XXXVIII. ALL THE TEARS

  Laelianus groaned and shook his head to move a view-obstructing strand of hair. Alden lit his third cigarette as he sat upon a barrel across from him. Laelianus could not understand how the man smoked them back to back, as he did without becoming ill. Alden exhaled and swore in his dead language as he checked the silver bracelet upon his wrist for what seemed like the hundredth time. The king fidgeted with his restraints, finally sighing in resignation. There would be no way of slipping out of the steel shackles and chains.

  “What? You gotta piss or something’?” Alden barked.

  “Fool. How do you intend to get away with this? If ransom is paid, you shall die. If ransom is not paid, you will die by the hand of a vengeful nation.”

  “Arrogant prick aren’t you?” Alden took a hit of his cigarette and grumbled as he looked at his bracelet again.

  “I know a fine jeweler who can polish that if the blemish is so bothersome you must constantly look to it and bemoan.”

  “It’s a clock jackass. I’m waiting on someone, and then we can get the hell outta here.”

  A sudden gale whistled through the alleyway and dragged the snow across the frozen cobblestone. Laelianus crossed his leg over his knee and willed himself not to shiver. Alden swore and flipped up his collar, fumbling in his pockets for yet another cigarette. Laelianus looked up to the grey skies, more snow threatened to fall. He spat in irritation, winter was hardly the time for being captured by the enemy. They were far too long and dreary in this kingdom.

  Laelianus looked to his left and right, armored creatures blocked the alley with a stylized ‘Ε’ emblazoned upon their breastplates. He had no idea what the beasts looked like under their helms, but though they held the form of men he was certain they were monstrosities. What he heard from them was a language of hisses and barks.

  “Damn it Morana… hurry the hell up.”

  “Indeed.” Laelianus mirrored his sentiments.

* * *

  Enyo flapped her wings once as the demon circled her. She stared at him indifferently through eyes that were no longer her own. The flames continued to dance around her, leaving swirling paths of burnt soil underfoot. The sounds of battle drew nearer as a company of undead soldiers and demons of Dusk huddled in the peripheral. Presumably, to watch the battle between Enyo and the hulking beast, whatever the case, she was resolved to end them all slowly.

  “Enyo. Does the self-proclaimed goddess of war fear taking action?” The beast taunted in its strange, dead language. “Enyo.”

  Enyo narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow, irritated by his attempts to unnerve her. “Hmph. I liked it better when thou did not speak. Who art thou?” She replied in the same tongue.

  “Alastor.” He sneered with a pained, mock flourish. “Alastor the Executioner.”

  “Alastor?” Enyo gasped.

  “Yes, servant to that other sister. You must truly be an ancient shade to have recognized my name, though pretender all the same.” Alastor laughed and licked his poxed lips with a swollen tongue. “Enyo.”

  Enyo flicked her hair. “My flame is ancient, though the shell is youthful.” She touched her glowing hand to her heart. “Yes Alastor, I know of thee. And I shall slay thee.”

  Enyo folded her wings around herself and disappeared in a blaze of flame and white smoke as she shot skyward. Alastor raised his axe as she reappeared above him wreathed in sunlight and flames. She swung her flaming sword, a flash of silver and an arc of orange, the motion too fast for eyes to track. Her expression changed from indifference to concern as her blade bounced off impotently, her opponent not budging at all. Taking advantage of her shock, Alastor struck her like a hammer with his fist, and sent her sprawling into the palace wall. She bounced off and collapsed in a heap upon the hedges.

  “At least the other could match me for strength in some regard. If he weren’t protecting you, he may have lived. Thou bear the feeble arms of a woman; it is an insult really.”

  Alastor took a step forward and disappeared in a blur, covering the distance in moments to come to a halt before Enyo. She froze, eyes wide, as she forced herself up to her hands and knees. Alastor raised his axe overhead; the blade began to glow and exude a malevolent aura as he prepared his finishing strike. Enyo closed her eyes and smiled at the irony of the situation, her limp wing sprawled out beside her.

  “A shame this girl had no heir to pass my flame to. It seems I shall finally know death’s oblivion.”

  “Wasted words. Enyo.” Alastor laughed and began to bring his axe down upon her.

  Morana appeared from out of nothing, the air rippled around her as a sonic boom sounded. She easily caught Alastor’s axe as he brought it down with all his strength, and halted his attack. The malevolent aura he had amassed was redirected and his weapon disintegrated in his hands. He stepped back in fear, and dropped quickly to one knee, shaking the ground as his bulk landed with a thud. Morana cut her eyes in his direction, venting her annoyance and frustration in an instant with a single gaze.

  “We are finished here Al.” she turned her gaze to the fallen, shivering Enyo. “Oh, you were going to kill her. My apologies.” She added apathetically.

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  Alastor rose shakily to his feet, trembling with abject terror. “No apologies are needed Master.”

  “…Good.” Morana paused to scrutinize Enyo, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, which she quickly shook off. “Osric requests us in the city streets. Our task here is complete.”

  With those words, she vanished into a wisp of smoke. Alastor quickly followed suit, as did the demons that had congregated around them. Enyo willed herself to stop shivering, but could not as the excess adrenaline her body had produced flooded her body. Thoughts and emotions flooded her senses, she had nearly died. Her life nearly ended and there was nothing she could have done to stop it.

  She coughed and spat as tears flowed and vomit rose in her throat. Sobs and convulsions wracked her body for several agonizing moments. She had been in battle before, faced death on many occasions, but nothing like this. Even when she received the scar that ran across her body she did not feel this helpless, her opponent had been just as fallible as she was. Yet Alastor was different, she put all that she had in that strike, yet it was as rain against an umbrella.

  Her wings began to return to flame and floated away as embers. The events preceding began to fade as a dream might. She struggled to remember how or when she heard of Alastor, it was as if there were two sets of memories inside of her, yet the second was unwilling to divulge the secrets it held. As her plumage was shed and bat wing shriveled, memories assaulted her.

  A city built upon the fire plains of Rhode stretched out before her, the sun was shining brightly in the blue ocean sky. Buildings rose up like mountains, black roads snaked across the wastes linking several such cities and villages. She turned around to see the mountain in all its glory, no smoke rose as buildings and statues ringed the peak. The mountainside was covered in marble, glass and magnificent gardens.

  In an instant, darkness was upon her, and an explosion of red overhead caught her attention. The great cities upon the fire plains were in ruin, explosions rocked the valley as the sound of rapid popping came from every direction. She looked up as several large birds or insects with stiff wings zoomed overhead, releasing dung or stones that exploded upon impact with the ground. Her vision blurred from tears as an animalistic howl caused her to nearly jump from her skin; it took several moments for her to realize it was her own voice screaming.

  “Enyo?”

  Enyo lashed out at the voice. Her arm was caught firmly as the sound of dangling jewelry brought her back to her senses. She looked up to see Órfhlaith’s confused expression, her eyes ringed in dark bags and bloodshot, one eyebrow raised as she held Enyo’s wrist. She snatched her wrist back, but Órfhlaith would not release. She took a drink from a bottle of wine, and teetered slightly as she balanced on her haunches.

  “What the hell is yer problem?” she slurred in elvish. “All I ‘ear is death and killing keepin’ me up all morning’, come out here to find ye half dead and screamin’ yer bloody lungs oot.”

  Enyo forced herself to sit up, yet still trembled. Órfhlaith took another drink of wine, and made a disgusted face before taking another. The scar on Enyo’s chest burned yet had returned to its normal color, the wings had gone, leaving a new set of scars upon her back. Órfhlaith tugged at Enyo’s cheek, trying to get her attention as she poured out the rest of the wine, humming innocently. Enyo smacked the intoxicated woman’s hand from her face with a contemptuous snort, rubbing her sore cheek with the other hand.

  She poked Enyo in the chest several times. “What the ‘ell’s wrong wit ye any’ow?”

  Enyo looked up into the woman's eyes, glazed over from the drink. “Or…Órfhlaith… where…”

  Órfhlaith dropped down to her haunches. “Hrm?”

  ” Despite all she did, Enyo could not stop the trembling in her voice and hands.

  Órfhlaith sighed; her demeanor became more serious and melancholic. “Let’s go lass, we can find ye a bed an’ a healer.”

  Enyo stopped shaking; nausea began to subside as she collapsed into Órfhlaith’s waiting embrace. Órfhlaith stroked the young woman’s hair and swept a lock from her cheek. Her sobs slowly subsided in the face of Órfhlaith’s gentle humming and warm embrace. She even allowed a smile at the shame of only landing one attack on the beast despite her boasting.

  “What the hell is this?” Ashe demanded as she and Alice burst out onto the lawn.

  “Nothing. Why’re ye in yer nightie lass?” Órfhlaith asked as she pointed to Alice.

  Alice blushed and tightened her grip on her negligée. “We’re looking for my army—”

  “Your army?” Órfhlaith asked incredulously.

  “—but since we’ve found you, we need to save Maleah before she goes off and gets herself killed.” Alice continued, undaunted.

  “No need.” Maleah yelled as she waved her arm overhead.

  They all turned to see Maleah leading the army of mage’s across the frozen lawn. Though her uniform was torn and tattered, her flesh was devoid of wounds. Alice and Ashe leapt up and embraced the woman, smothering her with kisses words of gratitude and relief that she returned unharmed. Séverin slunk into the courtyard and cleared his throat, causing Alice to shriek with a start at his sudden presence. His head was bowed and his hands shoved in his pockets, there was obviously something weighing heavily on his mind.

  Séverin gestured vaguely towards the hole in the wall where the battle began.“Donough will live, Enyo.”

  Enyo gasped, she had nearly forgotten about her uncle in the confusion and chaos. “But…”

  “I found two nuns who are tending to him now.” Séverin interrupted. “He is a hardy man. Clarissa will take care of things when she arrives.” He added to ease any further concern.

  Enyo exhaled what seemed like a lifetime's worth of held breaths, and buried her face in Órfhlaith’s mellifluous hair as she laid her head to rest upon her bosom. She closed her eyes and wept, exhausted both mentally and physically, still uncertain of what had actually occurred. The words she spoke and power she wielded were familiar, but not her own. Years ago, when she had gotten the scar that nearly bisected her, she fell into a berserker rage, and heard that same voice guiding her sword arm to victory. At the time, she had simply thought it was an ancestor spirit or something that happened to all who succumb to the tide of battle. Now, she was not so certain.

  Her allies spoke as she expended all tears, tears held back and locked away for most of her life. She wept for her uncle, who raised her, her father who she never knew, and a mother who in grief, sacrificed everything for love. Most of all, she wept for herself, for her impertinence towards those who sought to be close to her. Soon, she allowed sleep to claim her as the others approached and discussed tactics for reclaiming the city or the eventuality of fleeing. Normally, she would have been harshly awoken and scolded for such an act. Yet all was deemed irrelevant as Órfhlaith wrapped her in a palliating embrace, even speaking on her behalf when it was asked that she be woken up.

  Their opponent had been expected, yet their tactics had been more devastating than anyone could have planned for. The forces of Marquez were divided and without leaders, and the army she travelled with was equally caught flat footed. There was no reason for them to even be alive right now. Yet here they were, at least some of them. The battle was over, if that woman with the terrifying presence was to be believed, and the city still stood unlike her own home. Enyo’s thoughts drifted to the visions she had. Even now they were no more than a forgotten dream, remembered in bits and pieces, emotion more than images.