The Relistar

4E156

Jeremy W. Recupero

“Fifty years was all it took. How many will it now take to sterilize the filth you've let prosper upon our land? How many will it take to repair the damage to our cities, empires, and people? And will we even succeed?

Only one thing is certain in the future you’ve created: our sterilization begins with you.”

- Alia Vleren, Azar’kara’s Second-in-Command

3E50, Last Day of the Third Era...

"Auuuuugh!"

A broad, double-bitted axe swung through warm air to shatter the flimsy handle of a woodsman’s hatchet.

The mud-drenched woodsman screamed. His blistered hands scraped a trail of scarlet blood across the amber leaves as he desperately dragged himself away.

“Funny, eh?” A bullish, bald man leaned close to his face. “So close to the Hunters but so alone, no matter how hard you scream…”

He nodded at the towering bronze pyramid poking through the eastern trees. Dark silhouettes marched back and forth across its plateau with their halberds poised toward the sun.

The man wailed again as a powerful tug at his collar hoisted him back to his feet.

A bearded man wearing a deep scar over his left eye stared him in the face, bullish and donned in the same black leather gear as the axe-wielder. “I’m not asking again. Make with the coin, and you’ll walk away with your life.”

"N—no, I—I don’t have any—”

A sharp pain sprung up his side. He peered over his shoulder. A pale, thin-faced man with pointed ears forced a smile back at him. His side began to bleed.

Then he collapsed with a groan. The bullish man dropped immediately over the body, began to rifle through his pockets.

The axe-wielder turned to the elf with a smirk, “At this rate, we might as well set up shop here permanently. What’s that, the fifth today?”

“Don’t be stupid, not even the Sylvet would, here.” he muttered, sliding his dagger away into the scabbard on his leg. “We’re passing through, and that’s it. Especially in Siln.”

“Shh!” hissed the bullish man. “Damn, he hasn’t got any after all.”

The thin elf spit onto the body. “Damn woodsmen.”

“Probably think they’re safe so long as they travel light. Too bad ogres won’t treat them as kindly—”

A nearby rustling quieted him.

The axeman stepped forward, pausing when the bullish man gestured to him. The elf had already begun to creep away.

“We’re done here. Head for Dreslon. Could catch a few migrants on the way in.” the bullish man muttered, following the elf’s lead.

They finally turned to recede into the western woods.

Two black-red eyes stared out from beneath a dark bush, growling in satisfaction as his home became his own again. A long, bloody chain dragged through the dirt behind him, wrapped around his thick green wrists.

The man on the ground screamed only once more as the hulking creature towered over him, but fell silent when the chain cracked into his ribs like a crushing whip.

And then all was silent.

“How quickly the hunter becomes the hunted,” the elf noted.

“Shut up, Ilvas. What’s an ogre to us but a—”

“Please, don’t even pretend.” He rolled his eyes. “There's a reason why we're fleeing.”

"Bah." The bullish man waved him away.

Ilvas scoffed, hurrying his pace. "You get too cocky and you're going to get us all killed…"

Two shimmering jade eyes echoed the autumn sun like glistening gemstones. Orange leaves fell around the limp body of a messy-haired twenty-something year old, encircling the stump he had sprawled himself out upon. A held breath escaped his lips just before he extended his slim, toned body into a comfortable stretch. He carefully kicked his dark brown satchel just a bit closer to the log before he got comfortable once again.

He smiled, closing his eyes to let the scorching heat of Kylinstrom’s final heatwave wash over him rewardingly. And to think tomorrow could mark the first day of snow… Let this day last. Forever, even. Until Solus burns out…

His ears piqued suddenly at a distant rustling, growing louder as it neared the clearing. Birds fluttered away, seemingly unenthused by what they knew was coming.

The man smiled again.

He forced his heavy eyelids apart and sat up, greeting his three visitors with a lofty yawn. He scratched his head through his dirty brown hair. “Caloria’s breath, I’ve only been waiting all day.”

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Those three bandits in black leather garb emerged from the trees with sinister, greedy glares already in their eyes. He counted their weapons: an axe for the large one, a couple of daggers for the skinny elf, and…

The man at the front of the group drew two crude swords, obviously Harthian in nature, their sandy blades curving like the dunes of their native desert. He chuckled, “All day? And who’re you expecting?”

“Certainly not a bunch of punks done up in gaudy black leather." he mocked.

“You’re one to talk…” Ilvas muttered.

He smirked, glancing down to nod in delight at his own dark leather kit, with just enough blood still crusted into it to remind him of how he got it. “Suits me better than it does you, don’tcha think? The name’s Cedric Castelbre. Nice to meet'cha.”

"We've kept you waiting long enough, haven't we? Wethinks you already know what we're here for.” growled that bullish frontman, beginning his approach.

“Hmm… Wouldn’t be money, would it?”

" Any and all.” He grinned as he neared.

Cedric dug into his pockets and pulled them inside-out with a kind smile. “I’m broke.”

“The last guy told us a similar story.” hissed the axeman, circling the clearing.

“The last guy wasn’t lying…” Ilvas clutched the bridge of his nose.

Cedric cleared his throat as he finally rose from the log. He tossed a fist-sized, sepia bag onto the amber leaves between them. It jingled when it hit the ground, though not much louder than the crunching of leaves beneath it.

“So he was lying," laughed the dual-sworded one.

“Just promise me you'll take it and leave."

The axeman growled, “He’s wasting our time. Probably has something nice in that satchel over there…”

Ilvas spoke, “Rivim, if this is an ambush…”

But that two-sworded man, Rivim, only chuckled. He took another step forward. "Right, then. I promise."

Cedric smirked. Perfect.

“Rivim, wait.” Ilvas shouted suddenly. He closed his eyes, placed his hands out at his sides, and aimed his palms at the sky.

Cedric felt his muscles tense up and burn as Ilvas violently tugged and twisted the invisible leylines congregated all around them. But even as Ilvas’ face contorted in pain, and smoke began to rise from his burning fingertips, Cedric stood unafflicted, his gaze unchanged.

“No magic,” Ilvas panted, “he can’t feel the leylines.”

“Then a blade will do perfectly—” Rivim gasped, finding himself unable to move.

“Riv? Is it a trap?” The axeman asked, glancing around warily.

Rivim shuddered, straining with all of his effort.

A dull laughter thumped within Cedric’s throat. “Not quite magic, no… At least not in the traditional way. And no traps, either. It seems that your friend intends to break our promise… and my Relistar does not appreciate that gesture…”

Ilvas snapped, “You’re bluffing. There’s no such thing; the Hunters never even found Tovas’ after his execution.”

Cedric’s grin only grew wider.

“Kill him already!”

“Gladly.” Cedric muttered.

He swept his hand. Rivim’s head jerked itself backward, snapping his neck like a branch. He collapsed instantly. The leaves beneath him became darker and darker with soaking blood.

Ilvas gasped, drawing his green-hilted daggers.

“Stay where you are.” Cedric commanded.

“You bastard, I’ll kill you!”

The axeman raised his weapon well above his head. “You dirty—”

The flora on either side of Cedric burst open suddenly, and two black-clad, green masked bowmen leapt out from between the trees.

Ilvas lit up. “Yolvis, Torill! He killed Rivim, he—”

Cedric didn’t flinch. They were not his own enemies.

Yolvis and Torill drew their bowstrings back.

Ilvas’ breaths came out in shudders, then, with Torill’s arrow pointed at his head. His eyes began to water.

The axeman stumbled back. An arrow had already lodged itself into his underarm, beside his heart. “Y-Yolvis! What are you doing, we’re your allies, we’re—”

“Not anymore.” Cedric shook his head. “And now, you hand your gold to me.”

“Galum!” Ilvas beckoned. The axeman stood still, brooding over his next move. But Ilvas knew him well enough to know that he would never make one, not without Rivim to lead him.

“Well, are you going to turn it over or—“

“No!” Ilvas screamed, rushing forward with his dagger poised upward.

Cedric lifted his covered sword up from his side. The dagger bit into his scabbard and Cedric pulled back his weapon, taking the dagger with it.

Ilvas flipped his second dagger. Cedric swung the scabbard again, cracking it against the elf’s jaw.

The elf collapsed to the dirt, clutching his bloodied cheek with a whimper.

Galum took a step forward, but froze up again.

"Alright, alright… let's get this over with." He rolled his eyes and knelt down to Ilvas. "I'll cut you a deal and then we'll be even, and you'll never have to see me again."

"H-huh?" whimpered the elf.

"A deal, you stupid bastard. Can you hear me?"

He nodded with clenched teeth and wet eyes.

"Good. All I need is for you to promise that you'll never speak a single word of what happened here, and I won't ever lay a finger on you. Or your pals."

He nodded more frantically.

"No, no, I need to hear the words: 'I promise.'"

Ilvas swallowed burning, bloody saliva. His eyes twitched and his hands shook. He knew what a promise meant to the Relistar. He had read the legends. "I-I promise."

Cedric dropped his satchel between them and dug into it, soon revealing a crimson crystal, and the white, eight-pointed star embedded into its surface.

"Th-the Relistar!" he gasped.

"That's right!"

Ilvas' lips snapped shut, locking into place as a fresh layer of skin fused over them, pulling his teeth together into a solid mass of flesh and bone. Yolvis, Galum, and Torill all crumpled to the ground around him, fighting the same agony that suddenly tore through Ilvas' mind and body.

  Cedric's expression went dull. He stood and slid the crystal back into his chestpiece, turned his gaze away from the dying bandits.

  He strode around Ilvas and stole a dagger, cut his satchel free. His phony smile returned for just a moment, “Ah, ah—no fingers! Just like we agreed!”

And then returned those dull, lifeless eyes as he turned, left the clearing behind him forever...

*