VII. SWORN ALLEGIANCE
Osric bolted up from the bed in a cold sweat, casting off the black, silk sheets. The air was cool and cloying in the shack, and it was several moments before he could recall where he was or how he had gotten there. He rummaged through the pile of garments upon the floor for his robes, swearing in the dim candlelight, as he searched for his journal. He eventually gave up on the task as the dream he had awakened from quickly faded from memory. He sat back down with a sigh, the chill air sent a shiver across his naked body. The dreams, visions, whatever they were, they already faded. Exact detail eluded him, he knew only that he had lived a lifetime, and had died horrifically as the world burned around him.
He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Morana slumbering peacefully beside him, but was startled to find her wide-awake and watching him intently. He felt the familiar wave of terror wash over him, now convinced that it was some sort of spell she employed; but he also felt the stirrings of something deeper, something that knotted his chest and made his palms sweat.
The piercing gaze of her glacial blue eyes caused him to shudder. Unconsciously, he allowed his eyes to wander, visually tracing the outline of her loosely draped figure. Her curves were soft and inviting, paradoxically holding the suppleness of youth and the sharpness of features attributed to a woman twice her apparent age. Osric felt the blood rush to his cheeks as the memories of their night together flooded back to him. Reflexively, he grabbed a pillow to hide his arousal and turned his attention to the door. Silently, he chastised himself for having such distracting thoughts; all the while images of their night together flooded his consciousness.
“What did you see Ozzy?”
“Nothing,” He said dismissively, “merely a dream.”
He stood and searched the pile for his own garments once again. Morana sat up, the sheet barely covered her breasts, and he nearly fell over as he craned around to steal a glance.
“You and I both know it was no dream. Where were you?”
Osric drew a small yellow glyph with his finger, which turned into a tiny orb of light. “I don’t know, Agrardya? I can’t be certain.”
“Do you not write them down?” she asked, a hint of anger in her tone.
He managed to find his undergarment and pulled them on. “It faded before I had a chance, why does it matter?”
“It is quite possible that it doesn’t, but that is inconsequential as you are my apprentice and I asked you a question.”
He was about to pull on his shirt, but paused with a sigh of resignation. Morana was turning out to be an extremely difficult woman to gauge for him, a prospect he found rather unsettling. He tried to turn his thoughts back to the dream, but it was all vague pictures of a distant memory for him by that point.
“There was a woman, a blonde, and the moon…Those are the only things that stand out to me, I can remember little else.”
“A moon, Aurum?”
He shook his head slightly as he continued to wrack his memory for more details of the dream. “No, Virides Oculi, there were cities and forests on it.” He pulled on his shirt and turned to face Morana. “Did people truly live on the moon?”
Morana chewed upon her thumbnail, lost in her own train of thought. “Yes, and it is likely they still do, stranded on their tiny world; left to wonder why we’ve been silent for all these centuries.”
Osric eagerly awaited her to say more, but received only silence as she ruminated on her own inner monologues. He had long suspected that the moon was inhabited, he had even written a book about the subject, but his evidence was always conjecture at best.
She finally turned to look at him as he stood awaiting further morsels of knowledge. Any hint of maturity she had manifested rapidly gave way to childish whimsy.
“Now Ozzy; are you that eager to be rid of me?” Morana pouted in mock chastisement.
“…I would like to bathe and begin this training now that the contract is… signed.”
Morana giggled and rolled herself into a cocoon of sheets. “Are you familiar with the tale of Rumpelstiltskin?”
Osric ignored her as he belted his robe. He wished to continue their talk about the lost civilization, but knew he would get nowhere now that she was in her current state. He was curious as to her moods, it could not possibly that she was always as she is. It was possible that the millennia under the curse of idiocy had somehow affected her, but there was no way to be certain. She certainly would not give him a straight answer about it.
“Given the task to spin wool into gold, you’ve sold your first-born child to the fiend Osric.”
“Where are my rings?”
“Upon the bureau.” Morana sighed. “Did it truly mean nothing to you? I find such a thing to be hard to believe.”
He avoided her eyes as he made his way to the bureau. It had in fact meant something to him, it meant far more to him than he could ever have hoped, but she was another matter. Her feelings regarding their coupling were dubious at best; it was as if she were simply fulfilling the next step in some mundane process. He simply would not allow her to hold such power over him, she already outclassed him in the realm of magical arts, he would not surrender this as well.
“I attended Asketill, as you yourself did aeons ago.” Osric slipped each ring upon his finger, stopping to polish the jewels upon a piece of cloth. “The only other organization more promiscuous would be The Order of Dawn.”
“True.” Morana rose from the bed and dismissed it with a snap of her fingers. “But what of the story?” The bed was replaced with a table covered in tubes, bottles, and stacks of books. “Aren’t you curious?”
“No, I could care less about some sad tale you deem relevant to our current situation.” He turned around to face her. “I care about you keeping your end of the bargain and teaching me the secrets of The Dusk and black magic. I don’t give a damn about some rumpled-stitz-can.”
Morana turned her sheet into a slim gown with wide sleeves and gold trim. “That’s not how you say it.”
“I could not care less how you say it!”
“Fine.” she pouted.
She waved her hand and the walls shook before they retreated into the ground. The candles flared and disappeared, the scrolls unraveled and dispersed. The illusion of night overhead vanished as smoke, leaving barren wastes and twilight skies in their wake. Osric shuddered against the chill wind that whipped up around them.
“There are secrets to be learned, my impatient apprentice, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to impart them. Lesson one: those mindless creatures of The Dusk will serve you little once you’ve breached the gates of Alfheim.”
Osric gave her his full attention. “Go on.”
“Foolishly enough, you’ve squandered your army from Xanavene, and as we speak your enemies mount the inevitable counter offensive. You need more than the proverbial pack of hounds Osric. The shock of seeing these creatures will pass quickly, and Yggdrasil is too well defended, let alone all of Silex riding in upon us from the east.”
“Hmm. So there is logic to you.” He bundled his robes and used his sash as a scarf against the frosty winds. “What do you suggest? There is no army that will ride to my call in all of Silex by now, and the children of Dusk lack the intelligence and sentience of men.”
Osric hurried to catch up to Morana, who had strode off ahead of him. “Even if I were to re-animate every corpse, they would be little more than a nuisance.”
“For a man who likens himself a visionary and god, you have a disturbing lack of vision and imagination. I have walked these wastes for nigh on a millennium, and have met those who have been here since The Collapse.”
They soon reached a lone gnarled tree in a clearing of dried, cracked dirt, stones jutted from the soil all around it. The wind blew stiffly and caused the tree to creak as it was slowly torn from the soil.
“What is this?”
“The Tree of Freedom. When the architect of the apocalypse gives voice to the voiceless, then heaven shall burn.” Morana said as if reciting some ancient prophecy. “Or some such nonsense the elder folk moan about every now and again.”
He peeled a hunk of dried bark from the tree, it crumbled into grey powder in his hands. “How poetic, and utterly absurd.”
Morana frowned. “It means something, just not to us.”
Osric prepared a derogatory remark, but paused upon seeing the sincerity on her face. Her beauty gave him pause, and once again thought of their shared night. He tore off another chunk of bark and scattered it to the frozen wind, wishing to be rid of his conflicted emotions once and for all. A gust of wind carried away the dust and brought in their stead the sound of slow methodical footfalls. Osric spun around and drew a black rune in the air; he bit his tongue as the rune dripped black sludge, unsure if it were friend or foe who approached.
“Though I doubt that will kill me, I’d rather not deal with the pain of death without death.”
Morana motioned for Osric to drop his spell, and he reluctantly obliged as a man approached them from behind a rocky formation. He wore a somewhat bulky vest and grey overcoat. His uniform had strange writing on the chest and two different emblems on the shoulders. His trousers were of the same material as the coat, baggy with numerous pockets and tucked into his rawhide boots.
A black box was affixed to his belt; a chord ran up from it to his ear. He had the appearance of a soldier, though wearing no uniform or armor Osric had ever seen before. He wore a strange weapon slung over his shoulder, like a crossbow minus the bow made of black metal and some sort of lacquer.
His eyes were a pale, cold shade of green, his hair was neatly trimmed and a light shade of brown. He rubbed his chin stubble as he regarded the two with taciturn eyes. They reminded Osric of his brothers, the eyes of one who has witnessed and committed unspeakable atrocities. Despite this, there was a sense of boyishness about him. For some odd reason, the man seemed familiar to Osric, in spite of him being unable to understand his tongue or recognize his face.
“Morana, has your time elapsed so soon?” The man smiled and placed his gloved hands in his pockets.
The materials used upon the man’s garments and accessories were foreign to Osric, as well as the strange geometric patterns upon his vest. His manner of speech was reminiscent of Agrardyan and Aes Sidhean, yet Osric could not decipher any of his words. His tone showed arrogance, and he instantly disliked the man for it, yet he distinctly heard Morana’s name mentioned.
“Who is this man Morana? And how do you know him?” Osric inquired as he eyed the man with suspicion.
“Who the hell is this guy?” The man nodded in Osric’s direction, mirroring his question.
“He is the man who has opened the Black Gate and my apprentice as it were.” She paused, casting a longing gaze over her shoulder to Osric. “Perhaps the one who can finally grant my wish.”
The man laughed to himself and looked Osric over with a critical eye. “What? Escape? Revenge?”
Morana turned her solemn gaze to the man. “To die.”
“Why the hell would he do a damn fool thing like that?” The man shivered and looked away. “Open the gate and bring damnation upon himself.”
“He may succeed, not at freeing us, but of upsetting the status quo. Though I doubt the results will be as any of us imagined, it is possible he may accomplish something.” Morana replied, a hint of hope under her sarcasm.
The man spat and examined Osric’s attire with minor interest. “What the fuck is he? Some kind of priest?”
“A lot has changed since I’ve last walked Silex, even more since your time Alden.” Morana sat upon a boulder, and gestured towards Osric. “This man is a necromancer. Magic has surpassed science in this era, even in my own time yours was a dying art.”
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“What? Soldiering?” Alden said with a laugh as he pulled a red and white package from his jacket pocket, and removed a cigarette.
“How old are those?” Morana asked playfully.
“Centuries,” He nodded in Osric’s direction. “Can he light me up?”
“It is strange, it’s as if you are speaking a foreign language, yet it is insistently familiar to me.” Osric drew a red glyph and levitated a small flame over to Alden.
“How the fuck can this guy understand me?” Alden whispered to Morana as Osric lit his cigarette.
“He can’t, they have those in his time as well, or the current era, however you choose to quantify it.” She turned to Osric and spoke in her odd dialect of Xanavien. “I will need for you to abstain from intellectual intimidation at this point Osric.”
“No promises, who is this man?”
“Osric, please, as your teacher.” She pleaded with wide eyes.
Osric crossed his arms, and leaned against the tree with a smirk, his golden eyes narrowed at Alden.
“Charming fellow isn’t he?” Alden took a long drag from his cigarette. “So why are you here? This place cleared out like a crack house raid.”
“Then why have you remained? Why do they remain?” She asked, gesturing to the wasteland.
“What’s your problem?” He chuckled. “Actin’ creepier than usual.”
“Do you want the answer or are you just stalling?” Morana crossed her legs. “How’s the cigarette?”
“Tastes like two and a half millennia of swamp ass and lung cancer.” Alden grimaced and ashed the cigarette with a look of remorse. “Do you even have an answer?”
She waved her hand; a gust of wind transformed the landscape into an autumn lane full of red orange leaves and the spicy scent of cinnamon. A woman stood with her back to Alden, she slowly turned to face him, the wind whipped her blonde hair wildly and a screen of fallen leaves obscured her completely. As quickly as the image came, it was gone leaving the barren wastes and craggy peaks of The Dusk realm in its place. Alden’s jaw dropped as he reached out in vain towards the now faded image.
Osric shifted, still in the dark as to the nature of their conversation, though now with renewed interest in what it may be regarding. The woman was the same he had seen in his vision, though how Morana was able to conjure it was a mystery. He had described her in the vaguest of terms, yet she had conjured her image perfectly.
It was possible that she had known the woman, but if this Alden person was who he suspected, there were several hundred years between the time he last walked the mortal realm and her birth. There was the possibility that she had somehow shared in his vision, but that was highly unlikely. The only other option was not even worth considering. No one, be it god or mortal, had the power to glimpse into another’s mind.
“Who was she Alden?”
He took another hit before he discarded his stale cigarette in disgust. “Don’t know why I held on so long… the cigarette that is.” He chuckled and began to rub his chin stubble again. “Thought maybe you had good news, but instead you bring me this bullshit!”
He crumpled up the empty carton and flung it at Morana; however, it fell short, and landed harmlessly at her feet. He removed his glove, and ran his hand through his crop of brown hair, revealing a streak of white and a scar that ran along his hairline.
“My soul was torn in two when I first came to this realm.” Morana paused to allow the silence to settle once more. “I am not the one you once served so gallantly, yet she is here.” Morana placed her hand to her chest. “And she requires your service once more.”
Alden swallowed and pulled another crumbled pack from his coat. “Did you take her?”
Morana teased her hair as she stared absently at the setting sun. “You’ve asked this before, and I told you the same thing as I’ll tell you now. Yes, and no, but mostly no.”
Alden gave up on trying to light the bent cigarette, his hands were trembling so. “Then why even bring her up again!?”
Morana shrugged. “My apprentice had a dream.”
Alden sighed and kicked at the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust. “Why have you come? And brought the living, if not damned, with you?”
“Years before my first encounter with the demon, the sisters bound me in flesh, I was as two beings trapped within a single host. This familiar form now bears two souls, the innocence I once was and the damned that I have become. Each day one overpowers the other; as such, I am not long for this world, at least, the woman I was is not long for this world. The power I have, the duty I bear as arbiter over life and death robbed from me by conniving bitches whom your kind so easily forsook.” Morana raised an entreating hand, bringing with it a gentle snow from the forlorn skies above. “The secrets I hold shall need to be passed, yet even that act is futile, as the man I seek to pass them to will soon replace me in this most hated realm, the pawn traded for a queen. I will have what is rightfully mine returned.”
“This again?” Alden spat in irritation. “Nothing goes according to plan, not when you’ve come as far as we had. I don’t know what this guy did, nor do I care, but when his time comes he’ll be joining us in this hell. Us, Morana, plural. Your time is over, your name forgotten to history, same as mine.
“Not so long as my sphere still crosses the heavens.” Morana’s voice was nearly a growl, her eyes held the fury of a blizzard.
“Old gods are dead, our memory forgotten. As it should be.” Alden ground his heel into the dirt. “So, I ask again, why the fuck are you here?”
“I expect you will fulfill your obligations.” Morana said sternly. “Or have you forgotten the pledge you’ve made to me so many centuries ago? If I recall, I delivered what you asked. Death to your enemies correct? To rain terror upon those that betrayed you? Those who stole her away from you?”
“Gods damn it…” Alden shuddered and reached for another cigarette, but stopped upon realizing the effort was futile. “I have not forgotten, my men and I will serve till you release us, or Uriel goes dark and dusk turns to night.”
Morana ran her fingers through her hair, filling it with autumn leaves and specks of gold. Alden gritted his teeth and looked away from the deliberate attempt to rile him up.
“The Morlocks fled to the caverns of Thiudoricus,” closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to shut out the witch who taunted him. “they care not for the affairs of Dusk and Dawn. The harpies will flee to the mountaintops; and the various creatures with mind to think and speak will scatter to their respective homes. Nearly all of Abigor’s demons were slain in the last war.”
“All that is left is you and yours; you are the only ones with a stake in this conflict,” she smiled at him and curled her hair around her fingers. “Those who have lost everything.”
Alden paced anxiously, pausing occasionally to scowl first at Morana, then Osric. “And what would you have us do? We are only two thousand in number. What? We go up there guns blazing an’ teach people like that jackass over there the theory of relativity?” He raised and dropped his arms in exasperation. “Not even you can comprehend our world Morana, and you’ve seen it. There is nothing up there for us, our age is over, and it is for the best.”
“So you’ll stay here?”
“We are bound here!” He shouted as he pounded his chest. “Just as you are.”
“No, I am bound to the demon; you are bound to me.”
Snow fell as her appearance morphed to that of an old crone and back to the youthful beauty in the blink of an eye. Alden shuddered as the waves of terror wafting from her broke upon him like waves.
“Alden, enough. You have a debt to pay, and I intend to see it collected. I hold authority over you, you are my tool and I will use you as I please.”
The two stared at one another in tense silence, not willing to give the other an inch. Alden eventually acceded and massaged his temples. Sensing no victory in the futile contest, he sighed deeply and took a seat upon the cold ground. Osric watched in silence, still unsure of what was being said. They were speaking ancient Agrardyan, many of the words used were similar to some of the greater spells in both elemental and black magic. His ability to pick out a stray word or two did nothing to aid his comprehension however.
“…It is my duty as a soldier to deploy when and where I am needed.” Alden begrudgingly acquiesced. “But my men and I are marginally equipped. And quite dead.”
Morana drew a vertical line of black violet light, it grew into a blade like steel. The contoured handle was wrapped in rubber instead of linen or leather. Alden took the blade, and examined it before swinging it around a couple of times. He begrudgingly looked to Osric before turning back to Morana, a look of grim resignation on his face. He held out his arms in a ‘what now?’ gesture.
“Carbon ceramic, I trust you’ve used a blade before?”
“Haven’t used this shit since I was a kid. I always wondered about the logic in teaching such an antiquated martial arts form.” He dropped into the ox stance, the blade at eye level, tip forward. “Wouldn’t a rifle be simpler?”
Morana continued to curl her hair around her finger absently as he played with the blade. “They won’t work; the Eloi made sure of that, besides, the means to manufacture ammunition has been long forgotten.”
Alden lunged and swung, linking several powerful attacks before he came to a stop. Morana clapped, impressed at the deftness in which he handled the weapon. He looked down at the blade again and shook his head.
“I’ve got a squad with plasma rifles, broke but we got ‘em. If you can fix those then this whole damn planet’ll be ours in a couple weeks.”
Morana shook her head. Alden sighed and thrust the weapon into the soil. He muttered something under his breath and placed his fists on his hips as he kicked at the dirt.
“So I take it this is the dominant weapon of today’s battlefield then?”
“You will see a great deal many things have changed in your absence. Are you ready?”
He looked to the weapon with dismay and ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t feel you’ve given me a choice in the matter.”
She smiled and laughed aloud. “You’re right, I didn’t.”
Morana stood, and brushed the dust from her rear. She spun abruptly to face Osric, smiling ear to ear.
“May I speak now, master?” Osric sneered.
She rolled her eyes. “What is it?”
“This exercise has been both futile and asinine, if you insist upon wasting my time I will leave this place, and you with it.”
She frowned, the leaves and flecks of gold fell gently from her unraveling locks. “And after I just went through such great lengths to acquire you an army. Ungrateful child.”
“Most impressive.” He relented, though not without suspicion. “But that does not explain who he is and what this army shall consist of. What language was that you were speaking?”
“A dead one. As for who he is and what this army shall consist of,”
She waved her hand, instantly giving the tree life. He turned around as the bark turned brown and leaves began to bud and grow. The soil around the roots became soft and fertile as the crooked tree leaned towards the fading sun.
“They are those who have sworn allegiance to the goddess of death.”
As quickly as the tree came to life, it wilted and died. The soil dried up and the bark blew away as dust. The leaves shriveled and fell, disintegrating before reaching the ground. With the tree’s new angle, the soil was no longer able to support its weight and it collapsed with a thud and the sound of snapping twigs.
“I take that as an ominous sign wouldn’t you?” Alden tossed the blade into the air and caught it by the handle.
“Shut up.” Morana snapped.
“Enough!” Osric interrupted before the bickering began anew. “Now that I have an army again, how do I breach Alfheim?!”
“Alfheim? Those pointy eared bastards are still holed up in that tiny little forest?”
“Yes Alden, and the forest has grown considerably since your time.”
“Send some HE’s or Willy p’s down on that mother, burn that sucker down.”
“What is he saying?”
Morana shooed Alden with a brusque wave. “Ignore him Osric, please. We have several other lessons that need to be learned before that point.”
She drew a man-sized oval before them; it was filled with white light and intricate glyphs. It flashed brilliantly and began to hum as foreign symbols and text flowed across as if upon water. She motioned for Osric to enter, and he returned her jovial invitation with a cold stare. She shrugged and stepped into the light and disappeared. Osric waited several moments before he followed her.
* * *
Osric looked up in irritation as Alden stumbled through the portal as it closed behind him, and crashed into a heavy oaken table. He shakily rose to his feet, his boots ground the shards of broken lab equipment to powder beneath them.
“Morana, reign in that oaf lest he bring this entire tower crashing down.”
“My bad, where the hell are we?” Alden picked up a handful of scrolls and returned them to the now wet tabletop. “This is trippy as hell, it’s like I just stepped into a fantasy novel or some shit.”
“The Sorn capitol, Ozzy has made a fort of sorts out of it.”
Osric levitated the scrolls from the puddles on the table, and set them to their place upon the bookshelves as he took a seat in his armchair. Alden walked the room and perused the strange tubes and black magic ingredients upon display. He whistled in amazement as he took in the architecture.
“Sorn? I am not familiar with that nation.”
“It is relatively new. It borders Duvachellé, Rhode, Elysia and Alfheim.”
Alden picked up an orb; it lit up in his hands and hovered before him. “What the hell? Still using these things? They were for emergencies only, surprised the things still work.”
Osric launched a ball of fire into the fireplace, and snapped his fingers, lighting all the candles in the room. He glared at Alden while clicking his rings together on his hand. He still spoke in a tongue he couldn’t comprehend and it annoyed him to no end. He knew Morana, and she seemed to be the dominant one in that relationship, the last thing he needed was for the two to conspire against him.
“Was there not some other information to be divulged?”
“What’s his deal?” Alden asked, jerking his thumb towards Osric.
Morana crossed her legs, going from a standing to sitting position in mid-air. “He’s just anxious to breach Alfheim and meet his death.”
“I thought you had faith in this man?”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean he will survive.” Morana replied dismissively.
Alden leaned against the table and shook his head in disbelief. “This is absurd, and what will my role be in all of this? I don’t know how to get into that fucked lil’ forest of horrors any more than he does.”
“Of course not, I know full well how to get in.” Morana rummaged through the clutter on the table, and eventually found a small package of tobacco.
“Then why the hell do--!”
“To take Marquez. Osric, is this yours?”
“No, it was my brothers.”
“Take Marquez!” Alden burst into laughter. “If I recall that city’s built like Fort Asketill! What are two thousand to do against that? With swords no less?”
Morana hummed as she rolled a cigarette, spilling most of the tobacco and tearing the paper. Alden watched with a furrowed brow, annoyed with the witches demands and being ignored. Osric regarded the two silently out of the corner of his eye, certain that he had heard the names Marquez and Asketill, yet remained in the dark as to the topic of conversation. He made a mental note to learn this tongue as quickly as possible.
“The mindless and bestial shall handle the breaching of walls and random slaughter.” Morana tossed Alden the crudely rolled cigarette.
“Then what the hell do you need me for?”
“We need the king of Duvachellé, alive.”
Alden lit his cigarette and took a deep hit, a frown formed on his lips as he exhaled. “Tastes like shit.”