the Angel, the dark mist had crept surreptitiously into his mind, finding the one chink in his mental armour that he had not covered, and taken control of him in an instant. It was more powerful that he had thought.
He felt ill and tainted, as though poisoned.
Hawk placed his hand on the Captain's shoulder. "I know it wasn't you," he said. "It was the Presence screwing with your head."
Sirannor shook his head, and closed his eyes to stop the prick of tears. "But it was me, Hawk," he replied, haunted. "A part of me…"
"The part that died a long time ago, with Sereth. Remember?"
Sirannor said nothing. He merely lifted his hand and placed it over Hawk's.
"What's happening now?" Hawk sighed, glancing around.
The old man looked up. Darkness engulfed them, but it was more than just the monster's shadow. Gone were the moon and fading stars and steadily brightening flush of the oncoming dawn. Gone were the ancient remains of the old city. The courtyard had been plunged into pitch blackness, illuminated only by the otherworldly glow of the Angel corpse, smearing everything with a thin, silvery lustre, a parody of moonlight. Men and monster and Angel floated in an empty void; a ring of glittering white sand surrounded the ruined dais, disappearing into nothing.
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And the Presence was laughing, all voices joined together again in hysterical ecstasy at the madness it had created.
Hawk looked disgusted and a little guilt-stricken. "My contribution of terror obviously didn't help our situation," he muttered. Looking over at Cimmeran, he shook his head forlornly. "Perhaps it would be best if we–"
"No!" Sirannor grabbed his arm in warning, his face hard. "There will be no more deaths this night, no more violence! It is obvious that the Presence thrives on malice. Attempting to slay Cimmeran is exactly what it expects us to do."
The Captain stood up slowly. The monster was still there. Its three huge tails were poised ominously above their heads, hammers of stone against a black sky, ready to pulverise them like bugs. A strange serenity drifted down upon him like a silken shroud as he gazed up at them. The giant stone insect was representative of the personal monsters each one of them had been forced to overcome simply to survive this evil place.
What of the Presence? What did it fear?
He walked over to Hawk's sword, and picked it up for the last time.
Hawk rose to his feet anxiously. Sirannor turned and looked him in the eye, and forced a smile for his friend's benefit. "Trust me," he said softly. He held his gaze until Hawk nodded, then walked through the rubble until he stood again behind Cimmeran.
Dark, oily mist curled around him, seeking to subvert him. The Angel tightened her grip on Cimmeran, her slender arm deceptively powerful, like the coil of a snake slowly suffocating its prey. Her pretty, disfigured head rested on his shoulder. She grinned at Sirannor, though her eyes were still luminous white holes.
Is this not glorious? the Presence sang.
Sirannor stared back at her dispassionately, though inwardly he was sickened by the Presence's words, by its very existence. Yet, he felt no anger towards it. He raised his sword and placed it at Cimmeran's back.
Oh, yes! the Presence crooned. You desire to kill him, don't you? You wish to take a life in return for the one that was stolen from you. Why don't you take away his pain to soothe your own? You have so much pain inside you, man of the forsaken lands. So much pain…
"Not any more," Sirannor replied quietly.
With a series of quick strokes, he brought down the sword.
Blunt as it was, it did its work.
No blood was spilled. Instead, the severed ends of the ropes binding Cimmeran's hands slithered to the ground.
"You are free, Cimmeran."
The servant was no longer crying, no longer moving. He was limp and listless in the Angel's embrace. He did not respond.
Sirannor stepped close to him, ignoring the noisome mist that wrapped around him. "You can stop this," he said, keeping his voice low and calm. "You are the only one who can."
Cimmeran turned his head slightly, his eyes glittering with pain. "Kill me," he whispered.
"No," Sirannor refused flatly.
Anguish twisted the servant's features. "Please…"
"No."
"Why?" Cimmeran sobbed. "You hate me. You want me to die. I murdered your friend. I deserve to die."
Sirannor closed his eyes. "I promised you that I would not kill you, and I intend to keep my word." He took a slow, deep breath. "I also promised you something else, and I intend to break it."
He lifted his hand and placed it on Cimmeran's shoulder, and lowered his head. "I forgive you."
The words came more easily than he had expected. It did not feel like a betrayal of Aari's memory. It felt like… a release.
The Presence shrieked, the sound echoing far into the darkness. The tendrils of mist retracted from Sirannor at once, coiling in agitation as though forced back by a strong wind. A shudder passed through Cimmeran's body and into the stone at his feet. The stone monster rumbled. There was a loud cracking sound, and one of its tails snapped off and crashed to the ground with a tremendous boom.
"You… forgive me?" Cimmeran whispered in disbelief. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I need to," Sirannor replied. "Because… I want to."
Hawk appeared at his side, admiration and respect in his eyes. Sirannor handed him back his sword. The soldier took it, turned and threw it away with all his might, and it vanished into the black.
Turning back to Cimmeran, he put his own hand on the tortured man's other shoulder. "Push her away," he told him gently. "You're stronger than her. All you have to do is raise your arms and push her away, and we can all leave this place."
"I do not want to leave! I want to die!" The Presence's voice intermingled with Cimmeran's, contorting his words.
"And what about Sirannor and I?" Hawk said, forced to raise his voice over the grating of the monster, which was positioning its remaining tails directly overhead, preparing its final strike, which would crush all of them like ants. "Do you want us to die as well?"
"YES!" Cimmeran cried. Then he shook his in denial of his own response. Emotions rushed over his face as he grappled with the force controlling his mind.
"No! Noooo!" he howled. "Get… away… from… me!" He grabbed hold of the Angel. She began to disintegrate beneath his touch, white sand trickling in streams between his fingers.
The Presence screamed, the entire courtyard shaking with the force of its fury. The darkness thinned and deserted the dais, fleeing into the ruins like the trailing black cloak of a gigantic wraith. A wide, cloudless blue sky lay revealed, speckled with faint stars that were quietly disappearing into the blazing embrace of the rising sun.
The Angel, screaming hideously, strove to retain her grip on Cimmeran, squeezing him ever tighter even as her pale arm gradually crumbled to dust. But her captive victim tore at her frantically now, his willpower returning as her power diminished.
The monster was falling apart as well. In a final, parting act of vengeance, it struck at them, its tail plummeting downwards.
Despite himself, Hawk gasped and flinched.
The tail came to a dead halt a foot above their heads.
For a moment there was complete stillness, as though time itself had frozen. The Presence's frightful wail cut off. No one moved or made a sound, except for the Angel, who continued to decay.
Everyone stared, spellbound, at Sirannor.
The Captain held the massive stone tail aloft with one hand.
It was a feat that defied belief.
He could feel the monstrous weight of it pressing down on him, but did not waver, for he knew the feeling was subjective. This was not an object that could be affected by gravity. It had been created by thought; and by thought, it could be manipulated. The Presence would find no further chinks in his armour, for he had cast that armour off. During the course of this long night, every part of him had been exposed, every secret torn mercilessly from his heart. And he had accepted it all.
Nothing in the world was stronger than his belief in himself.
He glared up at the stone, cracks spreading outwards from his fingertips.
"Who's afraid now?" he growled.
Then he pushed upwards.
The tail flew into the air with impossible velocity, the second tail following it. They rose into the dawn sky like two pillars holding up the heavens. Then, with dreamlike slow motion they descended, the entire monster flipping over onto its back, crashing to the ground.
A gigantic cloud of sand surged over the dais.
When the dust finally settled, Sirannor looked around.
The Angel corpse was gone, as were the pieces of the shattered monster. The dais beneath his feet was flat and undamaged save by time and weather. The buildings surrounding the courtyard remained as unchanged as they always had been for all the lonely years they had been abandoned.
Save for the fact that he, Hawk and Cimmeran were all covered top to toe in white sand, there was nothing to suggest that anything unusual had ever taken place.
The Presence was gone. But Sirannor doubted very much that it had been truly vanquished.
The first ray of sunlight speared through the empty window of a distant tower, blinding him. He was reminded ironically of something that Hawk had asked earlier that night. Do you think this nightmare will fade with the dawn?
So it has, my friend, Sirannor answered in his mind. For nightmares cannot exist without darkness.
Hawk rose slowly to his feet, staring at the place where the monster had fallen. He turned to look at Sirannor. Then back at the empty spot. "That…" he said breathlessly, pointing a finger as though unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes, "that was awesome!"
Cimmeran was kneeling next to him on the dais, staring at the sand on his hands with a haunted expression.
Sirannor decided that now would be a good time to sit down.
Back to the sun, folded hands pressed against his forehead, the veteran soldier closed his eyes.
Sleep, he thought, feeling his mind grow heavy. He did not care for the walk back to the infirmary. His gut wrenched at the knowledge of what he would have to face there and even worse at breaking the tragic news to Grisket and Ferrian and the other Freeroamers. Most likely, the Watch would have been alerted to the murder by now. He and Hawk and Cimmeran were effectively fugitives.
He did not want to think about any of that right now. He couldn't.
Sirannor.
The whispered voice dragged him back grudgingly from the muddy depths of unconsciousness. "Hawk," Sirannor murmured without opening his eyes, "whatever the problem is, deal with it without me…"
Don't fall asleep just yet, old man.
The voice didn't sound like Hawk's. It was achingly familiar… With an effort, Sirannor forced his bleary eyes open and raised his head.
Something strange stood on the dais in front of him, just to one side of his stretched out shadow, shimmering and sparkling like sunlight on clear water. Sirannor blinked. "Aari?" he whispered, his vision clearing with incredulity.
His white wings were bright and full in the sun, the orange tips glowing like embers. His hair and eyes were molten copper. He was dressed in his Freeroamer uniform; it was in perfect condition, the silver buttons glinting like stars. The only thing missing was the badge.
For a wild, hopeful, ridiculous moment, Sirannor almost convinced himself that Aari was really standing there, alive and well, that there had been some kind of unbelievable mistake. But he could clearly see the ruins of the Old Quarter through the Angel's ghostly wings. He was just an apparition.
Hello, Captain, Aari said, smiling.
Sirannor stared, wondering if this was yet more of the Presence's trickery or if his mind had finally given out.
The magic of this place allows you to see me, Aari explained in response to his thoughts. It reveals everything that is hidden, not just fear.
"I see," Sirannor sighed in dismay. "You are nothing but a figment of my own imagination. A creation of wishful thinking…"
Aari folded his arms and cocked his head on one side in his characteristically self-confident way. What do you believe, huh?
Sirannor did not reply. Tears had filled his eyes.
Aari laughed, softly, but not unkindly. Not mockingly, as the Presence had done. What's this? Tough old Sirannor, crying? Over me, of all people? Don't let Grisket catch you, he'll think you've gone soft.
Sirannor could not manage a smile in return. "Perhaps I have," he whispered.
The apparition regarded him for a minute, then came forward and crouched before the Captain. He continued to shimmer brightly, even in Sirannor's shadow.
The image of me that harassed you before... that was not me, Aari told him gently. Those were not my words. I do not want anyone to feel responsible for what happened, or to blame anyone else. Not you or your friend Hawk. Not Grisket or Ferrian. Not the healers who tried to save me. And... not Cimmeran, either.
Sirannor frowned uncertainly. "He took your life, Aari."
Yes, Aari replied sadly. He did. But don't forget that you forgave him. It was the right thing to do. Cimmeran was not completely honest with you about his motive for killing me. Even he didn't truly know why himself until the Presence revealed to him the truth. Talk to him, and you will understand.
Sirannor fell silent, brooding. At last, he said, ruefully: "You never saw the Dragons."
Aari gave him one of the most heartening smiles he had ever seen and touched his fingers to his own ethereal temple. Yes, I did. The stories you gave me were enough.
The Angel's eyes glimmered. Goodbye, Sirannor. He reached over and put his arms around the Captain. Say goodbye to the others for me…
Sirannor tried hard to feel something; some slight pressure or warmth or substance from Aari's touch, something more than light and air and memories. He closed his eyes, and for just an instant… he thought… he did.
"I will. Goodbye, lad."
When he opened his eyes again, Aari was gone.
Hawk was beside him, looking worried. "Captain… are you alright?"
Sirannor looked up at his face. He could tell from his friend's puzzled and slightly suspicious expression that he had only witnessed one half of the conversation. He got to his feet.
"Yes," he answered simply and walked over to where Cimmeran still knelt motionless. "Cimmeran," he said quietly, crouching beside him. "Would you care to tell me exactly what it was that your master did to you?"
Cimmeran shook his head, hunching his shoulders.
"Sirannor," Hawk interjected. "We all need rest…"
Sirannor stared at the mute servant for a moment longer, then nodded and rubbed his eyes. He rose and started after Hawk, when Cimmeran said suddenly: "C-Captain Sirannor?"
He turned. Cimmeran was on his feet. Swallowing heavily, the haggard little man stared up at the Freeroamer mournfully. "I… don't need to tell you," he whispered. He pulled his grimy tunic off over his head and held it clutched to his chest, his bony hands curled tightly into the fabric.
Slowly, Sirannor stepped around him to look at his back.
There he stood, unblinking, for so long that Hawk came over inquisitively. At once he too froze in place, his eyes widening. "Mother Goddess…" he breathed.
Cimmeran's back was a grotesque collage of scars. There were large discoloured, melted patches indicative of burn wounds where the skin had never properly healed. There were many, many white welts, criss-crossing each other, scars on top of scars: decades' worth of lashings and other unidentifiable punishments. Underneath it all, partially erased by the damage, running in a single line down his vertebrae were black markings, tattoos of some sort.
Magical runes, Sirannor suspected grimly. Probably to do with bondage…
But it was not these, heinous as they were, that truly shocked him, nor the other injuries that drew acid sizzling up from the pit of his stomach.
He touched Cimmeran's back, near the shoulder.
"Surely not," Hawk said, horrified. "Surely Lord Arzath didn't… he couldn't have been so cruel…"
"It's true," Cimmeran confirmed, hugging himself tighter, fresh tears trickling down the runnels etched in the sand on his face. "I'm… I'm not Human…"
"I think there can be no doubt," Sirannor finished.
His hand fell away from the telling lump of marred flesh and bone, one of two, that protruded from just behind the servant's shoulder blades.
"Cimmeran is an Angel."