A MATRIARCH’S RAGE (PART 5)
“To be an Orc is to never stop moving, it is to always be driven on to the next horizon. We travel across world after world, hunting, exploring, and conquering as the Gods wish of us. Our tongues have no word for ‘satiate’ for we are always hungry and any victory is but a step we climb to the next triumph. Long have we left our home, and far have we ranged, but it will never be enough, and for that I am thankful”- Tungge, the Tug-Carrier of the Tomur Horde.
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Cole lay upon an improvised sick bed and stared at the ceiling, or at least he tried to. All he could see was a world of red, with vague ambulatory blotches testifying to those around him. According to Hierophant Ruth, the banshees wail had burst some of the blood vessels in his eyes and he was lucky the scream hadn’t simply popped the entire organ like a grape. Ironically the damage was less severe in Cole’s ears, and he could still hear, even with the tinny whine rattling around in his skull. It seemed, Cole just barely escaped the banshees without crippling injuries; but Ruth wasn’t taking that at face value. Which is why she’d bullied Prince Heinrich into moving Cole elsewhere for a better examination.
The danger of worsening any internal hemorrhages forced Cole to let himself be carried out of the dungeon via stretcher. It had been both an uncomfortable and embarrassing experience, particularly because he wasn’t alone in needing such treatment. An entire procession of wounded soldiers followed after the Paladin, their groans and the shuffling gait of the stretcher-bearers telling the story even if Cole’s eyes wouldn’t. Hearing those plaintiff noises, part of Cole felt ashamed, if he’d been a little faster or a little stronger when facing the banshees, much of this could have been avoided. Still, that part of him had been much smaller than normal, sheer exhaustion and the idea of what Natalie would say kept the worst self-recrimination away.
Once the parade of wounded left the dungeon, they met with a rival procession, one headed by a relieved sister. Cole caught bits of the frantic reunion between siblings as Duchess Cleo cursed and hugged her brother in equal parts. Apparently, when the banshees broke their seals, the Prince personally led a squad of his strongest soldiers into the dungeon—a brave but foolish gesture, a fact Cleo was trying to ensure Heinrich understood. Even half a dozen paragons, equipped with enchanted weapons and armor would have been useless against the banshee. In fact, they’d all arrived just to join Magus Lydia’s escort on the ground being violently ill as their bodies were shaken apart. Only the court magi’s desperate efforts had shielded Heinrich, herself, and two others from the banshees’ wail. Cole of course only learned of these events after the fact, as he’d been dead for most of them.
Hierophant Ruth’s concerns about internal bleeding were appreciated but unnecessary since Cole knew for a fact he’d already died from it while lying in the vault. Even though he didn’t fully understand the mechanisms of his regeneration, Cole knew his body always fixed lethal damage and not much more upon resurrection. Blind, bloody, and certainly concussed as he was, Cole wasn’t in any immediate danger; otherwise, he’d still be stuck in a cycle of half-finished resurrection like the night Natalie became a vampire.
Quickly fleeing from that painful memory, Cole mused on how exactly his death had gone unnoticed. Even after he’d sealed the banshees, their scream continued to issue from Argentari’s tuning fork. This captured sound was thankfully not strong enough to kill but it could certainly disable. Which while leaving a dozen soldiers twitching in pools of their own sick, bought Cole precious time to keep his secret. Upon reawakening into the dungeon Cole found himself thankful for his awful bloody nose as the stink of his own ichor blotted out the reek of bile and other even worse substances. Despite what Natalie seemed to believe, bad smells did bother Cole, he just was so used to them he could ignore just about anything. The Paladin honestly couldn’t tell if what happened with the tuning fork was some divine-born coincidence to keep his nature hidden or just random chance. Considering the mess involved, Cole felt increasingly confident no god had been steering these events.
With a tired breath, Cole stopped his fruitless attempts to examine whatever ceiling was above him and shut his eyes, turning the world from crimson to black. He’d been blinded before but never for this long, normally he just died to whatever had wounded him such, so this was proving to be a new and profoundly unpleasant experience. Without vision to rely on, Cole’s other senses were sharpening to painful intensity. He could hear every scuff of shoes in the hallway outside his room and make a good guess on how much alcohol was in the cleansing mixture used in scrubbing the floor. So despite his condition, Cole could make out bits of whispered argument happening outside the chamber.
Ruth was insisting Cole be left alone for at least two days. She pointed out the damage to his eyes and other organs; how even with her help it would take time for the swelling to reduce and for them to be certain nothing was permanently damaged. These concerns weren’t enough to get Argentari to back down, as he insisted learning what Cole knew was beyond crucial and they’d already spent hours waiting for Ruth to finish her healing magic. Eventually, Argentari bought passage into the Paladin’s room by sharing the secret of Cole’s ‘regeneration miracle.’
As the door creaked open, Cole opened his eyes and winced, nothing had changed just more red. Shifting his head so he could see the blob of crimson that must be Argentari, Cole lifted himself off the cot and asked. “The ivory keys?”
The scrape of wood on wood told of Argentari pulling over a chair as he said. “Within one of the Temple vaults, Reuvain is already planning a ritual to free the souls. Now, will you tell me what exactly happened in the vault?”
Accepting that, Cole replied. “I will, but you should probably alert Heinrich and Cleo I’m taking visitors; they’ll want to hear what I’ve learned.”
Argentari started to get up but Cole stopped him. “Before then, I’d like to know what exactly you were planning with that tuning fork. You didn’t share all the details before sending me to acquire the banshee’s song.”
A little bit of cold iron touched Cole’s words; even though the tuning fork had helped preserve his secret it still almost caused its own disaster. Even blind, Cole could feel Argentari wince. “People have the bad habit of dismissing or downplaying a threat if it’s not breathing down their neck. I wanted to use the tuning fork to demonstrate exactly how dangerous the banshees are, so those I spoke with would take our concerns about Lutisha more seriously. Besides, being able to unleash a diluted version of the scream in any meeting would be a potent negotiation tactic.”
Shutting his eyes with a sigh, Cole could see the merit in Argentari’s idea but made a mental note to be more cautious when involved with the spymaster. Using the tuning fork seemed to have agitated the elephant ghosts, and while Cole couldn’t be certain how events might have played out without that factor, the tuning fork certainly didn’t help. Still, he should have learned by now to second-guess everything Argentari touched. Listening to the spymaster leave, Cole decided that even if he didn’t fully share Natalie’s dislike of the man, he couldn’t deny fortune did not favor him.
It didn’t take long for Argentari to return with the Elector-Prince and his sister. Cole could imagine it wasn’t every day the ruler of all Baiuvar was summoned to a sick bed like this, but protocol and decorum were nothing compared to the temptation of knowledge.
As the siblings entered the chamber, Heinrich spoke, his voice tight with tension. “Well, we’re here, what did you learn?”
Letting his eyes settle on the crimson blurs that must be the royal siblings, Cole offered a mild smile. “Lots, so let me start from the beginning.”
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The vault beneath Conradbau Castle started to shake itself apart with Cole inside. All around him, the chamber’s component stone slabs rubbed against each other making a horrible grinding sound Cole could feel in his teeth. Cracks started spreading along the floor and walls as the harpsichord’s broken bulk vibrated with ever-growing intensity. Cole didn’t know how long the banshees would take to unleash their full keening, but he knew time was rapidly running out. If he didn’t seal or exorcise the twin ghosts soon he and everyone else within this castle would die badly; torn apart physically and metaphysically by the scream or crushed beneath the collapsing structure.
Frantically scrambling along the vault floor, feeling his arms and legs go numb as the vibrations traveled up them, Cole tried to get out from underneath the rapidly disassembling harpsichord and towards the box of stargent foil. The effort made the edges of Cole’s vision go blurry as his heart and lungs fought a losing battle against the scream roiling around him. Limbs spasming, fingers utterly without feeling, Cole reached the box and grabbed a handful of its spilled content. This was a mistake, as the moment Cole touched the high-purity mage-bane metal, his protective spells faltered. The Cold of Entropy filling him didn’t vanish, but it did lessen enough for Cole’s eardrums to burst and blood to start sluicing out of his nose. Unable to even hear his own scream, the Paladin let go of the stargent and called on more of his power. Frost swirled about Cole, the blood dripping from him started to freeze and his flesh became hard as rock. The amount of magic he was using would have stopped a swordblow as easily as a boulder might; but considering the stone cell around him was coming apart, this wouldn’t be enough.
Mind reeling, looking for options, Cole understood if he used the stargent now he’d just get himself killed. He simply wouldn’t have time to get the foil into the rapidly crumbling harpsichord before his unprotected flesh gave out. If Cole was going to seal the banshees away he’d need to weaken them or… or be a little more creative. Lengthening Requiem into a short spear, Cole pierced a sheet of stargent like a particularly emaciated fish and grimaced as the weapon’s enchantment sputtered out. Working quickly, Cole flipped the empty box the foil came in onto its bottom and shucked the stargent into the container. Repeating this maneuver, the Paladin played spearfisher and soon got a layer of crumpled foil covering the box’s bottom. The effort made the spots at the edges of Cole’s vision double in size, as breathing became near impossible.
Hobbling towards the harpsichord, Cole pushed the box before him, positioning it right beneath the keyboards as he shrunk Requiem into a handaxe. Working quickly, the Paladin started to hack at the harpsichord’s casing, trying to get the ivory keys free. Hands spasming as the organ-rending scream did its work, one of Cole’s blows was sloppy and he struck a key. The vibrations filling his body changed instantly and he nearly toppled onto the harpsichord as his heart and lungs spasmed uselessly. As the keening shut down his flesh, Cole felt it tearing at his soul, the magical part of the sound threatening to shred his essence like wheat into a thresher.
Mind working lighting fast as suffocation and worse crept closer, Cole reached out towards the ivory keys with his free hand. He wouldn’t be strong enough to free the banshees, he did not doubt that now; but his magic still might be able to buy time and an opportunity. Shaking fingers groped at the keyboard, and Cole opened his Aetheric senses to the raging storm.
Finding the cold ivory, Cole forced himself to take something close to a breath, driving back the spots around his vision and preparing the mental technique he used to unleash his magic. There was no time for ritual preparation, planned consecration, or even simple negotiation; Cole needed to weaken these two ghosts through sheer arcane force. Of course, In theory, he could fully exorcise the banshees by cutting the connection between them and their anchor; but that would mean overpowering the two ghosts, and while Cole was far stronger than he’d been even six months ago, it wouldn’t be enough. So instead, he’d need to settle for weakening the banshees so he could get the keys into the box.
Shutting his eyes, Cole felt red tears flow down his face as he poured part of his soul into the ivory keys, flooding the Aether with a god’s power and willing the bond between soul and remains to finally snap. Peering into the meniscus between Mundanity and Magic, Cole gazed upon the screaming storm of the banshees. To his mind’s eye, the ghosts appeared as two spectral waterspouts interlocked in a bizarre double helix so tightly bound they seemed one entity. Each coil of this helix was an undulating column composed of leathery ectoplasmic flesh and pale bleached bones, only interrupted by tumorous outgrowths shaped like elephant heads, their trunks reared up as they screamed.
Hidden within that funnel cloud of soul stuff, Cole could sense his target, a quartet of stubby ivory tusks buried in the eye of the storm; these were the Aetheric representations of the elephant’s remains. If Cole was going to try and free the elephants then he’d need to push through the helix cyclone and baptize the ivory with his power. As he gazed upon the screaming storm of flesh and bone with his sixth sense, the Paladin didn’t like his odds of success or what the metaphor before him implied.
The less a ghost's mental image resembled their living state the more insane it was, and Cole had never seen a wraith this divergent from their original body. The elephant banshees were utterly, unimaginably mad; and yet, despite these mutations, the ghosts were…. Coherent wasn’t the right word, nor was stable, focused was perhaps the closest Cole knew. Normally when a wraith reached this state of mental collapse they were little more than a vague collection of notions and emotions trapped in an ectoplasmic shell. The specters he’d faced near Glockmire had been a good example of that. But despite their madness, the elephants retained more of themselves, however warped that self now was. Cole couldn’t guess if this was some quirk of species, circumstances, or the individual elephants, but it ultimately mattered little; his duty hadn’t changed.
The power of Master Time surged forward from Cole and a great blizzard smashed into the banshees’ whirlwind, burying the helix of elephant flesh in a wall of white and grey. Yet even immersed in the numbing cold of a God, the two ghosts refused to surrender their anchor, instead redoubling their grip with the intensity of a drowning man holding a bit of driftwood. The maelstrom fought against the waves of frost smashing against it, tearing apart great sheaths of metaphysical ice as the banshees struggled against Cole. Screams and trumpeting calls echoed out from the storm as it raged against the holy cold; slowly pushing back the deluge with every passing moment.
But even as the banshee fought off the blizzard, its scream was muffled and that gave Cole enough breath to keep working. After maybe the sixth or seventh wild swing, Cole felt painted wood finally splinter beneath his blows as the lower keyboard collapsed, dumping nearly half its contents onto the ground and maybe half again that into the stargent crate. Before Cole could try and get all the keys into the box, the Aether shifted and an opportunity arose.
The twin helix of the banshees was coming undone, ragged gaps forming between the two ghosts. Streamers of ectoplasm shaped like tusks, trunks, and elephant limbs stretched out from one of the cyclones, trying to connect with the other and pull them back together. Cole wasn’t about to let that happen and an arctic gale slipped into the open spaces, driving the banshee’s feelers back. A blood-flecked smile split the Paladin’s face as possibilities opened up, he had a lever now, something to pry the two ghosts apart and expose their remains.
Hands working quickly, Cole continued to tear into the harpsichord, doing his best to scatter the keys even as his vision faded and limbs became clumsy. The old Elector Prince had trapped two souls within the harpsichord, a mother and daughter elephant driven past the limits of human insanity by each other's suffering; creating an utterly unique form of banshee that only grew more dangerous with each passing moment. Now, Cole was ending that century-old crime, separating the remains physically via his axe and metaphysically via the stargent. Of course, this paltry gesture couldn’t undo all the damage caused, but it was enough to maybe start the end of this tragic tale.
In the Aether, Cole pushed his power into the gaps between banshees, letting his magic seep into them like arctic cold and growing the rifts with every passing moment. Disjointed and damaged the two ghosts couldn’t keep a united defense against him as he slowly opened a path. Reaching out with his magic, Cole slipped past the unraveling cyclone and touched the tusks hiding there. Holy cold surrounded the teeth and the power of Master Time started to cut the banshees’ anchor. But even weakened, the cyclone was strong enough to limit the amount of magic Cole could pour into its heart, turning what should have been a quick clean rite into something slow and ugly.
As the Paladin worked, pieces of trapped soul started to come free, sloughing off like overcooked meat and touching Cole’s mind. First, the fragments were just emotions, and their intensity was nearly enough to make Cole falter. For a few harrowing moments, his mind reeled with a type of grief he’d only experienced once before; in the moment Isabelle died upon the pyre. It was a sense of utter loss, mixed with despair, hopelessness, and the type of rage that fuels murder. Even felt through Master Time’s protection the emotions were heart-breaking and Cole was certain if he’d never tasted them before he would have failed right then and there, unable to keep the magic working.
Riding this first wave of spiritual discharge, letting it flow over and past him, Cole touched the second layer of freed soul. This time it wasn’t base emotions that brushed against his mind, this time it was memories, and Cole was immersed in them.
* The Matriarch stands tall amid swaying grasses watching her clan as they graze on the sun-scorched vegetation. Letting her long trunk slide along the stiff branches of a large bush, the Matriarch knows it is time for her clan to move on. This dry season is growing long-tusked and with two babes still suckling, the clan can ill-afford poor food. Lifting her head, the Matriarch lets her trunks swivel in the air, sniffing for greener lands. Memories gifted by many generations of mothers stir in the old elephant’s mind, summoned by the smell of sweet water in the direction of sunset. Ancestral wisdom and her own senses speak of a watering hole that lasts long into the season; it is just over a day's walk. A deep rumble escapes the Matriarch, rippling out through the dry dirt and reaching her sisters, daughters, nieces, and other kin. Slowly the clan starts its march, the Matriarch leading, her younger sisters at the back making sure none of the children wander off.*
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Cole thrashed as his mind bobbed in and out of alien memories. This wasn’t like the few times he’d supped moments from a soul while freeing them; there was too much detail, too much information.
* Dust follows the clan as they walk across the dry savannah in a wide formation. The children play in the space between their kin, running back and forth between their mother, their aunts, and each other, unburdened by the weight of seasons. The Matriarch only catches glimpses of this from her place at the front, but the sight fills her with bittersweet contentment. In contrast to the children, the Matriarch’s seasons are numerous and heavy; soon the weight would be too much and she’d collapse beneath them, leaving a pile of bleached bones upon the endless grassland. But till that sad day, she’d guide her clan and pass on the memories her foremothers had passed down for more generations than steps the Matriarch had walked. *
Hunched over the ruined harpsichord, Requiem held in a death grip, Cole was blind and deaf. The part of him not drowning in another’s memories fought to keep the magic going. His plan was working, he could feel the anchor starting to collapse and more soul-stuff coming free.
* A scream pulls the Matriarch from her moribund thoughts, panic fills her and she splays her ears out, ready to run down any cat or dog who dared stalk her family. Maybe ten strides away, one of the children is wailing, trunk flapping wildly as he thrashes. Rushing towards her grandson, the Matriarch smells blood and arrives at the same time as the child’s mother, her daughter. The two elephants crowd around the crying child and find the source of his pain. The young male’s foot is trapped in a hole like the sort an ant-drinker might make. Reaching out with her trunk the Matriarch grips her grandson and starts to pull his leg out of the pit but stops as his screams grow worse. The Matriarch’s daughter reaches out with her trunk then, and runs the sensitive tip along the hole’s edge a cry of danger escaping her as she did. *
But just as the two banshees' connection to their remains weakened, so did Cole. He wasn’t even likely to use up his entire soul at this rate, his body was about ready to give out. On some deep hindbrain level, Cole knew any human would already be unconscious or dead, his augmented flesh was all that kept him functioning.
* The hole had fangs, tiny bits of sharpness that stuck out from the sides and slanted downwards, getting stuck in the young elephant’s foot. Every time he tried to pull himself free, he merely widened the wound. Shrill warning cries went up among the clan as kin grouped together, watching the ground for more fang holes. The male’s mother was panicked, this was her first child and it showed in how her trunk kept coiling around her injured offspring. But the male’s grandmother had long learned there were better things to do than be afraid. Stomping on the ground with one mighty foot, the Matriarch started to make patterns in the dust with her trunk while singing a hymn to the mother-of-mothers. *
Bitter truth flowed into Cole like medicine. Even with the gap in the banshees’ defenses, he wasn’t strong enough to free them this way. He’d seen a chance to end this matter decisively and over-committed. Now, the Paladin had to see if he could return to his earlier strategy with the stargent crate or if it was too late.
* The world answered the Matriarch’s plea as the ground around her trapped grandson shifted. Dirt was pushed up in great ridges as the elder Elephant’s will widened the fanged hole. This was another of the secrets passed down by the clan’s matriarchs, the sounds and symbols recognized by both earth and sky. Carefully, the Matriarch freed her daughter’s child from the hungry pit and then shut the evil thing away as two of the youth’s aunts helped pull him free. But before calls of triumph could be shared among the clan, the freed youth’s mother suddenly fell onto her front knees. *
Shaky hands worked to pry ivory keys from their mounts and drop them into the stargent lined crate. Cole’s inhuman strength was of little use as his muscles spasmed and his body fought to keep breathing. Getting enough air to stay conscious was testing him, there was nothing left to power his numb limbs.
* A long branch-tusk stuck out of the Daughter’s flank, its tree part wobbling with her pained breaths while the death-stone section was lodged deep within. Blood poured down the Daughter's side and wheezed out of her mouth, eyes rolling wildly, she reached out for her son. The child bleeting madly and stumbled towards her even with his injured leg. One look told the Matriarch the injury was bad, even on a day of power her secrets might not be enough to save her daughter. Maybe with the help of the human tribe’s secret keeper, she could do it, but… the two-legged-ones had betrayed her clan, they alone could create tusks that flew like birds. *
One by one the ivory keys fell into the box, as the deluge of memories continued. Cole’s concussed mind bounced between the elephant’s recollections, his own thoughts and the empty-minded focus extreme pain sometimes brought him.
* The air shimmered around the clan like a heat haze and a pack of humans appeared, many carrying tusks like the one killing the Matriarch’s daughter. Rounding on them, ears flaring, the Matriarch realized these beasts weren’t the normal two-leggers she was used to. Instead of dark skin like rich earth or the night sky above, these creatures were grey in color with craggy wrinkled skin that made the Matriarch recoil. Their skin was like hers, except fitted onto a two-legged body. That wasn’t the only similarity the beasts had to her kind either, small tusks jutted out from their mouths. Some distant memory gifted from a mother long ago turned to dust now awoke, giving a name for these creatures. These were orcs, and they’d kill and eat the entire clan if not stopped. *
The harpsichord was in pieces next to Cole, its own shaking, and his frantic efforts had ruined the once beautiful relic. Fingers questing through the debris, Cole found individual keys and dropped them into the stargent box.
* The Matriarch did not know what secrets these orcs used to ambush her clan, but they were powerful. An entire herd of the beasts surrounded the elephants, twice as many as the largest clan she’d known, and in a perfect ring. Many of the creatures carried branch-tusks in their leg-trunks, while others had polished claws, fangs, or even those death bird nests that sent feathered murder through the air with a strange vibration. Letting out a complex rumble, the Matriarch got her family to surround her injured daughter and grandson, a circle of true tusks pointing out at the two-legged lies the orcs held. Trunk coiled with worry, the Matriarch weighed her options. They could punch a hole through the orc circle as no beast no matter how stupid or cruel stood in the way of an elephant’s charge, but that would mean leaving her daughter… *
Memories geyserd out from the half-banished banshees like arterial spray, drowning Cole as he wrestled with the remaining keys. Separated from each other, trapped between the stargent and Master Time’s power, the ghosts were coming apart, more and more of their essence leaking into the Aether and into Cole’s mind.
* A branch tusk flew through the air, thrown by one of the large orc bulls landing in the gap between two sisters and nearly hitting one of the Matriarch’s younger nieces. The orcs hooted and chattered like monkeys seeming to mock the tusk thrower for his failure. Rage filled the old clan leader and with it came a decision. She couldn’t risk the entire family nor could she abandon her child, so she’d need to take a risk. Reaching out with her trunk, the Matriarch wrapped it around her closest sister’s own and let their tips touch. A great breath escaped the Matriarch, flowing down her trunk and into her sister’s, and with it came a storm of memories. It wasn’t all the Matriarch had but it would need to be enough if she failed. *
Beneath all the pain, confusion, and invading emotions, Cole felt great shame at what he’d done. The release of a soul was supposed to be a clean, pure act; not this mess of spiritual laceration he’d inflicted upon the elephants. Robbed of his senses and sense, the Paladin could only offer a sad prayer to whatever god watched over such creatures in death.
* The orcs were brave, they stood their ground far longer than any beast the Matriarch knew, but in the end, they still broke; scattering like seeds as twelve adult elephants charged with all the fury of motherhood. The Matriarch watched as her family fled, the children clinging to their mother’s tails, as they escaped into the future. A few of the orcs who’d been close to the charge reared up with their branch-tusks, ready to stab the exposed flanks of the clan; they never got the chance as the Matriarch let out her cry. She might have given away her inherited memories as most of the clan fled, but she’d not surrendered her own power. Thunder rolled out from the Matriarch’s trunk, making the orcs flinch before they could attack. As the two-legged herd turned on the Matriarch she brought her trunk down and made a whistling sound. She’d created thunder, and now lightning would answer. Twin bolts of white death arced down from the blue above and cooked half a dozen orcs each. *
Cole held onto the outside of the box, feeling its weight while being careful not to touch its stargent lining. He thought he had all the keys inside, but the memories wouldn’t stop crashing into him.
* Standing tall the Matriarch called out across the grasslands as she stood between the scattered orcs and the two members of her clan still trapped. Eyes unfocused, the daughter lay slumped, branch tusk sticking from her like some monstrous bramble, her son wailing as he rubbed against his mother. Time was running out, but help would be coming, the Matriarch’s cry wasn’t merely a challenge to her enemies but a summons to the other half of her clan. The fathers, brothers, and sons of her family were never far and they’d come dripping with wrath eager to prove themselves. Among them were two old tuskers, both fathers to the Matriarch’s children and each holding powerful secrets, with their help, her daughter might be saved. *
Working frantically, Cole used Requiem like a gardener’s spade, sifting through the harpsichord’s wreckage, trying to find the last key, the final unbound anchor of the elephants.
* It rained death birds, their bramble beaks stabbing into the Matriarch’s thick skin, barely getting deep enough to draw blood. Bellowing her outrage, the elephant stomped the ground sending a wave of dirt smashing into some of the orcs. Nearby two of the creatures tried to creep toward the daughter, but the Matriarch reached out with her trunk and her mind-trunk, wrapping both their heads in muscle both real and imagined, crushing them in a shower of gore. Focused on this, she failed to stop the trio of branch tusks stabbed up into her belly by more of the orcs who’d run forward. Blood poured down from the wounds like rain and the Matriarch kicked one of her attackers, pulping him like a melon. More sharpness found her hide and lethargy spread with every pump of the Matriarch's great heart. Trying to stay upright, she pushed towards her daughter, rumbling for her grandson to run, but the child wouldn’t leave his mother. Leg buckling the Matriarch fell, head cutting a furrow into the ground as she lay next to her dying daughter, grandson looking between them his trunk waving wildly. As darkness closed in the last thing the Matriarch saw was two orcs approaching the child, spears at the ready. *
Victory surged through Cole driving back the hypoxia as his numb fingers closed around a chipped key. He had it! Now he just needed to get into the box, a challenge his spasming arms were not up for.
* The Matriarch refused death, she would not leave her bones, not until her family was safe. Even when fire cooked her flesh and strange claws sawed her tusks, she would not leave. So instead, the elephant drifted in and out of a nightmare as strange sights, smells, and sensations rubbed against her mind. The scent of salty water, the babble of two-leggers, a painful scraping on her tusks, it all passed over the elephant’s awareness like rain. All she carried about was her daughter and grandson, what had happened to them? Seasons passed in blinks, time marched on uninterrupted until a familiar cry reached her unliving senses. It was a scream of pain, not an elephant scream but still, it was enough to rouse the Matriarch. She was inside a space made of cut stone and dead trees, her body was just slivers of tusk strapped to a warped pile of branches and somewhere nearby a human was wailing. Somehow even across the barriers of species, the Matriarch knew that cry, it was of a mother giving birth. Sorrow filled the ghost as she remembered her family, her daughter, her grandson, all that was lost. So in answer to the human mother’s screams, the Matriarch started to wail, her sorrow echoing through secret winds *
Cole paused, his hand hovering above the stargent box, ivory key wrapped tight in dull fingers. The memories reaching him were changing, becoming something he better understood and more importantly might be important to events consuming Lowenburg. Weakened and mostly sealed the banshees’ scream had gone nearly silent even with the final anchor unbound. Perhaps, if Cole could stay alive a little longer and listen to the spilled memories, he might learn something valuable?
* More time passed and the Matriarch’s remains were moved again and again, all the time she wept, filling the secret winds with her loss. Eventually, she was brought to a cave that sang with secrets where humans poked and prodded the strange object she was bound to. Isolated except for these inquisitive guests, the Matriarch’s cries softened as she let herself start to fade. But before she could surrender any last hopes of learning her family’s fate and finally pass on, she was brought somewhere new, a dark cave deep beneath the earth with a great human home atop it. They were so like termites, these two-legged creatures, building their massive nests that stretched up into the sky and deep into the soil below. In this new chamber, the Matriarch sat, hearing the vague patter of humans above and around her; barely weeping. Then one night a strange human approached her remains and started peeling open the song-nest she’d been interred in. Before confusion could grow into worry or anger, the Matriarch's world was shattered. *
Understanding grew in Cole’s battered brain, he’d wondered how the harpsichord survived Volenshloss Castle’s destruction. Well now he knew, it had been hidden in some storage chamber below the structure, somewhere that might survive the entire castle atop it collapsing.
* It was her daughter, they had her daughter, her tusks mutilated, her soul trapped. The Matriarch started to scream as her remains brushed against the offspring she’d failed to protect. Both souls touched, their sorrow compounding as they understood what had happened to each other, and the fate of the son and grandson they’d left behind. Mother and daughter shrieked in abject horror, grief, shock, and rage; their emotions building into a stampede that would crush the world around them. Even in death, both elephants had power; secrets of sound and song once used to communicate with family and deter foes. Now those abilities were warped and magnified fed by their sorrow, growing into a unified death wail that flowed through air, rock, flesh, and the secret winds. Beyond the shared grave of mother and daughter, the world shook and humans died. *
Disgust and sorrow filled Cole’s mouth with bile as he not just understood but felt the horror of what had been inflicted on these two creatures. He also understood why these banshees were so dangerous. Elephants apparently had knowledge of sound magic, a factor they kept in death and adding new power to their keening. These two ghosts were utterly unique, having been forged by a series of events into banshees capable of tearing down castles.
* After a while, the grief harmony between the elephants lessened and the shaking stopped. Exhausted by their emotions and efforts, the two ghosts let their keening become quiet weeping. But their shared sorrow was eternal and when their strength returned, so did the scream. For nearly a season they continued like this, their keening rising and falling like waves, until humans returned to their hidden cave, digging into it during a period of weakness and binding them with the star rock. *
Knowing the scream wouldn’t have lasted forever even without his intervention was a bitter comfort to Cole. If only he could have reinforced the seals, they might have taken the harpsichord somewhere remote, let the banshees wear themselves out, and then do this rite properly.
* The world shrunk to little more beyond the elephants’ remains, their song muffled to nothingness as they sat in some new cave untouched by sun or wind. Humans visited them occasionally, rarely doing more than simply staring at their prison. There was one exception, a girl, brought down by an old male who jabbed a finger at the elephants and snarled like a challenged dog. The girl recoiled from her elder's wrath for a time but was soon forced by him to approach the elephants and touch their remains. The ghosts paid her little mind, their grief was all-consuming; still, they noted the girl would return in the coming seasons, by herself this time, where she’d steal into the cave, touch their tusks, and leave. What little of the Matriarch not lost in her daughter’s pain thought the act reminded her of young males of her own species attacking lesser beasts to prove themselves. As seasons passed the visits became rarer and rarer until eventually a girl left one time and came back a woman. Tears streamed down the woman's face as she touched the keys with one leg-trunk, her other grasping at her belly. A scream almost fit to match the Matriarch’s own escaped the woman and she turned from the elephants and fled. *
It was strange seeing a human through an elephant's perspective, they could remember the girl with perfect clarity but, Cole’s mind struggled with how they remembered her. The face and features were secondary to how the girl moved and sounded, like an inversion of the normal humanoid perspective. Like, it would take true familiarity for an elephant to recognize a face instantly, but they could tell someone’s identity just from how they breathed and walked. So at first, Cole couldn’t be certain of who this girl was, even if he had a suspicion. But then, he focused on the woman’s clothes, the elephants remembered them clearly, seeing a warning of poison in the garish mismatch…
* Again the elephants were moved, their screams gone unheard as they found themselves in a dusty chamber lit by dim sunlight; surrounded on all sides by human trinkets and trophies. They sat there in that space for season after season, for enough time that ten babes might have been born back among the clan. This new solitude was only interrupted when a new human girl, this one with an owl’s eyes found them, and stared down at them with strange intensity *
Cole dropped the last ivory key into the box, letting the stream of memories end, and prepared to take the plunge. His magic was almost completely gone, any more workings and the Paladin would use up his soul. So with no desire to roll even more dice with this resurrection, Cole found the lid to the box and another sheet of stargent with Reqiuem. Bracing himself, Cole dropped the sheet atop the ivory keys, trapping them between two layers and then shutting the box. Holding the container tight, Cole let the magic strengthening his body fade. Death came thankfully quick.
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Heinrich, Cleo, and Argentari sat in silence, the three digesting Cole’s (edited) account of events. An unprincely groan escaped Heinrich. “No wonder Lutisha hates, us… she was with child, our half-sibling. Do you think the stress of being set aside made her miscarry or did…?”
Cleo hissed in fury. “I don’t care what misery made her do this! She’s been trying to kill us for years! Sneaking the harpsichord into the castle, probably as a fucking wedding present, it was supposed to kill us all like the Volenschloss branch! The arrogant bitch just didn’t know all the details and jagged it up! She’s been sitting on this for our entire lives and somehow has now turned it into blackmail, ON US!’
Before the Duchess’s wrath could be fully roused, Argentari spoke. “Well, this will certainly make things easier for us.”
Scoffing, Cleo snapped. “How? I doubt an elephant ghost’s memories stolen by a half-dead Paladin is enough evidence to toss that hag into the dungeon!”
Argentari made an amused sound in his throat. “Remember what I told you before, this isn’t about evidence or proof, it’s about a story. Cole here has helped get a more complete version of this sordid tale and there are many ways we can use this to our advantage.”
Heinrich asked. “How?”
Cole could hear Argentari’s smile. “Well, blackmail for one.”