Within the darkness, rain and light
Within the trees, a fateful fight.
Araynia opened her eyes to find herself floating once more upon the blue-silvery lake, gazing upwards into an infinity of undulating cerulean light. For a few moments, she allowed herself to drift in the pleasing, wistful serenity; a welcome respite from her worries and grief, until remembrance and purpose pushed their way unceremoniously into her thoughts, demanding that she stay focussed.
She sat up straight away.
The floor coalesced into a hard, polished surface beneath her, glistening droplets of water falling away from her body into nothing. She looked around. Light danced across the floor, reflected from the ceiling. In the distance, soft blue mist faded away in every direction.
Cool quietness. There was no one to be seen, save her own mirrored image below her.
Getting to her feet, she took a deep breath and called out: Lord Requar!
Her voice was swallowed by the vastness, without an echo. She called again. Lord Requar!
Nothing.
She listened, straining her ears for the slightest sound, any sound resembling footsteps, but there was only silence.
He must be here, she thought worriedly. I know he is not merely a dream conjured by my imagination! If he was, he would have appeared by now!
My Lord, please! I need your help!
Mist and rippling light was her only reply. Araynia whirled in frustration… only to find him standing right behind her.
She jumped.
There is no need to shout, my dear.
Overawed once more by the sight of the handsome dead sorcerer, Araynia dropped meekly to her knees. I am sorry, my Lord.
Please, do not… He stepped forward, took her arm gently and helped her to her feet. I am not your master. This Sword belongs to you, now.
Yes, my Lord, she replied breathlessly, staring down at her small brown hands clasped in front of her. Please… I need your help. It is urgent.
What is it you wish of me?
She swallowed, embarrassed to meet his intense blue gaze. The Sword of Healing. I… I do not know how to use it.
To her surprise, he smiled, his eyes sparkling. Ah. Is that all?
My Lord?
He laughed softly. Turning, he paced a few steps away, his blue cloak and long white hair drifting with his movements as though in a gentle, unfelt breeze. Thinking he was mocking her, Araynia blushed in shame, wishing she could dissolve into the floor.
She jumped again when she felt his hand on her shoulder. But his expression was kind. You do not need my help, Araynia.
But I…
Shaking his head, he stepped around in front of her. As with their previous meeting, she felt intimidated by his presence. For a spirit, he seemed so… real.
Requar sighed, as though he had just read her thoughts, which he probably could. She blushed even deeper.
I cannot teach you how to use the Sword of Healing, he said softly. Because you already know.
She looked perplexed.
You possess magic already, he explained. Of this you are aware. You absorbed it from my pendant, and have likely been using it instinctively for most of your life without realising. Now, it is simply a matter of bending it to your will.
Lifting an elegant hand, he made a flowing motion in the air between them, leaving a misty trail as he did so. Araynia watched it, mesmerised. Souls are like water, he went on. They are liquid. They flow and fill whatever channel or container will hold them. They can be directed. They can be mixed with other substances, like magic. They can be shaped and they can be split. They can be tainted and purified.
Your soul is your life force and magic combined. To use magic, you need merely will it into the direction or form you wish it to take.
His hand made a straight horizontal line in the air, and a ghostly image of a sword appeared. Think of your Sword as a part of your body, an extension of your arm if you like. Then imagine your magic welling up from somewhere deep inside you, flowing through your limbs like a series of cool streams merging into a silvery river – down through your arm, your Sword, and merging with the living soul that you are healing. The object you are holding in this moment is irrelevant; it is no longer an object, it is a conduit, a connection between you and your patient.
The fact that the conduit is a Sword is not important; you could achieve the same thing with an ordinary stick, or anything lying to hand, though you would find it much more difficult to do so. The Sword of Healing is specially designed to enhance your own power and encourage it to flow freely. The sapphires set within the hilt contain healing magic that will heighten your own and imbues the blade with a special property – it cannot cut living flesh. The touch of silvertine bolsters positive thoughts. The symbolism and history and beauty of the Sword inspires confidence in its wielder.
A simple desire to help someone is enough for the Sword to work, though more serious and fatal injuries will require concentration. However… Requar faltered in his lecture, frowning slightly. Trigon is a different matter.
He turned away from her then, seemingly lost in thought, looking troubled. He began to pace slowly up and down in front of her, staring at the floor, which reflected no image back at him.
Curing a person of a trigonic infection, he went on, requires not only the utmost concentration and focus, but a complete, unwavering faith in oneself. He shook his head. There can be no hint of doubt, fear or worry: no negative emotions at all. The slightest flaw in your self-belief will cause the Sword to fail. If the crack is wide enough, the trigon will attack you and destroy you.
He closed his eyes. I myself could not achieve such a state of mind until near the end of my life. You must be stronger than I was. In no circumstances must you attempt to fight trigon until you are absolutely certain that you have the strength and confidence to do so.
He opened his eyes, and his look was grave. But I fear you are seeking to do exactly that.
Araynia swallowed, unable to hide her despair. Your brother, my Lord…
Requar blinked. My brother?
He is being hunted by a wraith, and he has no means of defending himself. I am afraid that I am already too late. But there is no one else!
Requar fell silent. He turned away from her, gazing off into the mist. He was so still and quiet for so long that Araynia became worried that she had said something awfully wrong, that she had hurt him in some unimaginably terrible way.
When he turned back finally, his expression revealed that she had been correct. His serene composure was shattered; he seemed uncertain of what to say. Shoulders slumping, he sank to one knee on the floor, as though defeated.
Araynia knelt beside him, her heart in her throat.
His voice came almost in a whisper. Arzath has always chosen his own path in life, he said. He is reckless and arrogant, but not stupid. If he has put himself in danger, then he will have had a reason to do so…
To protect me! Araynia blurted out heatedly, unable to suppress her frustration.
Requar nodded, and to her surprise, his smile returned, though his eyes glimmered on the edge of tears. You must not do this, Araynia. If the demon-wraith succeeds in claiming Arzath, then something unspeakably monstrous will be created. If that does not happen, he will likely commit a Fatalis. Either way, you must not be anywhere near him. You must… let Fate take its course.
Araynia shook her head, unwilling to accept what he was telling her. Is there… is there no way that you can help?
Requar shook his head. My influence does not extend beyond this Sword and your stone. I have no power. I am… a figment. A memory. Everything I was now belongs to you.
Araynia stared at him helplessly.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
He reached out and placed his hand over hers. I would not have bestowed my Sword upon you if I did not believe completely in your ability to use it. He held her gaze. But you have only just discovered your magic. You are not yet ready to take on something as powerful and horrific as trigon. Your life is… his voice faltered. Your life is more important than my brother’s. You are the future – you and Ferrian. You must survive.
Araynia was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she climbed to her feet and bowed. Thank you for your advice, my Lord.
Then, without another word, she turned and walked away into the mist.
It was cold, dark and raining. Araynia gasped as the chill wetness hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her body shivered uncontrollably. Her Sword was a dim grey shape clutched tightly in her hands before her, its magic now faded. She tried to wipe the water out of her face with her sleeve, but it was streaming all over her, dripping off her nose and hair. She immediately regretted leaving her cloak behind.
The rain pounded deafeningly around her, but she could see nothing in the watery gloom. Fumbling for her pendant with numb, trembling fingers, she squeezed it until a soft blue light leaked forth.
It illuminated little but silvery rain and glistening fern fronds.
Araynia got unsteadily to her feet, shaking with cold or fear or both, she could not tell.
You must survive, Lord Requar’s soft voice whispered back to her. You must not do this, Araynia…
She remembered the impassioned look in his eyes when he said it, and tried to control a sharp stab of panic.
The forest was dreadfully dark. She felt terribly alone, and more deeply afraid than at any point on her ill-fated journey so far.
But she could not go back.
For her entire life, people had been telling her what to do. Her family had kept her sheltered and safe, as though she were a precious little thing that might break at a touch. Her mother had always insisted she knew what was best for her; had banned Araynia from visiting the infirmary at the slightest sign her daughter was showing an interest in becoming a nurse. As the youngest of three siblings, Araynia had been treated like a child, even as a woman, as though she were ignorant and naïve: which was unfortunately true. Her sisters had been frivolous and silly, and had mocked her for being boring and stupid. Everyone had laughed at or scorned her hobbies and interests and dreams.
Everyone but her grandmother… and Luca.
Luca.
For the first time in her life, Araynia had made a decision that she felt was truly hers.
She was alone now: everyone she had known or loved was gone. There was no one left to trust but her own instincts. They had led her this far – if they were leading her to her death, so be it!
My life is my own! she thought furiously, clenching her jaw to stop her teeth chattering. I am tired of others telling me how to live it! If there is to be a future for me, then I will make it or throw it away as I choose!
Taking a firmer grip on the rain-slicked Sword, she continued onwards into the night.
The wraith arrived with the dusk, the deep purple hues of evening swallowed by a blacker-than-black darkness that stole unsubtly around the circumference of the clearing. Arzath’s eyes were closed, but he felt it come, a creeping, sickly chill like the breath of winter gone rotten.
When he opened his eyes, finally, he was met with an unexpected sight.
He had anticipated a monster; a thing of tentacles and claws, of twisted, ethereal features and shadowy form. But what stood before him at the entrance of the clearing was… a woman.
She was clearly no ordinary woman, of course, and he could see straight away what had claimed her. From neck to foot, she was clad in sleek, form-fitting trigonic armour, wicked and impenetrable as the shell of a deadly insect. Incongruously, over the top of the armour hung a long, dusty coat with large orange chevrons emblazoned on the hems. Arzath recognised it as a type of military uniform worn by officers in the Darorian Army. Many ages ago, his own father had taken pride in such an outfit…
Arzath was taken aback by the jolt of the unwelcome memory, but he pushed it forcefully aside. The woman was obviously a soldier from the Middle Isle, which explained how she had acquired the trigonic armour. And she had apparently been wearing it for some time; there was no distinction between the trigon and her pale skin, it simply transitioned organically up her throat, tapering off into stark veins climbing the sides of her face.
Her hair was bright crimson, framing her ghostly face, startling against the black. Her eyes were like frosted blades, but they were inquisitive, watchful, travelling slowly around the clearing.
Arzath rose to his feet. He stretched out an arm to the side, and the ring of purple runes flared, bathing the clearing in bright violet light. The magic flickered uncertainly, but he forced more of his will into it, and it steadied. The black shadow remained as a wall beyond the border of myrtle trees.
The woman stared at him. Arzath met her gaze unflinchingly.
A small smile found its way onto her colourless lips. “You aren’t afraid of me,” she stated simply.
Arzath returned her cold smile with one of his own. “Afraid of you?” he replied, raising an eyebrow, and gave a bow and a welcoming flourish. “I invited you here!”
Still smiling, the wraith stepped forward over the runes. They flickered wildly and dimmed to a doleful glow. Arzath’s eyes remained fixed on her as she circled him, slowly. “You invited me here, to your own death?” she mused, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Interesting…”
Arzath said nothing, merely continued to return her smile. But inside him he stoked his magic, breaking off parts of himself to throw on the blaze; thoughts, memories, experiences, emotions. Everything that he was went onto the bonfire of his soul.
By the time the wraith had walked a full circle around him to the entrance of the clearing, livid purple light spilled from his eyes, electricity crackling in both hands. Rain began to fall; a sudden, heavy, cold downpour pattering on the leaves. Where the drops struck the sorcerer’s skin they hissed into steam.
The wraith laughed girlishly. “You want to play?” Holding out her own arm to the side, a long black tentacle grew sinuously from her palm. It straightened and hardened, becoming wide and flat and sharp along one edge, assuming the shape of a massive blade – something like a curved cleaver with jagged edges.
Bringing the ghastly weapon around in front of her, she gripped it with both trigon-gauntleted hands. Rain trickled over the giant dark blade in anticipation.
Arzath’s sparking magic reflected as flashes in her eerie grey eyes.
“Then let’s play.”
The darkness and rain were heavy. Araynia stumbled onwards, for what seemed like all night through the forest, trusting her instinct alone to lead the way. Her clothes were saturated, her feet seemed made of lead. Her pendant illuminated her surroundings only dimly.
And then, quite suddenly, it went out.
Araynia came to a halt. She could still feel the rain streaming over her. Taking up the stone, she willed it to produce more light.
Nothing happened.
She tried harder, squeezing it tightly in her free hand, but it remained dark.
Something about the night around her felt… wrong.
She looked around, her gut tightening in familiar dread. She could see nothing at all; not the stone, nor the Sword of Healing in her hand. She clutched both of them tighter for reassurance.
The darkness had a thick feel to it, a clammy, freezing coldness that seeped all the way through her. The rain all of a sudden felt like icy fingers trailing down her back.
Araynia shuddered, gripped with growing fear.
The wraith was close.
Doubts began to assault her mind. What am I doing?! Here she was, some poor, wet, pathetic thing, lost in the forest, with a magical Sword she’d never tried to use before, and she had no idea what to do if she found Carmine or Lord Arzath…
But she had come too far, and it was dark, and she didn’t know the way back.
The longer she stood there, the more fearful she felt that something was going to grab her…
So she kept going.
She had only gone about ten steps further, however, when the scene in front of her changed so abruptly that she gasped in shock. It was as though she had stepped through a barrier of some kind, a surrounding wall of black shadow. All at once, she could see again – light and noise crashed into her.
She dropped into a crouch as lightning sizzled all around in dazzling, serpentine flashes, accompanied by deafening peals of thunder. A nearby grove of myrtle trees was scorched and smouldering, filling the rainy air with smoke.
Carmine and Arzath were at the centre of the ring of trees, circling each other in deadly combat. The wraith-woman brandished the largest, most horrible sword that Araynia had ever seen: it could have cleaved a horse in two. As Araynia watched, she swung it at the sorcerer, frighteningly quick, and Araynia nearly cried out, but Arzath nimbly dodged the blow.
He sent a ferocious barrage of lightning at her in return, but it didn’t appear to affect the wraith at all.
The two of them were so focussed on each other that neither noticed the young noblewoman cowering in the shadows.
Araynia remained where she was, frozen with fear, mesmerised by the battle. She had never in her life imagined such power existed. It was awesome and overwhelming. She felt like a mouse caught in a raging storm.
What could I possibly hope to do against that?! she thought in despair. If she took one step inside that circle, she would be slaughtered without a thought…
Carmine pressed her attack with a flurry of rapid strikes that left trails of black mist through the air. Again, Arzath managed to narrowly avoid them, ducking and rolling out of the way… but he stumbled as he rose to his feet.
The sorcerer was tiring. Araynia could see him panting.
Carmine, on the other hand, seemed to be growing stronger and more confident with each passing second.
She didn’t allow Arzath to recover. Noticing his stumble, she brought her sword around and down at once in a brutal, punishing blow meant to finish him…
Araynia put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming…
The sword halted in the air, only inches from Arzath’s face.
He had grabbed her arms, not touching the trigon but clutching her wrists covered by the long sleeves of her coat. He held the sword back with sheer physical force, grimacing with the effort, his eyes flaring.
But it was a losing battle. Araynia could hear his desperate grunts as he strained against the giant black blade, saw his arms shaking.
Carmine simply stood there, pressing the sword at him almost casually, as though the powerful sorcerer was no more than a child.
She was smiling.
Arzath sank to his knees. The blade came deathly close to his face. His glowing purple eyes flickered…
Araynia found that she had come to her feet without realising it, her heart in her throat. The sorcerer was going to be dead within seconds.
If she was going to do something, it had to be now!
Arzath screamed, his eyes, his hands, his entire body blazing with white light in final desperation. The sleeves of Carmine’s coat caught on fire…
Not knowing what she was doing, Araynia ran at the wraith-woman’s back. Remembering Requar’s words, she willed the Sword of Healing to life. To her surprise, it responded before the thought had even finished forming, blue-white light flaring from the sapphires and flooding down the blade.
She felt magic course through her in an incredible, shining wave. Reaching Carmine, she lifted the Sword and swung it at the woman’s back…
Araynia had never swung a sword before, and it was a clumsy effort. She had been aiming for the wraith’s midsection, but the blade dipped down at an angle, slicing through her right hip and leg instead.
It went through with shocking ease. There was flash of light as it impacted the trigon, and a sound like a musical note being ripped apart. Something strange happened to the air…
Carmine shrieked, stumbling off-balance. Her leg remained intact, but the trigon covering it fell away, turning into liquid as it hit the ground. She spun, furious.
Arzath seized advantage of the lapse in his attacker’s concentration. Magic blasted out of him in a shocking wave that threw both Carmine and Araynia back several yards.
With it came a burning, searing heat. The entire clearing lit up like broad daylight.
Some primal instinct told Araynia to run. Still dazed, gasping as the scorching air entered her lungs, she scrambled to her feet and fled blindly into the forest. Not daring to look back, she ran for her life.
Behind her, the light grew brighter and brighter, banishing the surrounding night, picking out the trees and bushes in stark white. The heat became unbearable on her back. Electricity crawled across the forest floor, over the roots and moss like violet snakes, chasing her…
One of the twisting sparks caught her foot and she fell to the ground, crying out in pain. The Sword of Healing clattered away into the ferns, but she didn’t have time to retrieve it. Pushing herself up in the now blinding glare, she threw herself with a final desperate cry of terror behind the nearest tree…
And then the forest ripped apart in roaring, explosive whiteness.