XXV. IN FLAMES

Once more, Aichlan found himself in the open-air antechamber to the Priestess private quarters. Aurum bathed the marble in a golden hue, as waves battered the cliffs below. As in Rhode, Aichlan felt as if he were in a dream, not quite illusory, yet not tangible either. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He could smell the jasmine incense and rosehip perfume, taste the salt in the air, feel the cool evening air. It was wrong. He was in Rhode, felled on the field by the fiend Osric. Again.

He picked up one of the decorative pillows from the chaise, and it crumbled to ash between his fingers. The smell of sulfur began to overpower the smell of jasmine and rose, as the cool night air turned to a sauna.

Aichlan bolted upright, shedding his blanket of ash, a gentle rain of embers sizzled against the ground. The grey fluff carpeted the trembling basin as the mountain vented her fury behind him. The dead were shrouded as if by freshly fallen snow would they have been anywhere else. He collapsed back to the ground. With unfocused eyes, he stared into the thick cloud of ash and smoke above him, long tendrils of yellow static lightning arc silently across the plume. The ground rumbled beneath him as the mountain disgorged its molten bounty off in the distance. All was silent save the constant ringing in his ears drone. The ground shook again as Aichlan lifted his arm, dropping it heavily.

“What the hell…” he groaned irritably as he rolled onto his side, dumping his coat of volcanic ash.

Aichlan let out a pained groan as he rose to his knees. He fumbled in the dirt and ash for his weapon. Upon finding it, he used it to prop himself up. With trembling fingers, he gingerly touched the back of his skull; thick cranial blood matted his hair. The effects of the wound struck him violently upon touching it, and nearly knocked him unconscious. He disgorged the contents of his stomach into the dirt before him, leaning upon his blade as he spat out the last of the sick.

“Clarissa!” he croaked hoarsely, spitting out the sick with the last of his saliva.

“Emma!” he cried a bit more forcibly, his voice echoing impotently across the basin. “Somebody bloody well answer me damn it!”

Aichlan cried out as a fit of gags and coughs overtook him, and collapsed into the dirt. With his heaving chest, he felt the pain of several broken or cracked ribs; the act of breathing nearly knocked him unconscious. His left arm was broken in several places, as was his foot, though they both may well have been broken from the way it felt. The aura that sustained him before was gone. He tore his tunic to make a bandage and compress for his chest. He found Taryn’s quiver and broke off several arrowheads, using the shafts as splints for his arm. He spotted a small satchel and crawled over to it. It was a Colby-Nau medical satchel, and he fortunately recognized two of the herbs. He chewed on one and rubbed the juice on the wound on his head. He stuck a wad of the other in his mouth to further numb the pain. Though crude, it would serve his needs until he could find a healer. Though given his current rate of blood loss, he could not be sure how much longer he had.

Aichlan searched the gloomy battlefield with unfocused eyes, it was impossible to discern which ash mound was corpse or merely unconscious ally. Aichlan clutched his pounding head as he forced himself to his feet. He recalled a great demon, Eth, Osric’s brutality towards Séverin and Maleah, Ashe… where was she?

“Ashe? Eth!” he called as he stumbled through the gale of ash and raining embers.

“A valiant effort, though a failure, nonetheless. I am beginning to think my faith was misplaced in you.” Garrick said calmly.

“Where are Ashe, Eth and the others?” Aichlan asked without preamble. “Why are you here anyway? You must have some information.”

“I know little more than you do.” Garrick said as he took a seat upon a boulder.

Maleah’s horse wandered over and hooved at the ground in search of vegetation.

“I’m not buying it.” Aichlan shoved more herbs into his mouth in an attempt to numb the pain. “You always seem to show up whenever something big is about to happen. You come and tell me what to do and where to go. Then you start with the insults and reprimands whenever anything goes wrong.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be cross with you if you didn’t screw around so much.” Garrick said.

“You still treat me like a child.” Aichlan dragged himself towards the horse.

“To me, you still are.”

“Is that all you came for? I need to find my friends, if you’re going to help me then please do so, if not then kindly step aside.”

Aichlan swore as the horse slowly shied away from him.

“Do you remember when I dedicated you to the temple?”

“Not really.” Aichlan forced himself to one foot, leaning on his sword so much it began to bow. “Why do you ask?”

Aichlan managed to snatch the horses reins and leaned upon the antsy beast to catch his breath. Next, he searched the saddlebags and found two vials of dawn water. He tore out the stoppers and doused his head with one and splashed the other on his chest and arms. The bleeding stopped fortunately, but the throbbing pain of his broken bones persisted.

“You became my squire when you came of age; you were so ambitious, competitive as well. I took you on every campaign that I could to get you used to the battlefield: its sights, sounds, and tastes. Of course, Cecilia opposed to having another soldier in the family…”

“…She always used to fuss over every cut and bruise. She nearly got in a fight with a Lord because she thought he was treating me unfairly.” Aichlan added as he got close to Cookie and patted her neck. “Good girl.” He cooed.

“She cared a lot for you. She always said if anything ever happened to you, she would have never forgiven me. I’ve failed you Aichlan.”

“You haven’t failed me father.” Aichlan said as he tried to mount the horse, which continued to dance away from him. “I just don’t know what you expect of me…”

“I have always been proud of you, and always will be. That much shall never change. The rest of this journey is up to you, I know with all confidence you will make the right decision, the one that comes straight from your heart.”

Aichlan looked to his father, who of course had disappeared at this point. He released the reins in frustration as the horse continued to thwart his efforts to mount her. He swore and tugged harshly at the reins and the horse cried out. He lost his balance as the horse reared and danced out of his reach; his foot still caught in the stirrup.

“What the hell are you doin’ to my Cookie?” Maleah called weakly as she limped over, leaning heavily on Taryn’s arm.

Her ribs were field wrapped in a strip of Taryn’s skirt, her broken arm strapped to her side. Her leg dragged limply behind her as Taryn used her lance as a walking stick. Malea whistled, the horse whinnied and trotted after her master, Aichlan barely managed to free his foot in time.

“Good girl.” Maleah cooed, petting the mare between spasms of coughing up blood.

“Oi! Where’s pinkie? This broad is bleedin’ all o’er me she is.” Taryn called as she helped Maleah mount.

“I haven’t seen her, where is everyone else?”

“Órfhlaith rounded up ‘er boys, and marched ’em off to Rhode. After I shot that purple haired bastard, I got knocked out. Right bloody mess this ‘ole thin’ turned inta in’it?”

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Aichlan sat and clutched his side. “Maleah, where is your brother?”

“I’m going to search for him now.” Maleah said, doing her best to hide her considerable agony and wipe the blood from her mouth.

“You’re hurt, badly, stay here and I’ll go look.”

Maleah attempted to object but was cut off.

“You know you can’t ride in your condition;” Aichlan took several shallow breaths and forced himself back to his feet. “I doubt there’s a rib in your body that isn’t broken. It’s a miracle you’re even sitting in that saddle.”

“Try an’ tell the dumb heifer that.” Taryn said with a hint of concern hidden beneath insults.

Maleah nodded. “Fine, but it’d hurt too damn much to dismount.”

“Fair enough. If you see Ashe, make sure she stays here, I’ll be back.” Aichlan called as he limped off into the gust of ash as the mountain shook once more.

* * *

Alice rose shakily and brushed the dust and ash from her dress. Fiora was up and about, checking to see if any survivors resided beneath the heaps of ash and volcanic dust. The sky was black and red, but despite the heat and sweat, she was freezing cold. Blood matted her hair under the gauze.

“How’s your head?” Fiora asked as she rose, having just given last rites to one of the fallen.

Alice gingerly touched a bandage upon her head. “You did this?”

Fiora slung a medical bag over her shoulder and smiled weakly. “I asked one of the elves to show me what the herbs were and how to use them.”

“When did-” Alice shook her head, instantly regretting it. “Nevermind, that’s not important. What happened? Last I remember were dragons swooping down upon us from the ash cloud. Bloody hell!” Alice exclaimed. “Dragons in this day and age?”

“Alice—”

“Well, I suppose they were wyverns though, weren’t they? Their forelimbs and wings were one in the same—”

“Alice, please…”

“Oooh! If I could get ahold of that Osric!” Alice seethed as she paced hurriedly, shaking the ash and dust from her pinafore. “You know he’s an exile? He waltzes around here wearing his mark of shame with pride, the cur. What could he have possibly—?”

“Alice!” Fiora shouted, unable to hold back her emotion and tears.

“What is it?” Alice paused, growing concerned at Fiora’s apparent unraveling.

“Alice…” she croaked, spilling tears despite attempts to bat them away. “Alice, we, we lost.”

“Lost? What do you mean we—” Alice spun around, taking in the carnage and ruin about her. “Lost…”

“By the Light, Kielan! Kielan!” Alice called out, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“Alice, listen.”

“Ashe?” Alice cried, ignoring Fiora’s attempts to stop her. “Séverin? Somebody!”

“Alice! Kielan is dead, he—”

“Shut up Fiora!” Alice pushed Fiora away, shaking tears away as she closed her eyes to her claims. “Kielan!”

“Alice, he’s gone. I saw, I saw them… they ate him Alice. I…” Fiora broke down, collapsing to her knees. “Alice…”

Alice trembled silently as tears fell.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t reach him. I… I watched him die Alice.” Fiora finally stammered as shock set in.

Alice stood, trembling in silent grief and rage for several moments. All at once, she let out a tortured scream of immense emotion that no words could express.

“That bastard!” Her tears were hot and stinging as she drew symbols with both hands.

She layered several glyphs of increasing complexity, one atop the other to create a luminous emblem of destruction, and spat out the incantations, a thunderclap ensued as the ground was ravaged with lightning all around them.

“Alice! Stop!”

Fiora cried out as Alice guided the bolts to converge into one massive beam of lightning, scourging the wastelands. Alice tracked it across the battlefield searching for an enemy, someone to be the outlet of her grief. Lightning crackled and danced around her, her green eyes became electrified; they sparkled and crackled like jewels of raw energy.

Fiora leapt to her feet and tackled Alice to the ground, ending her grief-fueled tirade. The two women collapsed in each other’s embrace, with Fiora running her fingers through Alice’s hair, doing her best to console her.

“Where are Ashe and Aichlan?” Alice whimpered as she buried her face in Fiora’s hair.

“I haven’t seen them.” Fiora replied soothingly as she gently caressed Alice’s hair. “Órfhlaith led some survivors to the city, I…I decided to stay behind and help search…”

“Clarissa? Séverin?”

Fiora shook her head sadly, as Alice sniffled.

“Eth?”

“I haven’t seen him.” Fiora said, wiping away Alice’s tears.

“Ransom?” Alice asked pleadingly, hoping someone else had made it alive.

“Alice, you’re the only one that I found.”

“Then what do we do now?”

“We’ll meet up with Órfhlaith on the mountain, I’m sure the others will meet us there as well.” Fiora said, embracing Alice tightly as her tears and sobs began anew.

A gust of wind whipped past them, billowing Alice’s cloak, and swirling the ash about them.

* * *

Aichlan found Ashe covered in lacerations and mud, from the volcanic dust mixing with the pool of coagulated blood around her. Aichlan cradled her in his arm, desperately searching for some sign of life.

“Ashe,” he whispered, doing his best to hide the anxiety and fear in his voice. “Ashe honey, you have to wake up.” He placed his head to her chest and felt the gentle rise and shallow fall of her breathing accompanied by the gentle drumming of her heart.

Aichlan held her close as he closed his eyes, thanking whatever entities claimed responsibility for her wellbeing. Aichlan rummaged through her pouch and hastily applied the herbs to her more serious wounds, taking another analgesic for his own aches. The mountain shook violently and belched forth more fire and a plume of ash.

“Damnit…” he swore as he delicately lifted Ashe onto his back and started on the long, arduous trek to Rhode, some dozen miles away.

“Please Ashe, just hold on.”

Ashe groaned and mumbled something incoherently.

“I know, I know. Please, save your strength. We’ve a long way yet to go.”

“Phoenix…Rhode…” She mumbled, struggling against Aichlan as he tried to carry her to safety.

“Ashe, I’m afraid I don’t understand…” Aichlan said through ragged breaths as he half jogged, half limped to the capitol. “I don’t know what the hell a phoenix is but save your strength. We’ll find someone to patch you up.”

Aichlan stumbled over one of the fallen, but continued on, doing his best to only strike the heel of his broken foot.

* * *

Órfhlaith looked down pitifully at Eth’s battered body lying upon an impromptu stretcher. She wanted to be glad his arrogance was finally put in check, but looking down upon his unconscious form, she could gain no smug satisfaction. The sight of his labored breathing and blood seeping through fresh bandages, it was hard to feel anything but grief and worry for her childhood friend. She leaned against the wall of a nearby building. She had managed to round up a few dozen units to sweep the city for survivors; so far only carnage and ruin met them at every turn as they made their way through lower Rhode. The mountain rumbled nearby, shaking dust and debris from rafters and rooftops. She collapsed, sliding down the wall, coming to rest with her knees at her chin.

A great deal of citizenry were able to gain sanctuary in the mines, but those who opted to stay their ground or were stationed on the mountain side, they faced a horrific death of being mauled and eaten alive by the forces of Dusk. Wraith like leopard demons had swept down from the mountains and were praying on the citizenry. They were foul looking creatures, all bone and sinew with a gaudy, molted pelt and a maw lined with jagged fangs dripping venomous saliva. Her group had little success in running them off and were now having to sacrifice valuable time to actively avoid the beasts.

Órfhlaith watched in silence as Eth continued to fight for his life. She knew the human healers were completely tasked out, but she wished she could find one to look after Eth.

“Where the hell is that pink haired broad when you need her?” she sighed.

Had it not been for Clarissa, Eth would not even be alive now. She and the purple haired man had done their best to aid her men before the rest of her clerics and healers arrived. They were now on their way back to the field of battle in search of the rest of their compatriots. The ground trembled once again beneath them as the mountain spat more fire and brimstone. Órfhlaith forced herself to her feet, using her weapon as a staff. They had less than an hour to reach Adroushan before all hell broke loose.

“Oi! Donough!” she called, startling the big warrior. “Get someone tae help carry the litt’r.”

Donough quietly acquiesced, recruiting a dreadlocked warrior to aid him in carrying Eth’s still unconscious form. Now was not the time for petty squabbles or clan rivalries. The entire nation was at risk.

* * *

It was the dawn of a new millennium, not by the calendar of men and the rest of Silex, but by the precise calculation of stars and the planets’ orbit by the elves of Alfheim long ago. The elves of Alfheim, said to be the first of their race, believed that they and they alone knew the precise date and time that the world was created.

Of the great beasts and demons from the realm of dusk, not all were fiends that sought to feast upon man and elf. Some were as the other beasts and animals, content to merely exist upon the planet as a viable part of the ecosystem. Some were even beneficial and worshipped by the primitive men and elves prior to the great civilizations rise and subsequent fall. In ages past before the teachings Renata and the collapse of the previous civilization, there were even tales of a completely separate pantheon of Gods and Goddesses. Of these beasts and majestic monstrosities, was the Phoenix of Rhode. It was born of the volcano’s fires, giving birth to a solitary fertile egg without the aid of a spouse. Each millennium it returns to roost, to die, and be reborn to ride off into the sunrise upon sunbeams for another thousand years. The cycle had been going on since the creation of this world, and it had always been expected to continue until its end.

During the dying process, feathers are shed, bringing the dead back to a ghostly existence for a time, which is marked by a great celebration and festivities by the Rhodeans. The phoenix reborn, those feathers are used to revive fallen warriors, a gift of second life bestowed to one member of each house by their ancestors. The phoenix always returned to its roost at the temple Adroushan, for if it did not spread its ashes and the reborn phoenix did not draw in the mountain’s fury….